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I DOAN' like de noise, er de marchin' ob de boys,—
An' I 'low I doan' s'pose I evah will,-

Er de trampin' ob de feet to de drum's wild beat,
Er de blowin' ob de bugle on de hill.

Hit minds me ob de day when Gabe marched away
An' ole missus stood beside de cabin do';
Sumpin' whispahed in my eah 'bout my little volunteah,
An' sade he nevah will come back no mo'.

I's thinkin' mos' to-day ob how he marched away,
Wid de bright sun a-climbin' up de sky;

Marched out an' down de street to de drum's wild beat, An' den how dey fotched 'im home to die.

Oh, de sad, moanful way missus bowed her head to pray,

When Gabe said, "Hit 's gittin' mighty still,

But I'll rise an' jine de boys when I heah de cannon's noise,

Er de soun' ob de bugle on de hill!"

Dar 's a spot mighty deah to dis ole darky heah,
Whar de sunshine am peekin' frough de palms.
Wid his hands 'pon his breast dar my soldier 's gone to

rest

Jes peacefully a-sleepin' in de calms.

An' de drum's wild beat er de tread ob marchin' feet I know cain't disturb 'im now until

De Lo'd gibs command, den I know he 'll rise an' stan'

At de blowin' ob de bugle on de hill.

Hit 'peahs as ef I seen de ole plantation green,

An' sometimes I reckon dat I heah

De reg'ment pass by, an I 'low I hear a cry

Like de moan ob my little volunteah,

An' de sobbin' on de day po' ole missus kneeled to pray. An' sometimes when all aroun' is still,

I kin heah de tread ob feet, to de drum's wild beat, An' de soun' ob de bugle on de hill.

Bow Hackley.

Old Sweigler appears and wonders at Tommy's hilarity.

Parnassus by Rail. BALLADE.

It is proposed to build a railway like that on the Rigi up hill of the Muses.- Foreign News.

No more the wished height to gain
We climb Parnassus, laboring,
Or where Castalian airs sustain
The murmur of the Muses' spring
Bestride the steed of daring wing
To mount aloft: we take the train

Straight for the summit with a swing,
The cog-wheel click of verses vain.

Once wound the way through grape and grain,
By laurel groves where song was king,
And birds had caught the liquid strain,
The murmur of the Muses' spring:
"Next stop Parnassus." "Ding-a-ding!"
We hear to-day; within our brain,

Instead of songs the Muses sing,
The cog-wheel click of verses vain.

We meet, instead of nymph or swain,
Men bored like us with traveling.
Winds waft to us no soft refrain,

The murmur of the Muses' spring: The breeze might bear with it a sting, Dash of the critic's cinder-rain.

Sash down! and sit we fashioning The cog-wheel click of verses vain.

Envoy.

Prince Populace, your praise will bring 'The murmur of the Muses' spring. You like it not? Then don't disdain The cog-wheel click of verses vain.

Marion M. Miller. 319

the

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119,605 16,962 5,456 ...15

The figures for the Dutch-Belgians, who behaved very badly, are mere estimates; probably the missing numbered more than 3000, and it is very unlikely that the total killed and wounded went as high as 1000.

At Gettysburg the Northerners lost 17,555 killed and wounded and 5,435 missing; in other words, they suffered an actually greater loss than the much larger army of Wellington and Blücher; relatively, it was half as great again, being something like twenty-two per cent. in killed and wounded alone. This gives some idea of the comparative obstinacy of the fighting.

But in each case the brunt of the battle fell unequally on different organizations. At Waterloo the English did the heaviest fighting and suffered the heaviest loss; and though at Gettysburg no troops behaved badly, as did the Dutch-Belgians, yet one or two of the regiments composed of foreigners certainly failed to distinguish themselves. Meade had seven in fantry corps, one of which was largely held in reserve. The six that did the actual fighting may be grouped in pairs. The Second and Third numbered nominally 23,610 (probably there were in reality several hundred less than this), and lost in killed and wounded 7586, or thirty-two per cent., and 974 missing; so that these two corps, whose aggregate force was smaller than that of Wellington's British regiments at Waterloo, nevertheless suffered a considerably heavier loss, and therefore must have done bloodier, and in all probability more obstinate, fighting. The First and Eleventh Corps, who were very roughly handled the first day, make a much worse showing in the "missing" column, but their death rolls are evidences of how bravely they fought. They had in all 18,600 men, of whom 6092, or thirty-two per cent., were killed and wounded, and 3733 missing. The Fifth and Twelfth Corps, of in the aggregate 20,147 men, lost 2990, or fifteen per cent., killed and wounded, and 278 missing.

Thus of the six Union corps which did the fighting at Gettysburg four suffered a relatively much heavier loss in killed and wounded than Wellington's British at Waterloo, and the other two a relatively much heavier loss than Blücher's Prussians.

