graves where your fathers are lying,
"_Swear, O, swear!_"

On mounds which are wet with the weeping
Where a nation has bowed to the sod,
Where the noblest of martyrs are sleeping,
Let the winds bear your vengeance abroad,
And your firm oaths be held in the keeping
Of your patriot hearts and your God.
Over Ellsworth, for whom the first tear rose,
While to Baker and Lyon you look;
By Winthrop, a star among heroes,
By the blood of our murdered McCook,
Swear!
And hark, the deep voices replying
From graves where your fathers are lying,
"_Swear, O, swear!_"

A CONSERVATIVE DARKEY'S OPINION OF YANKEES.

There was a large Union meeting in Nashville, and an old house-servant
of one of the most aristocratic rebel families, who hates
"Lincolnites" and "poor white trash" as heartily as Jeff Davis does,
was walking slowly along the square as the grand procession was
forming. Soldiers were moving about in great numbers, the cavalry
galloping to and fro, regiments were forming to the sound of lively
music, citizens and visitors thronged the sidewalks, children ran
about with banners, and thousands of flags fluttered like fragments of
rainbows, from the various buildings. The conservative contraband
paced slowly along, rolling his distended eyes in all directions,
apparently overwhelmed by the exhibition and bustle around him.
Approaching our friend, he exclaimed:

"My God! what are we Southern folks coming to? Massa said, a year ago,
dat de Yankees done gone away forever. Now dey is swarmin' about
thicker dan locusses. Dey runs dere boats on our ribber; dey is
pressin' all our niggers; dey lib in our houses; dey drivin' our
wagons, and ringin' our bells; dey 'fisticatin' our property; dey
eatin' up our meat and corn; dey done killed up mose all of our men;
and, 'fore God, I spec dey are gwine to marry all our widders!"

And, heaving a deep groan from the bottom of his continental
waistcoat, he shook his head in sadness, and passed slowly onward, to
the joyful chimes of the church-bells and the soul-stirring strains of
"Yankee Doodle."

VISIT TO THE GRAVES OF OHIO AND INDIANA BOYS.

Traversing the field of battle, near Murfreesboro, a few days after
the rebel defeat, I could but contrast, in my mind, the terrible quiet
with the terrific din and roar of battle of which it was the late
scene.

The _debris_ of battle is strewn for miles and miles. Thous