THE DRUMMER-BOY.

A TOUCHING INCIDENT OF THE CRIMEAN WAR.

APTAIN GRAY, the men were sayin'

APTA

CAPT

Ye would want a drummer-lad, So I've brought my boy Sandie,

Tho' my heart is woful sad; But nae bread is left to feed us, And no siller to buy more, For the gudeman sleeps forever

66

Where the heather blossoms o'er.

Sandie, make your manners quickly, Play your blithest measure trueGie us Flowers of Edinboro','

“Nay, in truth, brave Sandie Murray, Drummer of our corps shall be."

"I give ye thanks — but, Captain, maybe Ye will hae a kindly care

For the friendless, lonely laddie,
When the battle wark is sair:

For Sandie's aye been good and gentle,
And I've nothing else to love,
Nothing but the grave off yonder,
And the father up above."

Then, her rough hand gently laying
On the curl-encircled head,

She blessed her boy. The tent was silent,
And not another word was said;
For Captain Gray was sadly dreaming

Of a benison, long ago,

Breathed above his head, then golden,
Bending now and touched with snow.

"Good-by, Sandie." "Good-by, mother, I'll come back some summer day; Don't you fear

they don't shoot drummers

Ever. Do they, Captain Gray?

One more kiss watch for me, mother,

You will know 't is surely me

Coming home

for you will hear me

Playing soft the reveille."

After battle. Moonbeams ghastly
Seemed to link in strange affright,
As the scudding clouds before them
Shadowed faces dead and white;
And the night-wind softly whispered,
When low moans its light wing bore
Moans that ferried spirits over

Death's dark wave to yonder shore.

Wandering where a footstep careless
Might go splashing down in blood,

Or a helpless hand lie grasping

Death and daisies from the sod
Captain Gray walked swiftly onward,
While a faintly-beating drum
Quickened heart and step together:
"Sandie Murray! See, I come!

"Is it thus I find you, laddie?
Wounded, lonely, lying here,
Playing thus the reveille?

See the morning is not near."
A moment paused the drummer-boy,
And lifted up his drooping head:
"Oh, Captain Gray, the light is coming,
'Tis morning, and my prayers are said.

"Morning! See, the plains grow brighter-
Morning - and I'm going home;
That is why I play the measure;
Mother will not see me come;
But you'll tell her, won't you, Captain
Hush, the boy has spoken true;
To him the day has dawned forever,
Unbroken by the night's tattoo.

PRO PATRIA.

(INSCRIBED TO THE SECOND NEW HAMPSHIRE REGIMENT.)

THE grand old earth shakes at the tread of the

Norsemen,

Who meet, as of old, in defence of the true; All hail to the stars that are set in their banner!

All hail to the red, and the white, and the blue! As each column wheels by,

Hear their hearts' battle-cry,

It was Warren's,

'Tis sweet for our country to die!

Lancaster and Coos, Laconia and Concord,

Old Portsmouth and Keene, send their stalwart young men ;

They come from the plough, and the loom, and the anvil,

From the marge of the sea, from the hill-top and glen.

As each column wheels by,

Hear their hearts' battle-cry,

It was Warren's,

'Tis sweet for our country to die!

The prayers of fair women, like legions of angels, Watch over our soldiers by day and by night; And the King of all glory, the chief of all armies, Shall love them and lead them who dare to do right!

As each column wheels by,

Hear their hearts' battle-cry,

'Twas Warren's,

'Tis sweet for our country to die!

T. B. Aldrich.

I WAS WITH GRANT.

WAS with Grant-" the stranger said;
Said the farmer, "Say no more,
But rest thee here at my cottage-porch,
For thy feet are weary and sore."

"I was with Grant-" the stranger said;
Said the farmer, "Nay, no more

I prithee sit at my frugal board,
And eat of my humble store.

"How fares my boy-my soldier-boy,
Of the old Ninth Army Corps?
I warrant he bore him gallantly

In the smoke and the battle's roar."

"I know him not," said the aged man, "And, as I remarked before,

I was with Grant—”

"Nay, nay, I know,"

Said the farmer, "Say no more.

"He fell in battle I see, alas!

Thou didst smooth these tidings o'erNay; speak the truth, whatever it be, Though it rend my bosom's core.

"How fell he? with his face to the foe,
Upholding the flag he bore?
Oh, say not that my boy disgraced
The uniform that he wore!"

"I cannot tell," said the aged man,
"And should have remarked before,
That I was with Grant-in Illinois
Some three years before the war.".

"Then the farmer spake him never a word, But beat with his fist full sore

That aged man who had worked for Grant Some three years before the war.

Bret Harte.