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The Chinese and the Yankees are exceedingly alike, and we have always thought that they were much more nearly related than the Japanese and the almond-eyed people of the Flowery Kingdom.

When a Chinaman prepares for war–measuring his enemy’s courage by his own–he attempts to work upon his fears. He puts on a hideous mask, arms himself with a huge shield, upon which he paints some unearthly monster; and, when thus accoutred, he goes forth in cold sweat to encounter the enemy. As soon as he beholds his adversary, he utters a fearful roar, broadsides his shield, and if his opponent does not at once take to his heels, John Chinaman always does.

The wars of New England have always been conducted upon the Chinese plan. To hear their orators, and read their newspapers, one would suppose that he was looking at a Chinaman clothed with all the pomp and circumstance of mask, shield, and stink-pot. The Yankee orators are only equalled by the Yankee editors in deeds of valor. Let war be breathed, and the first swear to a man that they are ready and anxious to exterminate creation, whilst the latter, not content, like Alexander, to sigh for more worlds to conquer, threaten to destroy the laws of gravity, and lay violent hands upon the whole planetary system. Yet, these war mandarins are all members of the Peace Society, and would no more think of resenting a blow on the cheek, the seduction of a wife, or the dishonor of a daughter, than they would of flying. We have not forgotten how all Massachusetts collected in Boston when Anthony Burns was to be delivered to his Virginia master, and swore that it should not be done. A single file of soldiers, however, marched the fugitive from State Street to the lower end of Long Wharf, through miles of streets packed with valorous fanatics, who did nothing but sing old Puritan hymns, with a most hideous and barbarous disregard to metre.—Richmond Examiner.

Originally posted 2008-06-11 12:20:04.

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The following is a true and singularly remarkable story of a pigeon captured by Mr. Tinker, a teamster of the Forty-second New York Volunteers, while the regiment was encamped at Kalorama Heights, Va. Mr. Tinker made a pet of him, and kept him in camp until they started for Poolesville. Strange to say, the pigeon followed on with the train, occasionally flying away at a great distance, but always returning, and when weary, would alight on some wagon of the train.

At night he was sure to come home, and, watching his opportunity, would select a position, and quietly go to roost in Tinker’s wagon.

Many of the men in the regiment took a fancy to him, and he soon became a general favorite. From Poolesville he followed to Washington, and down to the dock, where Tinker took him on board the steamer; so he went to Fortress Monroe, thence to Yorktown, where he was accustomed to make flights over and beyond the enemy’s works, but was always sure to return at evening, to roost and receive his food in Tinker’s wagon. From thence he went all through the Peninsular campaign, afterwards to Antietam, and Harper’s Ferry, witnessing all the battles fought by his regiment.

By this time he had gained so much favor, that a friend offered twenty-five dollars to purchase him; but Tinker would not sell him at any price, and soon after sent him home as a present to some friend. It might be interesting to trace the future movements of this remarkable specimen of the feathered tribe, but none will doubt his instinctive loyalty, and attachment to the old Tammany regiment.

Any of the brave Forty-second boys, who read this history of their favorite, will attest the truth of these statements, and be pleased to see him honored by this history of his wanderings. Such devotion to the Stars and Stripes is a fair illustration of the character of the Tammany regiment in the field, and worthy of imitation by those who have more than instinct to guide them.

Originally posted 2008-06-10 12:08:33.

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“When I was in Jefferson, in the fall of 1862,” said Robert Collyer, “I found the hospitals in the most fearful condition you can imagine. I cannot stop to tell you all the scenes I saw; it is enough to say that one poor fellow had lain there sick on the boards, and seen five men carried away dead, one after another, from his side. He was worn to a skeleton, worn through, so that great sores were all over his back, and filthy beyond description.

“One day, a little before my visit, old Hannah, a black woman, who had some washing to do for a doctor, went down the ward to hunt him up. She saw this dying man, and had compassion on him, and said, ’O, doctor, let me bring this man to my bed, to keep him off the floor.’

“The doctor said, ’The man is dying; he will be dead to-morrow.’ To-morrow came, and old Hannah could not rest. She went to see the man, and he was still alive. Then she got some help, took her bed, put the man on it, and carried him boldly to her shanty; then she washed him all over, as a woman washes a baby, and fed him with a spoon, and fought death, hand to hand, day and night, and beat him back, and saved the soldier’s life.

“The day before I went to Jefferson, the man had gone on a furlough to his home in Indiana. He besought Hannah to go with him, but she could not spare time; there was all that washing to do. She went with him to the steamboat, got him fixed just to her mind, and then kissed him, and the man lifted up his voice, as she left, and wept like a child. I say we have grown noble in our suffering.”

Originally posted 2008-06-09 12:04:35.

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One of the most interesting incidents of the battle of Bull Run, says a Southern journal, is presented in the case of Willie P. Mangum, Jr., son of Ex-Senator Mangum, of North Carolina. This young man was attached to Col. Fisher’s regiment, and owes the preservation of his life to a copy of the Bible presented him by his sister. He had the good book in his left coat-pocket. It was struck by a ball near the edge, but the book changed the direction of the bullet, and it glanced off, inflicting a severe, but not dangerous flesh wound. The book was saturated with blood, but the advice written on a fly-leaf by the sister who gave it was perfectly legible.

Originally posted 2008-06-08 13:42:18.

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