tional advisers" all round, and then does as he has a mind to. Abe turned to me with a merry twinkle in his eye, and his lovely and expressive countenance seemed more seraphic than ever, and says he to me, says he "Your letter on McClellan reminds me of a story that I heard in the days of John Tyler's Administration. There was an editor in Rhode-Island, noted for his love of fun-it came to him irresistibly-and he couldn't help saying just what came into his mind. He was appointed Post-master by Tyler. Some time after Tyler vetoed the Bank Bill and came into disrepute with the Whigs, a conundrum went the rounds of the papers. It was as follows: Why is John Tyler like an ass?' This editor copied the conundrum, and could not resist the temptation to answer it, which he did as follows: Because he is an ass.' This piece of fun cost him his head, but it was a fact."

་

"On the whole," said Abe, "here's a dollar; send me your valuable paper for a year, and be careful in future how you disclose Government secrets that have been published in the Norfolk Day Book only two weeks."

I promised to be more discreet hereafter, pledging myself not to interfere further with Gen. Thomas

or any other man" in his exclusive right to give the rebels the earliest information possible; also pledging myself to the best of my ability to aid the Government in its patriotic efforts to promote "loyal ignorance" among the masses of the Northern people.

They'll "poke at 'em fun,"
Like that of "Bull's Run,"
And say, with Abe, nobody's hurt!
I've heard it before,
Down in Baltimore,

Of "mixing with water, strychnine,”
'Twas said that old Butler,
(Abraham's sutler,)

Was this "Borgia," or vile "Catiline."
At no distant day,
All freemen will say,

Thus rightly give Abe his desert;
"This war we ignore-
We've told you before,

It must cease, or 'somebody's hurt.'"

Then England with France, And Spain, too, may dance, We'll ask not, nor care not about them; For with all united,

(If the South is arighted,) We'll laugh and live happy without them. FAIRFAX C. H., Va., July 30, 1861.

LINES WRITTEN IN FORT WARREN.

BY A CAPTIVE.

See ye not that the day is breakingFreemen from their slumbers wakingMightier efforts daily making

To break the oppressor's chain?

Who would bow to Northern power?
Who would quail in this stern hour?
Who, when clouds of darkness lower,
Could tamely yield again?

Freemen, to the tented field!
Right and justice be your shield;
Make the cruel foeman vield

Your rights and liberty!

Strike-as ye have struck before!
Strike as ye have struck once more!
Strike-as patriot sires of yore,
Determined to be free!

Strike the vile usurper low;
Strike with freedom's hand the blow-
Teach the proud, insulting foe

What freemen feel and dare.
Day is breaking in the West,
O'er the land that I love best,
Patriot fires in every breast,

God and Liberty are there!

THE VOLUNTEERS TO THE "MELISH."

BY WILLIAM C. ESTRES,

Come forth, ye gallant heroes,
Rub up each rusty gun,
And face these hireling Yankees,
Who live by tap of drum.
We volunteers are wearied,
By twelve months' "sojourn;"
We want to rest a little,
And then we'll fight "again"

We've won some five pitched battles,
But will yield you our "polish;"
And if you want some glory,
Why pitch in now, Melish."
Don't refuse to leave your spouses,
Our own are just as dear,
And each lonely little woman
Longs for her volunteer.

Don't mind your sobbing sweethearts;
For though 'tis hard to part,
We'll volunteer to chase 'em,

And console each troubled heart.
For the sake of old Virginia,

Come and fight! that's if you can,
And let your prattling babies

Know their daddy was a man.

For you we've fought and struggled,
Had "no furloughs "-nary one-
We want a little resting,

And so we're coming home.
Then forward, bold Militia!

"If you're coming, come along," Or, by the gods! we'll force you out To your duty-right or wrong.

CAMP NEAR CENTREVILLE.

Co. H., 1st Va. Reg't.

O JOHNNY BULL MY JO JOHN !

AIR-John Anderson my Jo.

It was stated in the Dispatch during the last days of December, that a gentleman just from the West-Indies had said that there were eighty-seven British ships-of-war lying in those waters. This statement gave rise to the following imitation of an old song:

O Johnny Bull my Jo John! I wonder what you mean, By sending all these frigates out, commissioned by the Queen;

You'll frighten off the Yankees, John, and why should you do so?

Best catch and sink or burn them all, O Johnny Bull my Jo!

REBELS.

Rebels! 'tis a holy name!