In making any comparison between the two battles, it must of course be remembered that one occupied but a single day and the other very nearly three; and it is hard to compare the severity of the strain of a long and very bloody, with that caused by a short, and only less bloody, battle.

Gettysburg consisted of a series of more or less completely isolated conflicts; but owing to the loose way in which the armies marched into action many of the troops that did the heaviest fighting were engaged

for but a portion of the time. The Second and Third Corps were probably not heavily engaged for a very much longer period than the British regiments at Waterloo.

Both were soldiers' rather than generals' battles. Both were waged with extraordinary courage and obstinacy and at a fearful cost of life. Waterloo was settled by a single desperate and exhausting struggle; Gettysburg took longer, was less decisive, and was relatively much more bloody. According to Welling

ton the chief feature of Waterloo was the "hard

pounding"; and at Gettysburg the pounding-or, as Grant called it, the "hammering" '—was even harder. Theodore Roosevelt.

Ernest L. Major.

SOMETIME in 1884 those art students of New York whose lack of resources forbade any hope of their ever completing their studies in Paris, read with much interest that a fund had been placed in the hands of trustees, the increase of which was to be devoted to the maintenance in Paris for three years of a student from the art schools of New York. Later this interest was somewhat abated when it was learned that some years must elapse before the increment of this fund would yield an amount large enough for the purpose. The same year one of the large publishing firms of New York announced that an art competition for which it had offered a prize had failed to bring out any work which its judges deemed worthy, and that it would add the amount of this prize to the fund, and so make it possible to send a student abroad that year. The judges and trustees of this combined Hallgarten and Harper prize were to be three well-known artistsAugustus St. Gaudens, T. W. Dewing, and William M. Chase.

66

The successful competitor was Ernest L. Major, a pupil of the Art Students' League · whose picture, Springtime," exhibited at the National Academy of Design in the fall exhibition of 1890, is printed on page 229 of this number of THE CENTURY. Mr. Major was born in Washington in 1864. He began the study of art under E. C. Messer at the Corcoran Art Gallery. In 1882 he entered the Art Students' League of New York, and was a pupil of William M. Chase until his good fortune sent him to Paris in 1884. There he came under the criticism of Boulanger and Jules Lefebvre at the Académie Julien. His first envoi to the salon was in 1885, a landscape. His second, in 1888, was an important figure-subject, "Ste. Geneviève," since exhibited in America in the cities of Chicago, New York, and Boston.

It is yet too soon to predict Mr. Major's future,- he is still three years on the youthful side of thirty,— he is a good draftsman, his composition and technique are above the average, and his color is pleasant and har monious. He is possessed of a good deal of artistic individuality, evidenced by the fact that the pictures he has painted since his return to America show little of the styles or mannerisms of his masters.

William Lewis Fraser.

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I DOAN' like de noise, er de marchin' ob de boys,-
An' I 'low I doan' s'pose I evah will,-

Er de trampin' ob de feet to de drum's wild beat,
Er de blowin' ob de bugle on de hill.

Hit minds me ob de day when Gabe marched away
An' ole missus stood beside de cabin do';

Sumpin' whispahed in my eah 'bout my little volunteah,
An' sade he nevah will come back no mo'.

I's thinkin' mos' to-day ob how he marched away,
Wid de bright sun a-climbin' up de sky;
Marched out an' down de street to de drum's wild beat,
An' den how dey fotched 'im home to die.

Oh, de sad, moanful way missus bowed her head to pray,

When Gabe said, "Hit 's gittin' mighty still,

But I'll rise an' jine de boys when I heah de cannon's noise,

Er de soun' ob de bugle on de hill!"

Dar 's a spot mighty deah to dis ole darky heah,
Whar de sunshine am peekin' frough de palms.
Wid his hands 'pon his breast dar my soldier 's gone to

rest

Jes peacefully a-sleepin' in de calms.

An' de drum's wild beat er de tread ob marchin' feet I know cain't disturb 'im now until

De Lo'd gibs command, den I know he 'll rise an' stan'

At de blowin' ob de bugle on de hill.

Hit 'peahs as ef I seen de ole plantation green,
An' sometimes I reckon dat I heah

De reg'ment pass by, an I 'low I hear a cry

Like de moan ob my little volunteah,

An' de sobbin' on de day po' ole missus kneeled to pray. An' sometimes when all aroun' is still,

I kin heah de tread ob feet, to de drum's wild beat, An' de soun' ob de bugle on de hill.

Bow Hackley.

Old Sweigler appears and wonders at Tommy's hilarity.

Parnassus by Rail.

BALLADE.

It is proposed to build a railway like that on the Rigi up the hill of the Muses.- Foreign News.

No more the wished height to gain
We climb Parnassus, laboring,
Or where Castalian airs sustain

The murmur of the Muses' spring
Bestride the steed of daring wing
To mount aloft: we take the train

Straight for the summit with a swing,
The cog-wheel click of verses vain.

