down by poor Nelly's side,
A story she did tell;
'Twas about a poor unhappy slave
That lived for many a year,
But now he's dead and in his grave,
No master does he fear."

All joining with subdued voices gave the chorus:--

"The poor old slave has gone to rest,
We know that he is free;
Disturb him not, but let him rest
'Way down in Tennessee."

There were several favorite melodies which we had often sung in camp,
when, as on a pleasant Sunday evening, we were met together in little
knots, to mingle our emotions in plaintive song, thinking of dear
friends at home. One of these was a simple ballad describing the
following incident--one of the most touching of the war. A youthful
soldier from the state of Maine died in New Orleans, with none but
strangers--as has been the lot of many--to watch over him in his dying
hours, or to perform the sad rites of burial. When the funeral service
was over, and the coffin was about to be closed, an elderly lady
present approached the remains, saying: "Let me kiss him for his
mother."

"Let me kiss him for his mother, Let me kiss his dear youthful brow; I
will love him for his mother, And seek her blessing now. Kind friends
have sooth'd his pillow, Have watched his ev'ry care; Beneath the
weeping willow, Oh! lay him gently there.

CHORUS: Sleep, dearest, sleep;
I love you as a brother;
Kind friends around you weep,
I've kissed you for your mother."

The words and melody harmonised with our feelings and lent them a
deeper tone as our united voices floated out upon the soft, still
evening air.

With songs of pathos, of love, and of home we mingled strong patriotic
airs. But it was curious to observe how by a common instinct everything
like coarseness and drollery was avoided. The absurd rollicking songs,
most popular on the march, were now scarcely hinted at. And in this way
an hour passed into oblivion as softly as if we had been asleep
dreaming of home which then was heaven, or near it. The bridge had
become shadowy in the gathered darkness, the curve line of the bivouac
was invisible except as it was dotted out by the blazing fires, the
water gleamed with the dancing images of flame, and overhead thousands
of stars had come out to be witness of our flow of soul. And now as the
spirit of stillness was creeping over the enchanted valley, we spread
our rubber blankets under th