ifle-pits to hole yourselves in, and not
for 'pockets' wherein to hole your adversary. _Apropos_ of which, listen
to

THE WRONG KIND OF A BAND.

Colonel X---- raised a regiment in the Ri-too-lal Rural districts of
New-Jersey, including a by no means bad brass band.

Arrived in Washington with his force, he was unfortunate enough to meet
with a wag, who at once told him he was afraid that he, the Colonel,
would meet or rather come to grief shortly.

'How so?' asked Colonel X---- excitedly.

'H'm!' answered the wag, 'don't you see that those rural musicians of
yours will be regarded as country-band of war?'

The Colonel saw it!

* * * * *

Do our readers remember a beautiful poem on Gottschalk's playing--_Los
ojos Criollos_--which appeared some time since in the _Home Journal_?
They will not regret to see a lyric in our pages by the writer of the
first referred to:

THE OLD SURGEON'S STORY.

BY ELEANOR C. DONELLY.

'Twas in a Southern hospital, a week ago or more,
(God save us! how the days drag on, these weary times of war!)
They brought me, in the sultry noon, a youth whom they had found
Deserted by his regiment upon the battle-ground,
And bleeding his young life away through many a gaping wound.

'Dark-haired and slender as a girl, a handsome lad was he,
Despite the pallor of his wounds, each one an agony.
A ball had carried off his arm, and zig-zag passage frayed
Into his chest--so wild a rent that, when it was displayed,
I, veteran surgeon that I was, turned white as any maid.

''There is no hope?' he slowly said, noting my changing cheek;
I only shook my head: I dare not trust myself to speak;
But in that wordless negative, the boy had read his doom,
And turned about, as best he could, and lay in silent gloom,
Watching the summer sunlight make a glory of the room.

''My little hero!' said a voice, and then a woman's hand
Lay like a lily on his curls: 'God give you self-command!'
'Mother!'--how full that thrilling word of pity and alarm--
'You here? my sweetest mother here?' and with his one poor arm
He got about her neck and drew her down with kisses warm.

''All the long, sultry night, when out--'(He shuddered as he said)--
'On yonder field I lay among the festering heaps of dead;
With awful faces close to mine, and clots of bloody hair,
And dead eyes gleaming through the dusk with such a rigid stare;
Through