Once wound the way through grape and grain,
By laurel groves where song was king,
And birds had caught the liquid strain,
The murmur of the Muses' spring:
"Next stop Parnassus." " Ding-a-ding!"
We hear to-day; within our brain,

Instead of songs the Muses sing,
The cog-wheel click of verses vain.

We meet, instead of nymph or swain,
Men bored like us with traveling.
Winds waft to us no soft refrain,

The murmur of the Muses' spring: The breeze might bear with it a sting, Dash of the critic's cinder-rain.

Sash down! and sit we fashioning The cog-wheel click of verses vain.

Envoy.

Prince Populace, your praise will bring 'The murmur of the Muses' spring. You like it not? Then don't disdain The cog-wheel click of verses vain.

Marion M. Miller. 319

The March of Company A.

"FORWARD, march!" was the captain's word,
And the tramp of a hundred men was heard.
As they formed into line, in the morning gray,
Shoulder to shoulder went Company A.

Out of the shadow into the sun,
A hundred men that moved as one;
Out of the dawning into the day,
A glittering file went Company A.

Marching along to the rendezvous

By grassy meadows the road ran through,
By springing cornfields and orchards gay,
Forward, forward, went Company A.

And the pink and white of the apple trees,
Falling fast on the fitful breeze,
Scattered its dewy, scented spray
Straight in the faces of Company A.

A breath like a sigh ran through the ranks
Treading those odorous blossom-banks,
For the orchard hillsides far away,
The northern hillsides of Company A.

Forward, march! — and the dream was sped;
Out of the pine wood straight ahead
Clattered a troop of the Southern gray
Face to face with Company A.

Forth with a flash in the Southern sun
A hundred bayonets leaped like one.
Sudden drum-beat and bugle-play
Sounded the charge for Company A.

Halt! What is here? A slumbering child,
Roused by the blast of the bugle wild,
Between the ranks of the blue and gray,
Right in the path of Company A.

Nothing knowing of North or South,
Her dimpled finger within her mouth,
Her gathered apron with blossoms gay,
She stared at the guns of Company A.

Straightway set for a sign of truce
Whitely a handkerchief fluttered loose,
As under the steel of the Southern gray
Galloped the captain of Company A.

To his saddle-bow he swung the child,
With a kiss on the baby lips that smiled,
While the boys in blue and the boys in gray
Cheered for the captain of Company A.

Forth from the ranks of his halted men,
While the wild hurrahs rang out again,
The Southern leader spurred his way
To meet the captain of Company A.

Out of the arms that held her safe
He took with a smile the little waif.
A grip of the hand 'twixt blue and gray,
And back rode the captain of Company A.

Up there, in the distant cottage door,
A mother, clasping her child once more,
Shuddered at sight of the smoke-cloud gray
Shrouding the path of Company A.

A little later, and all was done -
The battle over, the victory won.
Nothing left of the pitiless fray
That swept the ranks of Company A.

Nothing left-ave the bloody stain
Darkening the orchard's rosy rain.
Dead the chief of the Southern gray,
And dead the captain of Company A.

Fallen together the gray and blue,
Gone to the final rendezvous.

A grave to cover, a prayer to say,
And-Forward, march! went Company A.
Kate Putnam Osgood.

A Day in June.

SFE the meadows white with daisies,
Hear the Bob o' Lincoln's song,
While he passes through the grasses,
While he sings the whole day long.
Daisies, daisies, daisies white,
Meadows white with daisies;
Bob o', Bob o', Bob o' bright,
Singing sweet June's praises.

See the meadows white with clover,
Hear our robin redbreast's song.
While he flashes through the ashes,
While he sings the boughs among.
Clover, clover, clover white,
Meadows white with clover;
Robin, robin, now it 's night,
Day of June is over.

Charles H. Truax.

Observations from the Farm.

THE cat is always friendly at milking-time. NEVER inform the calf which way you wish to drive him.

You can draw more milk from a cow than you can pound out.

A ROOSTER makes a pretty fair watch-dog — if you understand rooster talk.

THE old dog says, "Don't whip me; you can teach the puppies so much easier."

An old boundary fence is often very effective in keeping happiness off the place.

THE devil left more than his horns and hoof to the average cow.

ONCE in a while it really pays better to go a-fishing than it does to plow.

A COLT is like a schoolboy-willing to wrestle with you if he can get the best hold.

THE angleworms must hear you when you speak of going for trout. They are as scarce as loafers in time of a draft.

IT is a melancholy fact, but the water you have hoisted out of the well for the last ten years will not do for the stock this morning.

C. H. Crandall.

To My Only Child.

WHEN Charlie is not here
The day is long,

And haunted by a fear
Of sudden wrong.

Could woman be more dear?
More lone a song?
"When Charlie is not here
The day is long."

THE DE VINNE PRESS, NEW YORK.

Douglas Sladen.

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