Anything heavy, or hard, or keen!
Any sort of slaying-machine!
Anything with a willing mind,

And the steady arm of a man behind.

Want a weapon? Why, capture one!
Every Doodle has got a gun,
Belt and bayonet, bright and new:
Kill a Doodle and capture two!

Shoulder to shoulder, son and sire!
All, call all! to the feast of fire!
Mother and maiden, and child and slave,
A common triumph or a single grave.

BLACK, THE SCOTCHMAN.

ONE of the Confederate soldiers in the Virginia army was a rough Scotchman, named Black. His relatives were at the South, and, desiring to get to them, he had joined the Northern army, with the intention of deserting at the first opportunity. When on picket-guard at the river, therefore, he pretended to bathe, and being a good swimmer, dexterously struck out for the Virginia shore. When midway, the rogue turned and shouted-"Good-bye, boys; I'm bound for Dixie !" "Come back, or we'll shoot !" answered the guard. "Shoot and be d, you white-livered nigger thieves !" shouted Black; and in the midst of a shower of Minie balls he reached his destination. He entered at once the Confederate ranks, and proved an active fighter. During the battle he performed many feats of daring, and at night

formed one of a corporal's guard who escorted a full company of captured Federals off the hotly-contested ground. As Black was laughing and joking, the captain of the Federals remarked to him:

"I ought to know that voice! Is that you, Black?"

"That's me!" jocosely replied the renegade Scotchman. "I couldn't stay with you, you see; it wasn't because I feared to fight, but I like to fight in the right cause always." Singular enough, Black was escorting his old company, officers and all!

A NEW USE FOR A SHELL.

CAPTAIN T. J. ADAMS, of the army of Northern Virginia, relates the following incident:

"Private William Guffey, of my company, while rubbingup his 'field-piece,' as he was pleased to call his rifle, had the misfortune to have it smashed by a mortar shell. Ho was more enraged than frightened by the occurrence, and uttered a very uncomplimentary expression against the whole Yankee race. When he saw the shell, with the fuse burning rapidly, and almost ready to explode the dreadful missile, he cried out, 'Why, there's the darned old thing frying now!' And immediately seizing it, he threw it over the works."

AN ENGLISHMAN IN MISSISSIPPI.*

ON reaching Crystal Springs, half way to Jackson, we found General Loring's division crossing the railroad, and marching east. It had been defeated, with the loss of most of its artillery, three days before, and was now cut off from General Pemberton.

At five in the afternoon the conductor stopped the engine, and put us out at a spot nine miles distant from Jackson; and as I could procure no shelter, food, or conveyance there, I found myself in a terrible fix.

At this juncture, a French boy rode up on horseback, and volunteered to carry my saddlebags as far as Jackson, if I could walk and carry the remainder. Gladly accepting this unexpected offer, I started with him to walk up the railroad, as he assured me the Yankees had really gone; and during the journey he gave me a description of their conduct during the short time they had occupied the city.

On arriving within three miles of Jackson, I found the railroad destroyed by the enemy, who, after pulling up the track, had made piles of the sleepers, and put the rails in layers on the tops of these heaps. They had then set fire to the sleepers, which had caused the rails to bend when redhot. The wooden bridges had also been set on fire, and were still smoking.

When within a mile and a half of Jackson, I met four men, who stopped and questioned me very suspiciously, but they at length allowed me to proceed, saying that these "were curious times." After another mile, I reached a mild trench, which was dignified by the name of the "Fortifica

* From the Diary of Lieutenant Colonel Fremantle.

tions of Jackson." A small fight had taken place there four days previous, when General Johnston had evacuated the city. When I got inside this trench, I came to the spot on which a large body of Yankees had recently been encamped. They had set fire to a great quantity of stores and arms which they had been unable to carry away with them, and which were still burning and were partially destroyed. I observed also a great number of pikes, and pike-heads, among the debris.

At the entrance to the town, the French boy took me to the house of his relatives and handed me my saddlebags. I then shouldered my saddlebags and walked through the smoking and desolate streets toward the Bowman House hotel.

I had not proceeded far, before a man with long gray hair, and an enormous revolver, rode up to me and offered to carry my saddlebags. He then asked me who I was. And after I told him, he thought a few moments, and then said, "Well, sir, you must excuse me, but if you are a British officer, I can't make out. what on earth you are doing at Jackson just now!" I could not but confess that this was rather a natural idea, and that my presence in this burning town must have seemed rather odd, more especially as I was obliged to acknowledge that I was there entirely of my own free will, and for my own amusement.

Mr. Smythe, for so this individual was named, then told me, that if I was really the person I represented myself, I should be well treated by all; but that, if I could not prove myself to be an English officer, an event would happen which it was not difficult to foresee. And the idea caused a disagreeable sensation about the throat!

Mr. Smythe gave me to understand that I must remain a

prisoner for the present. He conducted me to a room in the Bowman House hotel, where I found myself speedily surrounded by a group of eager and excited citizens, who had been summoned by Smythe to conduct my examination.

At first they were inclined to be disagreeable. They exainined my clothes, and argued as to whether they were of English manufacture. Some, who had been in London, asked me questions about the streets of the metropolis, and about my regiment. One remarked that I was "mighty young for a lootenant-colonel."

When I suggested that they should treat me with proper respect until I was proved to be a spy, they replied that their city had been brutally pillaged by the Yankees, and that there were many suspicious characters about.

Every thing now looked very threatening, and it became evident to me that nothing would relieve the minds of these men so much as a hanging match. I looked in vain for some one to take my part, and I could not even get any one to examine my papers.

At this critical juncture, a new character appeared on the scene, in the shape of a big, heavy man, who said to me, "My name is Doctor Russell; I am an Irishman by birth, and I hate the British Government and the English nation; but if you are really an officer in the Coldstream Guards, there is nothing I won't do for you; you shall come to my house, and I will protect you."

I immediately showed Doctor Russell my passport and my letters of introduction to General Johnston and the other Confederate officers; he pronounced them genuine, promised to stand by me, and wanted to take me away with him at once. But observing that the countenances of Smythe and his colleagues did not by any means express satisfaction at this