The name our fathers bore,
When battling in the cause of Right,
Against the tyrant in his might,
In the dark days of yore.

Rebels! 'tis our family name!
Our father, Washington,
Was the arch-rebel in the fight,
And gave the name to us-a right
Of father unto son.

Rebels! 'tis our given name!

Our mother, Liberty,

Received the title with her fame,
In days of grief, of fear and shame,
When at her breast were we.

Rebels! 'tis our sealed name!

A baptism of blood!

The war-ay, and the din of strife-
The fearful contest, life for life-

The mingled crimson flood.
Rebels! 'tis a patriot's name!

In struggles it was given; We bore it then when tyrants raved, And through their curses 'twas engraved On the doomsday book of heaven. Rebels! 'tis our fighting name!

For peace rules o'er the land, Until they speak of craven woeUntil our rights receive a blow,

From foe's or brother's hand.

Rebels! 'tis our dying name!

For although life is dear, Yet freemen born and freemen bred, We'd rather live as freemen dead, Than live in slavish fear.

Then call us rebels if you will—

We glory in the name;

For bending under unjust laws,
And swearing faith to an unjust cause,
We count a greater shame.

A LOVE SONG.

The following lines were taken at the Battle of Newbern, from a wounded rebel soldier, named Levi F. Jones, by John Chase, of Co. G, Fourth R. I. Regiment.

CAMP FISHER, HIGH POINT,
GILFORD COUNTY, NORTH-CAROLINA. S
So fare you well, my darling,
So fare you well, my dear,
Don't grieve for my long absence
While I am present here.

Since it is my misfortune

A soldier for to be,
Oh! try to live contented,

And don't you grieve for me.

I am agoing away to-morrow,
To tarry for a while,
So far from you, my darling,
About five hundred miles.

She wrung her lily white hands,
So mournful she did cry,
You will list as a soldier,
And in the war you will die.

In the battle you will be wounded,
On the field you will be slain,
You will burst my heart asunder
If I never see you again.

The cannons loudly roaring,
The bullets whistling by,
The fife and drum are sounding,
To drown the soldier's cry.

Stand steady by your cannon,
Make balls and grape-shot fly;
Oh! trust in God your Saviour,
And keep your powder dry.

I hope the time is coming,
When you and I will meet;
With words and kisses

We will each other greet.

Hurrying on in the midst of excitement,
Pushing extravagant projects through,
Few of us know or pause ever to question-
Ever to ask where we're hurrying to;
Hurrying on over blessings unheeded,

Chasing some joy, like the butterfly, gone,
What is the good of our wonderful frenzy?
What is the use of our hurrying on?

We have been hurrying on from our cradles-
What but its shadows have we for the Past?
We are still hurrying on as expectant-

What shall we get by our hurry at last?
Graves are so thick that we cannot well miss them,
Going with only the clothes we shall wear;
Where shall be, then, all we're hurrying after?

What shall we have with our hurry when there?

Hurrying on in the wake of the phantoms
Conjured alone in the fever of haste,
Hurrying on with extravagant projects,

Little we reck of treasures we waste;
Little we know of the diamond moments,

All to be gathered and garnered in store,
Making our worthy or worthless possessions,
Up in the land where we'll hurry no more.

Treasures that lie all around us in plenty
We never heed as we are hurrying on,
And when in heaven our coffers are empty,
We shall first know how they're lost and are gone;
Then we shall know how our spirits have wasted,
Wealth of Eternity planted in Time,
The soil for its sced growing barren as ashes,
While we are hurrying out of its clime.

God works but slowly-but slowly, my brothers,
Not hurrying onward in passion and strife-
Works with love only, and only for others,

Not for himself in the green fields of life;
Let us sit down, and be calm and be thoughtful,
Lifting our hearts to eternity's brink-
Let us cease living alone for the present,

Let us cease hurrying-what do you think?
NEW ORLEANS, October 23.
-Charleston Mercury.

A FIGHTING CLERGYMAN.-Rev. B. C. Ward, pastor of a Congregational church in the village of Geneseo, Ill., conceives it to be his duty to forsake the pulpit for the field. He has received authority to raise a company of infantry, but proposes to enlist clergymen only. An appeal to his clerical brethren, published over his own signature, calls upon "the fighting stock of the Church militant" to prove to the world their willingness to "seal with their blood what they have talked in their pulpits," and closes with this extraor dinary passage.

