fingers, just ready to put the deadly charge where it might meet the foe. All ferocity had gone. A remarkably sweet and youthful face was that of a rebel boy. Scarce eighteen, and as fair as a maiden, with quite small hanās, long hair of the pale golden hue that auburn changes to, if muck in the sun, and curling at the ends. He had a shirt of coarse white cotton, and brown pants well worn; while upon his feet were a woman's shoes about the size known as 'fours.' His left side was torn by a shell, and his left shoulder shattered. Two men, who had caught at a fig tree to assist them up a steep embankment, lay dead at his feet, slain, in all probability, by an enfilade from their right; the branch at which they caught was still in their grasp. Several were headless, others were armless; but the manner of their death was always plain. The Minie left its large, rather clear hole; the shell its horrid rent; the shrapnel and grape their clear, great gashes, as though one had thrust a giant's spear through the tender quivering flesh. In one trench lay two, grasping the same weapon-friend and foe. Across their hands fell a vine, the end upon the breast of a rebel, where it had fallen with them from an elevation above, the roots still damp with the fresh earth; upon it was a beautiful passion flower in full bloom, and two buds; the buds were stained with blood-the flower as bright as was the day when the morning stars sang together. On the faces of both was the calm that follows sleep-rather pale, perhaps, but seeming like him of old, of whom it is said, 'He is not dead, but sleepeth.' But ah, the crimson! All is not well when the earth is stained with blood. In some places the dead were piled, literally, like sacks of grain upon the shore. "It is remarkable with what patience the fatally wounded-they who already stood upon the shore-bore their sufferings. Some knew that they could not recover, but bore it manfully. Sometimes a tear, and a low voice would say, 'My sweet wife!' or 'Darling!' 'Mother!' or 'God forgive!'-a quiver-then, all was over." Notwithstanding such havoc, and the mourning homes, the poet, Alfred B. Street, with many other bards, expressed the national rejoicing, and the grateful admiration of Grant⚫ Vicksburg is ours! Treachery cowers! Hurrah! Down reels the rebel rag! Vicksburg is ours! Hurrah! Arch the green bowers! Hurrah! Arch o'er the hero, who Nearer and nearer drew, Swift as the lightning's ray, Thundering upon his path, With his red battle wrath; Flashing on, thundering on; Pausing then once again, Curbing with mighty rein, All his great heart, as vain Writhed the fierce foe, the chain Tighter and tighter round, Till the reward was found Till the dread work was doneTill the grand wreath was won. Triumph is ours! Hurrah! CHAPTER XVII. The Eastern Army-Port Hudson falls-The "Father of Waters" open Joe Johnston pursued-Jeff. Davis's Library found-Jackson surren ders-General Grant's care of his Soldiers-His Politics-AnecdotesLooks after his Department-Mrs. Grant visits him-General Grant goes to Memphis-A splendid Reception. EANWHILE, the battle was raging in the East. There, too, the army was covered with glory. Almost the very hour that Vicksburg falls, General Meade, at the head of his battalions, beats back the most threatening tide of secession, under Lee, which had ever overswept the bor der of the Free States. The terrific and glorious field of Gettysburg, Pa., is won, the national honor saved, and the invader sent, stunned and bleeding, back within his lines. Memorable Fourth of July indeed to the war-scarred land! The country was wild with joy amid showers of tears for the slain. But let us look down the Mississippi again. The morning sun of July 7th floods the "Father of Waters." Hark! how the naval lions roar on the bright waters! Peal after peal reverberates along the green shores. The rebel garrison of Port Hudson, whose guns are silent, wonder at the sound, the interludes of which were cheers of wildest rejoicing. They listen all day, and, as the evening approaches, their curiosity could endure the strange demonstration no longer. At one of the points, where the armies were within speaking distance, a rebel officer cailed out: "What are you making all that noise about? Union officer. "What will convince you?" Rebel. "Nothing but the copy of the despatch, or some reliable authority." Union officer. "Well, I'll get a copy, and pass it over the parapet." Rebel. "If you'll do that, and vouch for its genuineness on your honor as a gentleman and a soldier, I'll believe it." The Union man soon furnished the evidence required, copied in his own hand. The rebel took it, and read it, saying: "I am satisfied. It is useless for us to hold out longer." Meanwhile, General Grant had managed to have a message to General Banks intercepted by the enemy, conveying the same intelligence. General Frank Gardiner sent to the latter to know if it were true that Vicksburg had surrendered. When assured it was, he, too, pulled |