eir children hereafter the story,
His lips shall be silent forever and aye.

A smile lit his face, for the foe were retreating,
And the shouts of his comrades his lips were repeating,
And true to his country his chill heart was beating,
When over his senses a weariness crept.

The rifle's sharp crack, the artillery's thunder,
The whizzing of shell and their bursting asunder,
Heaven rending above and the earth rumbling under,
Nevermore might awake him, so soundly he slept.

He had rushed to the wars from the dream of his wooing,
For fame as for favor right gallantly suing,
Stem duty each softer emotion subduing,
In the camp, on the field--the dominion of Mars.

And there when the dark and the daylight were blended,
Still there when the glow of the sunset was ended,
He slept his last sleep, undisturbed, unattended,
Overwept by the night, overwatched by the stars.

BATON ROUGE, LA., _September 10th, 1863._

MY MISSION.

I opened my eyes and looked out.

Not that I had been exactly asleep, but dreamily ruminating over a
series of chaotic visions that had about as much reason and order as a
musical medley. I had been riding in the cars for the past six hours,
and had now become so accustomed to the monotony that all idea of a
change seemed wildly absurd; in my half-awake state, I was feebly
impressed with the conviction that I was to ride in the cars for the
remainder of my existence.

The entrance of the conductor, with the dull little glowworms of lamps
which he so quickly jerked into their proper places, made a sudden break
in my train of thought; and, not having anything else to occupy me just
then, I became speedily beset with the idea that the luminary just above
my head was only awaiting a favorable opportunity to tumble down upon
it. The thought became unpleasantly absorbing; and, not having
sufficient energy to get up and change my seat, I looked out of the
window again.

The prospect was, like most country views, of no particular beauty when
seen in the ungenial light of a November evening: the sky rather leaden
and discouraging; the earth, chilled by the sun's neglect, was growing
shrivelled and ugly with all its might; and the trees were dreary
skeletons, flying past the car window in a kind of mad dance, after the
fashion of Alonzo and the false Imogen. I gave up the idea of making the
cars my future residence, and considered that it was quit