"Much as we have said and done to prove our loyalty, we have not yet resisted unto blood striving against sin. Shall we now, at the call of Christ, come out from behind our velvet-cushioned barracks, whence we have so often hurled bold, indignant words at the giant iniquity of the age, and meet it face to face with the hot shot of rifled artillery, with the gleaming bayonet, or with clashing sabres in hand to hand encounter?"

FEMALE TRAITORS IN WASHINGTON.

WASHINGTON, Jan. 15.-This morning it was rumored that the female prisoners confined in the SixteenthStreet Prison were to be removed to the Old Capitol Prison, where, in consequence of their rebellious proclivities, quarters have been prepared for them. Accordingly, we visited Lieut. N. E. Sheldon, a native of New-York, and an officer of the Sturgess Rifles, the body-guard of General McClellan during his cam paign in Western Virginia, who, for some time past, has been detailed as the guard of these prisoners, and were admitted, after some delay, into his quarters.

It is well known that since the attempt made to rescue the prisoners at this house on the first of the year, the utmost vigilance has been displayed in the approach of visitors to this point. And hence it was that when we applied for admission at the quarters of Lieut. Sheldon, we were obliged to halt for a few moments, until our character and the object of our visit were ascertained. The call for the corporal was made by the guard, and our communication subsequently conveyed to the Lieutenant, by whom, as we have said before, we were admitted.

As we entered the building we must confess that the emotions of our mind were sad rather than other wise. We were perfectly cognizant of the fact that, instead of approaching the place of confinement of those who were the male enemies of the Government, we were being admitted to the presence of the fea't enemies of the law and the Constitution; and thus it was that our feelings were of the nature that we have described.

That woman should, in the hour of our struggle, desert us, and side with our enemies, was more than we expected. And when the first traitoress was ar rested in this city and confined in the SixteenthStreet Prison, we not only pitied, but in the longings of our hearts forgave her the offence that she had committed. Such has been the history of the war, however, that not only men have been convicted of the charge arraigned against them, but women have also been as instrumental in interfering with the plans of our warfare, by giving aid and comfort to the eremy, and aiding them to escape the judgment that would have been visited upon them by the Govern ment.

When we visited the establishment referred to, we were admitted to the parlor of the house, formerly occupied by Mrs. Greenhow, fronting on Sixteenth Passing through the door on the left, and

street.

we stood in the apartment alluded to. There were others who had stood here before us we have no doubt of that men and women of intelligence and refinement. There was a bright fire glowing on the hearth, and a tête-à-tête was drawn up in front. The two parlors were divided by a red gauze, and in the back room stood a handsome rosewood piano, with pearl keys, upon which the prisoner of the house, Mrs. G., and her friends, had often performed. The walls of the room were hung with portraits of friends and others some on earth and some in heaven-one of them representing a former daughter of Mrs. Greenhow, Gertrude, a girl of seventeen or eighteen summers, with auburn hair and light-blue eyes, who died some time since.

In the picture a smile of beauty plays around the lips, and the eyes are lighted with a strange fancy such as is often seen in the eyes of a girl just budding into womanhood.

On the east wall hangs the picture of Mrs. Fanny Moore, whose husband is now in our army, while the walls of the back room are adorned with different pictures of the men and women of our time. Just now, as we are examining pictures, there is a noise heard overhead-hardly a noise, for it is the voice of a child, soft and musical.

"That is Rose Greenhow, the daughter of Mrs. Greenhow, playing with the guard," says the Lieutenant, who has noticed our distractment. "It is a strange sound here: you don't often hear it, for it is generally very quiet." And the handsome face of the Lieutenant is relaxed into a shade of sadness. There are prisoners above there -no doubt of that—and may be the tones of this young child have dropped like the rains of spring upon the leaves of the drooping flowers! A moment more, and all is quiet, and, save the stepping of the guard above, there is nothing heard.

The Sixteenth-Street Jail has been an object of considerable interest for months past, to citizens as well as visitors. Before the windows of the upper stories were "blinded," the prisoners often appeared at these points, and were viewed by pedestrians on the other side of the way; but since the "cake affair" of New-Year's Day the prisoners have been forbidden to appear at the windows, and the excitement, instead of being allayed, has been still further increased.

