'Twas dearly we loved him, our Drummer Boy, with a fire in his bright black eye,
That flashed forth a spirit too great for his form-he was only just so high,
As tall perhaps as your little lad who scarcely reaches your shoulder—
Though his heart was the heart of a veteran then-a trifle, it may be, the bolder.

He pressed to the front, our lad so leal, and the works were almost won,
A moment more and our flags had swung o'er the muzzle of murderous gun
But a raking fire swept the van and he fell 'mid the wounded and slain,
With his wee, wan face turned up to Him who feeleth His children's pain.

Again and again our lines fell back, and again with shivering shocks
They flung themselves on the rebels' works as the fleet on the jagged rocks;
To be crushed and broken and scattered amain, as the wrecks of the surging
storm,

Where none may rue and none may reck of aught that has human form.

So under the Ridge we were lying for the order to charge again,
And we counted our comrades missing and we counted our comrades slain;
And one said, “Johnnie, our Drummer Boy, is grievously shot and lies
Just under the enemy's breastworks; if left on the field he dies."

Then all the blood that was in me surged up to my aching brow,

And my heart leaped up like a ball in my throat-I can feel it even now,
And I swore I would bring that boy from the field if God would spare my breath,
If all the guns on Mission Ridge should thunder the threat of death.

I crept and crept up the ghastly Ridge, by the wounded and the dead,
With the moans of my comrades right and left, behind me and yet ahead,
Till I came to the form of our Drummer Boy, in his blouse of dusty blue,
With his face to the foe, 'neath the enemy's guns where the blast of the battle
blew.

And his gaze as he met my own, God wot, would have melted a heart of stone,
As he tried like a wounded bird to rise, and placed his hand in my own;
So wan and faint, with his ruby-red blood drank deep by the pitiless sward,
While his breast with its fleeting, fluttering breath throbbed painfully slow and
hard.

And he said in a voice half smothered, though its whisperings thrill me yet,
“I think in a moment more that I would have stood on that parapet,
For my feet have trodden life's rugged ways, and I have been used to climb
Where some of the boys have slipped, I know, but I never missed a time.

"But now I never more will climb, and, sergeant, when you see
The men go up those breastworks there, just stoop and waken me;
For though I cannot make the charge and join the cheers that rise,
I may forget my pain to see the old flag kiss the skies."

Well, it was hard to treat him so—his poor limb shattered sore—
But I raised him to my shoulder and to the surgeon bore,
And the boys who saw us coming each gave a shout of joy,
Though some in curses clothed their prayers, for him, our Drummer Boy.

When sped the news that "Fighting Joe" had saved the Union right,
With his legions fresh from Lookout; and that Thomas massed his might
And forced the rebel center; and our cheering ran like wild,
And Sherman's heart was happy as the heart of a little child;

When Grant from his lofty outlook saw our flags by the hundred fly
Along the shores of Mission Ridge, where'er he cast his eye;
And our Drummer Boy heard the news and knew the battle done,
The valiant contest ended, and the glorious victory won;

Then he smiled in all his agony beneath the surgeon's steel,
And joyed that his the blood to flow his country's woes to heal;
And his bright, black eyes so yearning grew strangly glad and wide-
I think that in that hour of joy he would have gladly died.

Ah, neʼer again our ranks were cheered by our little Drummer's drum,
When rub, rub, rub-adub-dub, we knew that our hero had come;
Beat brisk at morn, beat sharp at eve, rolled long when it called to arms,
With rub, rub, rub-adub-dub, 'mid the clamor of rude alarms!

Ah, ne'er again our black-eyed boy looked up in the veteran's face,
To waken thoughts of his children safe in mother love's embrace!
O, ne'er again with tripping feet he ran with the other boys,-
His budding hopes were cast away as they were idle toys.

But ever in our hearts he dwells, with a grace that never is old,
For him the heart to duty wed can nevermore grow cold,

His heart the hero's heart, we name the loyal, true, and brave—
The heart of the soldier hoar and gray, of the lad in his Southern grave!

And when they tell of their heroes, and the laurels they have won

Of the scars they are doomed to carry, of the deeds that they have done;
Of the honor to be biding among the ghastly dead,

The gory sod beneath them, the bursting shell o'erhead,

My heart goes back to Mission Ridge and the Drummer Boy who lay

With his face to the foe, 'neath the enemy's guns, in the charge of that terrible day; And I say that the land that bears such sons is crowned and dowered with all The dear God giveth nations to stay them lest they fall.

