, soldierly form. His
address is quick, and nervous to such a degree as to deprive him of even
the ordinary fluency of speech. His want of words to express the
thoughts that evidently burn within him, together with a remarkable
diffidence among strangers, renders him incapable of making an
impression, at first, proportionate to his real merit. He has, however,
always enjoyed great popularity among his men, commanding their entire
confidence, and has never failed to endear himself to his intimate
companions. His heart has been earnestly with the Union, in the work of
its preservation, from the beginning of the war; and whatever may be the
disposition of the authorities toward him, his strong convictions and
his active temperament will hardly permit him to remain idle during the
deadly peril of the nation.

THE TWO SOUTHERN MOTHERS.

Heard you not the din of battle,
Cannon's roar, and musket's rattle,
Clash of sword, and shriek of shell,
Victor's shot, and vanquished's yell?

Saw you not yon scene of slaughter,
Human blood poured out like water;
Northern valor, Southern pride,
Stern resolve on either side?

Cheering on his flagging men,
Rallying to the charge again,
Comes a bullet, charged with grief,
Strikes the brave Confederate chief.

Down he falls, amid the strife,
Horses trampling out his life:
Scarce can his retreating force
Find and save his mangled corpse.

Home they bore him to his mother--
He was all she had--none other:
Woful mother! who can borrow
Words to paint her frantic sorrow?

As she mourned her slaughtered brave,
Came and spake her aged slave,
Came, and spake with solemn brow:
'Missis, we is even, now.

'I had ten, and you had one;
Now we're even--all are gone:
Not one left to bury either--
Slave and mistress mourn together.

'_Every one of mine you sold_--
Now your own lies stark and cold:
To the just Avenger bow--
Missis! I forgive you _now_.'

Thus she spoke, that sable mother;
Shuddering, quailed and crouched the other.
Yea! although it tarry long,
PAYMENT SHALL BE MADE FOR WRONG!

DIARY OF FRANCES KRASINSKA;

OR, LIFE IN POLAND DURING THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.

Friday, _January 3d_.

My patience, or rather my impatience, has not been exposed to any very
severe trial: I have seen the prince royal twice. He recognized me; how
childish I was to doubt it? Why should I think him less