The first person incarcerated at the prison was Mrs. Rose O. H. Greenhow, as she signs herself. She was arrested on the eleventh of August of the last year, and has been confined in the prison ever since. Her husband was formerly employed in the State Department in this city. She is a woman of letters, and was born in the South, although brought up in Washington. She is confined in her own house, in one of the upper stories, and has the attendance of a servant, beside the company of her own daughter, an interesting child of some twelve years. Beside these confined here were Mrs. Phillips, her sister, Mrs. Levy, and her two daughters, Misses Fannie and Lena. Mrs. Phillips is a Jewess, and her husband married her at Savannah, Ga. Mrs. Levy was a widow, and her husband, who was formerly in the army, died. Her two daughters are finely educated. These latter were, after being confined six weeks, sent to Fortress Monroe.

Next in turn comes Mrs. Betty A. Hassler, who was born and reared in Washington. She possessed the least education of any woman ever confined in this prison. Her husband is a Southern man. She is fas

cinating in appearance, but has not much decision of character. She was released on parole by order of the Secretary of War.

Mrs. Jackson, the mother of the assassin of Ellsworth, has also been confined at this point. She came here with nothing but a flannel gown on, and wearing slave shoes. She was incarcerated but two days and nights. She has now gone South, to Richmond, where she has been endeavoring, with but little success, to obtain funds for the support of her family. It is rumored that she is not able to collect enough funds to support her from day to day.

Miss Lilly Mackle, a daughter of Mackle, a clerk in one of the departments, and belonging to one of the most respectable families of Washington, was also confined here for two months.

Mrs. M. A. Onderdonk, who sometimes represents herself to be a widow and sometimes a wife, was arrested in Chicago some months since, and after being confined here six weeks, was released on parole. Forty dollars were given her to pay her expenses back to Chicago, but instead of going there, she went to New-York. She was last heard of at St. Louis.

An English lady, Mrs. Elena Lowe, who was arrested at Boston, and whose son was with her, having come with a commission in the rebel army, has also been confined in this institution. The son was afterward sent to Fort Warren, and she returned to England.

Beside the above, there were some eight or ten persons arrested at Alexandria and in this city, whose names are not remembered, and who, after being confined at this prison, were shortly afterwards liberated on taking the oath of allegiance.

Miss Ellie M. Poole, alias Stewart, was arrested an brought to the prison on the 11th of August, 1861 She came from Wheeling, where, after having been confined for some time in the prison there, she made her escape by tying the sheets together and letting herself down from the prison window. She has been in communication with the rebel leaders in Kentucky, advising them to make certain changes in their plan of operations. When arrested the second time, within ten miles of the enemy's lines in Kentucky, $7500 of unexpended money, furnished by the rebels, was found upon her person. She has been a correspondent of the Richmond Enquirer and the Baltimore Exchange. Miss Poole is yet in confinement in the Sixteenth-Street Jail.

Among the number yet confined here is Mrs. Baxley, formerly a resident of Baltimore. She was arrested on the 23d of December. She had just come from Richmond, and had been in conversation with Jeff. Davis, from whom she had obtained a commission in the rebel army for her lover, Dr. Brown. She is, as she represents herself, a very "explosive" woman, and it was from this fact that her arrest took place on board the boat, while approaching Baltimore from Richmond. This woman has refused to sleep under a blanket marked "U. S." ever since her confinement here.

The above is a hurried sketch of the prisoners liberated and now confined in the Sixteenth-Street Jail. Their quarters are of the most comfortable character, and under the care of Lieutenant Sheldon, they are furnished with everything that, saving their "Secesh" principle, can make them happy.

The report that the cake sent to Mrs. Greenhow on New-Year's came from Mrs. Douglas, to whom Mrs. G. sustains the relationship of aunt, is a mistake. The

cake was sent by a party well known to the Government, upon whom a strict watch is kept.

To-day the three last-named persons will probably be sent to the jail on old Capitol Hill-an escort of the Sturgess Rifles, under command of Lieutenant Sheldon, being prepared to accompany them.

There was the same patter of nimble feet overhead when we left the prison. At the windows, from the outside, we saw the face of Mrs. Greenhow, standing within the room above. Our voices had been heard in the room beneath, we know, and even the musical tones of the piano, that had been performed upon during our presence. There may have been a memory of other days recalled by these signs of festivity, and the hearts of some above may have beat with a quicker pulsation at the thought of the circumstances that now surrounded them.

Who knows but what then and there there were heart-strings that were almost snapped asunder, and that there were consciences that sunk beneath the weight of ignominy imposed upon them?