O, glory of Mission Ridge, stream on, like the roseate light of morn,
On the sons that now are living, on the sons that are yet unborn!
And cheers for our comrades living and tears for those passed away!
And three times three for the Drummer Boy who fought at the front that day!

VERY nation has its symbolic ensign. Some have beasts, birds, fishes or reptiles in their banners. Our forefathers chose the stars and stripes, the red telling of the blood shed by them for their country; the blue, of the heavens and their protection, and the stars represent a constellation of States. The idea was taken from the constellation Lyra, which signifies harmony. The blue of the field was taken from the edges of the Covenanters' banner, significant of the league and covenant against oppression, involving the virtues of vigilance, perseverance, and justice. The thirteen stripes and stars showed the number of the united colonies. The whole was a blending of the various flags previous to the Union flag-the red one of the army and the white one of the floating batteries. The red color denotes daring and defiance, and the white purity.

Our banner with its stars and stripes is a familiar object; everybody has seen it and admired it, and no wonder, for it is the handsomest flag in the world. Red, white, and blue-those alternate red and white stripes in beautiful contrast with the blue field bedecked with stars, as though a piece of the sky had been taken to add more beauty to our national emblem, which makes it, in truth, "The Star Spangled Banner."

The first flag, combining thirteen stars and thirteen stripes, was made in Philadelphia, by Mrs. John Ross, in a small two-story house, No. 239 Arch street (house still standing). A committee of Congress, accompanied by General Washington, called upon Mrs. Ross and engaged her to make a flag from a drawing made by General Washington, with pencil, in her back parlor. The flag thus designed was adopted by a resolution of Congress, on the 14th of June, 1777. Early in 1794, in consequence of the admission of Vermont, March, 1791, and Kentucky, June, 1792, into the Union, an act was passed increasing the stars and stripes from thirteen to fifteen, to take effect May, 1795.

The admission of the States of Tennessee, Ohio, Louisiana, and Indiana made changes in the flag necessary. Accordingly, on the admission of Indiana, a committee was appointed, and through the exertion of Hon. Peter Wendover, of New York, the following law was enacted:

AN ACT TO ESTABLISH THE FLAG OF THE UNITED STATES.

SECTION 1.-Be it enacted, etc., That from and after the fourth day of July next, the flag of the United States be thirteen horizontal stripes, alternate red and white; that the union have twenty stars, white in a blue field.

SEC. 2.-And be it further enacted, That on the admission of every new State into the Union one star be added to the union of the flag, and that such addition shall take effect on the fourth of July next succeeding such admission.

Approved April 4, 1818.

Fifty million people of this country honor, love, revere, and recognize this flag as the national ensign. The little child plays with it as a toy and the strong man forsakes home and family, and, if need be, lays down his life to protect its honor. Its mute eloquence needs no aid to interpret its significance. Fidelity to the Union blazes from its stars, allegiance to the government beneath which we live is wrapped in its folds.

THE HERO OF RODMAN'S POINT.

[On the 30th of March, 1863, a large rebel force surrounded Washington, N. C., which place was garrisoned at the time by some 1,100 men, composed of the 27th and 44th Mass., and detachments of the 3d N. Y. Artillery, 3d N. Y. Cavalry, and the 1st N. C. Union Volunteers. On the evening of the above date, Captain Lyons, with a company of the 1st N. C., crossed the Pamlico river, to occupy Rodman's Point, below the town, and as their flat boat struck bottom, near the shore, a heavy volley was fired upon them from the enemy, in ambush. Sixteen men were killed or wounded. The men threw themselves upon the bottom of the boat, hardly knowing what to do, when a colored man arose, saying: 'Some one's got to die to get out of dis 'ere, an' it might as well be me." He at once jumped overboard, pushed the flat boat into the stream, and, as it swung clear, he fell mortally wounded, his body fairly riddled with bullets. This noble act is touchingly told in the poem.]

SOLDIER of the Union mustered And doomed battalions, storming the out,"

redoubt.

Is the inscription of an unknown Thou unknown hero sleeping by the grave

At Newport News, beside the salt sea

wave,

sea

In thy forgotten grave! with secret shame

Nameless and dateless; sentinel or I feel my pulses beat, my forehead

Shot down in skirmish, or disastrous When I remember thou hast given for

CALIBER FIFTY-FOUR.

By WILL CARLETON.

"Not much!" said the boy, with Away the boy, his spurs sharp set,