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I'm a lover of God and His Son Jesus Christ. In addition I love to make yesterday's words come alive through the republishing of good and profitable books of old. The Civil War project is an ongoing labor of love. - Karan

LOVE, HATE, AND PIETY ON THE BATTLE-FIELD.–

A Rhode Island soldier, utterly exhausted, stepped aside to rest a few moments under the shade. There he found a gasping and dying Southern soldier, and put his almost exhausted canteen to his parched lips. The dying soldier–an enthusiast in his cause–with high excitement gasped out: “Why do you come to fight us? We shall utterly annihilate you. We have ninety thousand men. You can never subjugate us. We have a series of batteries beyond which will destroy all the armies you can bring.” The Rhode Island soldier proceeded to state–and how strange and how tremendously real the discussion then and so!–that the object of the war was not the subjugation of the South, but the preservation of the Union. “And now,” said the manly fellow, “I have given you water from my canteen, when its drops are more precious than diamonds. If you had found me in this state, what would you have done?” The eyes of the dying man gleamed, as the soldier said, like those of a basilisk, and he replied, “I would have put my bayonet to your heart.” In a few moments he went into eternity, and the Rhode Islander resumed his place on the battle-field.

But there were also instances of Christian feeling exhibited on the battle-field, one of which is very affecting. A wounded Federal soldier was hastily carried to a wood, and placed by the side of a dying Georgian. The Georgian, evidently a gentleman, said to him, as they lay bleeding side by side. “We came on this field enemies–let us part friends;” and extended to him his hand, which the other grasped with the reciprocal expression of friendly feeling. They were both Christian men, and they lay with clasped hands on that bloody field, until the hand of the noble Georgian was cold in death. How beautiful that scene, amid the horrors of the battle-field! Who shall say, in view of it, that because of this strife between the North and South, they can never again clasp hands in mutual friendship and esteem? Who shall say that the time shall not come, when, on some well-fought field, they who met as enemies shall part as friends, and peach and restoration and mutual esteem ensue?

Another incident was sublime, and shows how close Christ Jesus is to his people, wherever they may be. A strong, tall man from Maine received a minie ball directly in his breast; and with the outstretched arms and the upward leap which is said often to mark such a death, he exclaimed, “Lord Jesus, receive my spirit.”

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TO THE WOMEN OF THE SOUTH.–

The Memphis Appeal of April 21, 1861, contains the annexed communication:

“While the man in every part of the country are arming themselves and mustering in squadrons to resist the invasion and oppression threatening our beloved land, let us emulate the enthusiasm of our husbands, sons, and friends in the cause. Many of our daughters are already active in the service with their needles. Let the matrons of every city, village, and hamlet form themselves into societies, called by some appropriate name, pledged to take care of the sick and wounded soldiers of the Confederate army, whenever the changing drama of war shall bring them in their neighborhood; to take them, if necessary and practicable, to their own homes. Let the organizations be commenced at once, with officers appointed and known, to whom the officers of the military companies may communicate the wants of the soldiers, and call upon for aid when the time for action shall come; and Baltimore has taught us how soon it may come. I offer myself for the work. Will not some matron with more time take the lead, and allow me to serve in a subordinate capacity? Let the women of the entire South join and spread the organization till not a spot within the Southern borders shall be without its band of sisters, pledged to the work and ready for it; and thus shall every mother feel assured, in sending her sons to the field, that in time of need they shall have the tender care of some other mother, whose loved ones are in the patriot ranks at other points, and our soldiers feel sure that true hearts are near them wherever they may be.

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JUVENILE PATRIOTISM.–

In Manchester, New Hampshire, a little fellow just past his first decade stepped into his father’s office, and said to one of the clerks, “I shall get my company full pretty soon; I have sworn in three to-day.”

“Sworn in,” said the clerk; “how did you do it?”

“I made them hold up their hands and say, ‘Glory to God,'” said the incipient Captain.

The following is a counterpart for the above story. A six-year old Boston boy, who had become deeply imbued with the martial spirit, undertook to act as commander of a diminutive company in a New Hampshire town, where he was spending his vacation. He somewhat “astonished the natives” by the following order, given in a very excited tone: “Company! Enemy’s coming! Forward, march! Amen!”

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THE JAGUAR HUNT.

BY J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

THE dark jaguar was abroad in the land;
His strength and his fierceness what foe could withstand?
The breath of his anger was hot on the air.
And the white lamb of peace he had dragged to his lair.

Then up rose the farmer; he summoned his sons:
“Now saddle your horses, now look to your guns!”
And he called to his hound, as he sprang from the ground
To the back of his black pawing steed with a bound.

O, their hearts, at the word, how they tingled and stirred!
They followed, all belted, and booted, and spurred.
“Buckle tight, boys!” said he, “for who gallops with me,
Such a hunt as was never before shall he see.

“This traitor, we know him! for when he was younger,
We flattered him, patted him, fed his fierce hunger:
But now far too long we have borne with the wrong,
For each morsel we tossed makes him savage and strong.”

Then said one, “He must die!” And they took up the cry,
“For this last crime of his he must die! he must die!”
But the slow eldest-born sauntered sad and forlorn,
For his heart was at home on that fair hunting-morn.

“I remember,” he said, “how this fine cub we track
Has carried me many a time on his back!”
And he called to his brothers, “Fight gently! be kind!”
And he kept the dread hound, Retribution, behind.

The dark jaguar, on a bough in the brake,
Crouched, silent and wily, and lithe as a snake:
They spied not their game, but, as onward they came,
Through the dense leafage gleamed two red eyeballs of flame.

Black-spotted, and grettled, and whiskered, and grim,
White-bellied, and yellow, he lay on the limb,
And so still that you saw but one tawny paw
Lightly reach through the leaves, and as softly withdraw.

Then shrilled his fierce cry, as the riders drew nigh,
And he shot from the bough like a bolt from the sky:
In the foremost he fastened his fangs as he fell,
While all the black jungle re-echoed his yell.

O, then there was carnage by field and by flood!
The green sod was crimsoned, the rivers ran blood,
The cornfields were trampled, and all in their track
The beautiful valley lay blasted and black.

Now the din of the conflict swells deadly and loud,
And the dust of the tumult rolls up like a cloud:
Then afar down the slope of the Southland recedes
The wild rapid clatter of galloping steeds.

With wide nostrils smoking, and flanks dripping gore,
The black stallion bore his bold rider before,
As onward they thundered through forest and glen,
A-hunting the stark jaguar to his den.

In April, sweet April, the chase was begun;
It was April again when the hunting was done;
The snows of four winters and four summers green
Lay red-streaked and trodden, and blighted between.

Then the monster stretched all his grim length on the ground;
His life-blood was wasting from many a wound;
Ferocious and gory, and snarling he lay,
Amid heaps of the whitening bones of his prey.

Then up spoke the slow eldest son, and he said,
“All he needs now is just to be fostered and fed!
Give over the strife! Brothers, put up the knife!
We will tame him, reclaim him, but not take his life!”

But the farmer flung back the false words in his face:
“He is none of my race who gives counsel so base!
Now let loose the hound!” And the hound was unbound,
And the lightning the heart of the traitor he found.

“So rapine and treason forever shall cease!”
And they wash the stained fleece of the pale lamb of peace;
When, lo! a strong angel stands winged and white
In a wondering raiment of ravishing light!

Peace is raised from the dead! In the radiance shed
By the halo of glory that shines round her head,
Fair gardens shall bloom where the black jungle grew,
And all the glad valley shall blossom anew!

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