THE REV. H. A. M. Henderson, of Alabama, who has been passing some time in Kentucky, writes a letter to the New-Orleans Christian Advocate, from which the following is extracted:

"To give you the animus of the Northern Methodist Church in Kentucky, allow me to tell your readers about one Rev. (?) Mr. Black, stationed in Newport, opposite Cincinnati. On one Sabbath he had his church ornamented with U. S. flags and brass eagles; his hymns were the 'Star-Spangled Banner,' the Red, White, and Blue,' and 'Hail Columbia.' He prayed that the Union may be preserved, even though blood may come out of the wine-press even unto the horses' bridles, by the space of a thousand and six hundred furlongs. In the course of his sermon he said: 'I trust our troops will rally and wipe out the disgrace of Manassas, though it cost the life of every rebel under arms. Let Davis and Beauregard be captured to meet the fate of Haman. Hang them up on Mason and Dixon's Line, that traitors of both sections may be warned. Let them hang until the vultures shall eat their rotten flesh from their bones; let them hang until the crows shall build their filthy nests in their skeletons; let them hang until the rope rots, and let their dismembered bones fall so deep into the earth that God Almighty can't find them in the day of resurrec tion."-Mobile Tribune.

How CHEATHAM CHEATED 'EM.-The Cairo correspondent of the St. Louis Republican visited the rebel camp at Columbus under a flag of truce. He relates the following story, told by the rebel Gen. Cheatham, of the manner in which he escaped capture at the battle of Belmont, Mo. :

Just as the opposing armies were approaching one another, Gen. Cheatham discovered a squadron of cavalry coming down a road near his position. Uncertain as to which force it belonged, accompanied only by an orderly, he rode up to within a few yards of it, and enquired:

"What cavalry is that?"

"Illinois cavalry, sir," was the reply.

"Oh! Illinois cavalry. All right; just stand where you are!"

The cavalry obeyed the rebel order, and unmolested by them, who supposed he was one of the Federal officers, the General rode safely back, directly under

the guns of another Federal regiment, which had by that time come up, but who, seeing him coming from the direction of the cavalry, also supposed that he was one of them. Some of our officers remembered the incident, and agreed with the hero of it, that if they had known who he was, it was very probable that there would have been one rebel general less that night.

THE following is reported by the Pawtucket Gazette. Some Irish women searched the market for a very large chicken, and on being shown one, asked if it would hold a pint flask. The dealer thought that it would. and the flask being produced, he satisfied them that it would. That was the chicken they wanted. The women finally admitted that they were going to cook the chicken, place the flask, after filling it with brandy, inside of it for stuffing, and send it to camp. That "contraband" will probably pass the lines in safety.-Ohio Statesman, Dec. 28.

DESERTERS BRANDED AND WHIPPED BY THE REBELS. -A letter in the Memphis (Tennessee) Appeal, dated Camp Beauregard, near Feliciana, Ky., December 22d, says: On Friday all the troops at this station were assembled together and formed into square, for the purpose of witnessing the punishment of three men, belonging to the First Missouri regiment, convicted of desertion.

"It is not necessary to give their names, or the facts drawn out by the court-martial concerning their crime. They were branded on the left hip with the letter D, with a hot iron made in the shape of that letter, then their heads were closely shaved, and finally they were each hit fifty lashes on the bare back, in the presence of all their comrades, and drummed out of the service to the tune of the Rogue's March. Volunteers who often speak of quitting the service upon the slightest provocation, without the proper discharges, and who seem to regard the act lightly, should take warning from the fate of these poor unfortunate fellows."

THE LAST MAN OF BEAUFORT.*
'Tis the last man at Beaufort
Left sitting alone;
All his valiant companions

Had "vamosed" and gone;
No secesh of his kindred
To comfort is nigh,
And his liquor's expended,
The bottle is dry!

"We'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
Or harshly condemn-
Since your friends have all 'mizzled,"
You can't sleep with them;
And it's no joking matter

To sleep with the dead;
So we'll take you back with us
Jim, lift up his head !"
He muttered some words

As they bore him away,
And the breeze thus repeated
The words he did say:
"When the liquor's all out,

And your friends they have flown, Oh! who would inhabit

This Beaufort alone?"

On the day the town of Beaufort, S. C., was entered by the National troops, all the inhabitants were found to have fled, es cept one white man, who, being too much intoxicated to join his compatriots in flight, had been forced to remain behind.