Colonel X—— raised a regiment in the Ri-too-lal Rural districts of New-Jersey, including a by no means bad brass band.
Arrived in Washington with his force, he was unfortunate enough to meet with a wag, who at once told him he was afraid that he, the Colonel, would meet or rather come to grief shortly.
'How so?' asked Colonel X—— excitedly.
'H'm!' answered the wag, 'don't you see that those rural musicians of yours will be regarded as country-band of war?'
The Colonel saw it!
Do our readers remember a beautiful poem on Gottschalk's playing—Los ojos Criollos—which appeared some time since in the Home Journal? They will not regret to see a lyric in our pages by the writer of the first referred to:
THE OLD SURGEON'S STORY.
BY ELEANOR C. DONELLY.
'Twas in a Southern hospital, a week ago or more,
(God save us! how the days drag on, these weary times of war!)
They brought me, in the sultry noon, a youth whom they had found
Deserted by his regiment upon the battle-ground,
And bleeding his young life away through many a gaping wound.
'Dark-haired and slender as a girl, a handsome lad was he,
Despite the pallor of his wounds, each one an agony.
A ball had carried off his arm, and zig-zag passage frayed
Into his chest—so wild a rent that, when it was displayed,
I, veteran surgeon that I was, turned white as any maid.
''There is no hope?' he slowly said, noting my changing cheek;
I only shook my head: I dare not trust myself to speak;
But in that wordless negative, the boy had read his doom,
And turned about, as best he could, and lay in silent gloom,
Watching the summer sunlight make a glory of the room.
''My little hero!' said a voice, and then a woman's hand
Lay like a lily on his curls: 'God give you self-command!'
'Mother!'—how full that thrilling word of pity and alarm—
'You here? my sweetest mother here?' and with his one poor arm
He got about her neck and drew her down with kisses warm.
''All the long, sultry night, when out—'(He shuddered as he said)—
'On yonder field I lay among the festering heaps of dead;
With awful faces close to mine, and clots of bloody hair,
And dead eyes gleaming through the dusk with such a rigid stare;
Through all my pain, O mother mine! I only prayed one prayer.
''Through all my pain—(and ne'er I knew what suffering was before!)—
I only prayed to see your face, to hear your voice once more;
The cold moon shone into my eyes—my prayer seemed all in vain.'
'My poor deluded boy!' she sobbed; her mother-fount of pain
O'erflowing down her gentle cheeks in drops like thunder-rain.
''Accursed be he whose cruel hand has wrought my son such ill!'
The boy sprang upright at the word, and shrieked aloud, 'Be still!
You know not what you say. O God! how shall I tell the tale!
How shall I smite her as she stands!' and with a moaning wail
He prone among the pillows dropped, his visage ashen pale.
''It was a bloody field,' he said, at last, like one who dozed;
'I know not how the day began—I know not how it closed;
I only know we fought like fiends, begrimed with blood and dust,
And did our duty to a man, as every soldier must,
And gave the rebels ball for ball, and paid them thrust for thrust.
'But when our gallant General rode up and down the line,
The sunlight striking on his sword until it flashed like wine,
And cried aloud (God bless his lips!) with such a cheery laugh,
'Charge bayonets, boys! Pitch into them, and scatter them like chaff!'
One half our men were drunk with blood, and mad the other half.
''My veins ran fire. O Heaven! hide the horrors of that plain!
We charged upon the rebel ranks and cut them down like grain.
One bright-haired man ran on my steel—I pierced him through and through;
The blood upspirted from his wound and sprinkled me like dew.
'Twas strange, but as I looked I thought of Cain and him he slew.
''Some impulse moved me to kneel down and touch him where he fell,
I turned him o'er—I saw his face—the sight was worse than hell!
There lay my brother—Curse me not!—pierced by my bayonet!'
O Christ! the pathos of that cry I never shall forget—
Men turned away to hide their tears, for every eye was wet.
'And the hard-featured woman-nurse, a sturdy wench was she,
Dropped down among us, in a swoon, from very sympathy.
'I saw his face, the same dear face which once (would we had died
In those old days of innocence!) was ever by my side,
At bed or board, at school or play, so fresh and merry-eyed!
''And now to see it white and set—to know the deed was mine!
A madness seized me as I knelt, accursed in God's sunshine.
I did not heed the balls which fell around us thick as rain,
I did not know my arm was gone;
I felt nor wound nor pain,
I only stooped and kissed those lips which ne'er would speak again.
''O Louis!' (and the lad looked up and brushed a tear aside,)
'O Louis! brother of my soul! my boyhood's fearless guide!
By the bright heaven where thou stand'st—by thy big-hearted faith—
By these the tears our mother sheds—by this my failing breath—
Forgive me for that murd'rous thrust which wounded thee to death.
''Forgive me! I would yield my life to give thee thine, my brother!
What's this? Don't shut the sunlight out; I can not see my mother.
The air blows sweet from yonder field!
Dear Lou, put up your sword.
Let's weave a little daisy-chain
upon this pleasant sward—'
And with a smile upon his mouth, the boy slept in the Lord.'