"Do you consider your life worth more than other people's?"

"Then you must value it very highly."

Yes, sa, I does, more dan all dis world-more dan r million ob dollas, sa; for what would that be wuth to a ma wid the bref out of him? Self preserbashum am the first law wid me."

"But why should you act upon a different rule from other men ?"

"Because different men set different values upon dar lives-mine is not in the market."

"But if you lost it, you would have the satisfaction of knowing that you died for your country."

"What satisfaction would dat be to me when de power of feelin' was gone?"

"Then patriotism and honor are nothing to you?"

"Nuffin whatever, sa; I regard them as among de vanities !"

"If our soldiers were like you, traitors might have broken up the government without resistance."

"Yes, sa, dar would have been no help for it. I wouldn't put my head in de scale 'gainst no gobernment dat eber existed; for no gobernment could replace de loss to me."

"Do you think any of your company would have missed you if you had been killed ?"

"May be not, sa; a dead white man ain't much to dese sogers, let lone a dead nigga. But I'd a miss myself, and dat was de pint wid me.”

It is safe to say that the dusky corpse of that African will never darken the field of carnage.

A SONG OF THE SOUTH.

"It may be necessary to put the foot down firmly."-MR. LINCOLN.

64

Tramp-Tramp-Tramp."-Burger's Leonora.

THE legion is armed for the battle,
The charger is hot for the fray,
The thunders of musketry rattle,-
Yon eagle shall feast on the prey;
The corslets like diamonds are gleaming,
The standard of blood is unfurled:
Yes, put the foot down Mr. Lincoln,
And trample them out of the world!

The hosts of the West are in motion,
The North sends a ravenous pack :
Like waves on the pitiless ocean,

When the heavens above them are black,

They surge over mountain and prairie,—
Wild billows the tempests has curled :
Yes, put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln.
And trample them out of the world!

The stars in their courses are silent,
The willows in agony weep,
The wind o'er the wave murmurs sadly,

Where the ashes of Washington sleep;

The cypress is shaken with horror,
The glory of morning is furled;
Yes, put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln,
And trample them out of the world!

In the chambers once vocal with music.
And drunk with the eloquent word,
The clarion now screams for the conflict,
And the terrible tocsin is heard:
A torrent is chafing its channel.
Where only a rivulet purled :

So put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln,
And trample them out of the world!

Weak in the clouds like Antæus,

Strong upon touching the earth,
Stormy as Castor and Pollux,
Twins of Olympian birth;
Blazing with lives like the lightnings
Jove at Prometheus hurled:

Put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln,

And trample them out of the world!

What though the land is in sackcloth,
What though each minstrel is dumb:
And through sweet Wyoming's valleys
Echoes the roll of the drum;
What though from city and hamlet
Tears and entreaties are poured;
Put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln,
Slaughter the dove with the sword!

Attila, fearful destroyer,

Merciless Genghis Khan,
Veiled like the sage of Khorassan,
Utter the truculent ban;
Bright as St. George in his armor,

With blood-red cross unfurled,

Trample the insolent dragon,

Trample it out of the world.

On the rice-fields of fair Carolina

The head of the matron is bowed:
And the sire takes down the old flint-lock,
And back the old memories crowd.
He thinks of the glory of Sumter,

The valor of Marion's men,

And his heart leaps the gulf in an instant,
That yawns 'tween the now and tho then.

The daughters of Georgia are weeping,
Though Ramah's sad voices are stilled;
For the earliest violets are peeping

Where their lovers' hearts' blood shall be spilled : Her yeomen all chant the bold stanzas,

Of tyrants to infamy hurled;

But, put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln,

And trample them out of the world.

The rangers of Texas are mounting,
And will presently scour the plain;
And, brave for their homes and their kindred,
Will cover the field with the slain:
Marked you the dark-flashing eye ball,

And the lip that so scornfully curled?
Then plant the foot firm, Mr. Lincoln,
And trample them out of the world!

Florida, gem of the ocean,

Bride of the wondering sen,

Through thy sons' ardent devotion,

Born to be dauntless and free:
Thy fame is as bright as thy coastland
With diamond shell impearled,

But put the foot down, Mr. Lincoln,

And trample her out of the world!

Soft is thy name, Alabama,

And soft is thy flower-laden gale,
As it breathes over rustling woodlands,
And whitens the prospered sail.
Like yonder stricken wild-fowl
With bleeding pinion furled,
The glory is soon to be smitten,
And trampled out of the world.

Beautiful Louisiana,

Queen of the river and plain,
Blooming with verdant savannah,
Rich with the tropical cane;
Over thee floats the proud emblem
Now on the breezes unfurled,
That dares the unfeeling oppressor
To trample thee out of the world.

From thy glad fertile realm, Mississippi,
Where cotton is picked by the slave;

The pran ascendeth to heaven,

Of liberty won by the brave.

As a sound of tumultuous waters

Comes the din of the camp and the roar

Of voices that rise on the tempest,

Shouting we'll be slaves nevermore !

BELLE BOYD IN THE FEDERAL LINES.*

A FEW days after my arrival at Front Royal, a battle was fought close by at Keructown.... When I found that the

*From "Bel'e Boyd in Camp and Prison," written by herself.