er waist, her carriage chaste,
Left me, poor soul, a pining.
But let the night be e'er so dark,
Or e'er so wet and rainy,
I will return safe back again
To the girl I left behind me."

From another quarter, in the rich brogue of the Celt, we have:

"Did you hear of the widow Malone,
Ohone!
Who lived in the town of Athlone,
Alone?
Oh! she melted the hearts
Of the swains in those parts;
So lovely the widow Malone,
Ohone!
So lovely the widow Malone."

10. Mr. Strong, the chaplain, has a prayer meeting in the adjoining
tent. His prayers and exhortations fill me with an almost irresistible
inclination to close my eyes and shut out the vanities, cares, and
vexations of the world. Parson Strong is dull, but he is very
industrious, and on secular days devotes his physical and mental powers
to the work of tanning three sheepskins and a calf's hide. On every
fair day he has the skins strung on a pole before his tent to get the
sun. He combs the wool to get it clean, and takes especial delight in
rubbing the hides to make them soft and pliable. I told the parson the
other day that I could not have the utmost confidence in a shepherd who
took so much pleasure in tanning hides.

While Parson Strong and a devoted few are singing the songs of Zion, the
boys are having cotillion parties in other parts of the camp. On the
parade ground of one company Willis is officiating as musician, and the
gentlemen go through "honors to partners" and "circle all" with
apparently as much pleasure as if their partners had pink cheeks, white
slippers, and dresses looped up with rosettes.

There comes from the Chaplain's tent a sweet and solemn refrain:

"Perhaps He will admit my plea,
Perhaps will hear my prayer;
But if I perish I will pray,
And perish only there.
I can but perish if I go.
I am resolved to try.
For if I stay away I know
I must forever die."

While these old hymns are sounding in our ears, we are almost tempted to
go, even if we do perish. Surely nothing has such power to make us
forget earth and its round of troubles as these sweet old church songs,
familiar from earliest childhood, and wrought into the most tender
memories, until we come to regard th