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[From the Savannah (Ga.) Daily Advertiser.]
Ths Orphan Boy.
BY WIXXIAM BORK.
Tho Orphan Bov’s Prayer for the patrons and friends
of th? Catholic Orphan Asylum, of Savannah, on the
eve of his leaving that institution, after being edu
cated there:
No father, mother, sister dear.
On whose bounty to rely;
1 craved admittance at your door.
\ lonely, friendless orphan boy.
You clothed and fed me, gave me rest.
For which I paid no part;
The gratitude that swells my breast
Could burst this throbbing heart.
May peace and plenty, love and joy.
Be your portion from above;
The blessings of the orphan boy.
That never knew a mother’s love.
No diamonds, jewels, gems, or pearls,
Were ever near so grand.
As the crown that is in store for you
( the bright celestial land.
No earthly monarch ever wore
Rich gems more dazzling bright
Than the crown the widow gained
When she gave her only mite.
And where’er I go; whenever
Lone, or sad, or joyful be;
Years may pass, time ne’er can sever
This fond heart that beats for thee.
Adieu, adieu, kind patron friends.
Whate’er my fate may be,
The last faint murmurs on my lips
Shall breathe a prayer for thee.
And now, farewell, companions all:
Where’er my lot is cast,
May you aud I, at God's right hand.
Be welcomed there- at last.
Savannah, May 1, 18C8.
[For the Banner of the South,]
BATTLE SKETCHES—-NO. ONE,
NOCTURNAL RAMBLE OVER A BATTLE-FIELD.
On or about the middle of September,
18G-, there was fought a sharp and
bloody action between a portion of the
Army of Northern V irginia, and a corps
belonging’ to the Federal forces. The
action commenced at 3 o’clock in the
evening, and lasted without definite result
until night waved her sable plumes over
the scene, and put an end to the carnage.
Baffled in their assault—which was
directed against an enemy, cut off, it is
true, from the main body of his forces,
but still formidable, both on account of
his numbers and discipline, and the strong
position in a railroad cut, in which he was
intrenched—the assailants withdrew upon
the approach of nightfall, and encamped
in sullen quiet, within half a mile of the
battle-field, intending, with the morning's
light, to renew the contest. But an hour
after tatoo had beaten, a scout came into
our camp, with the news that the enemy,
not willing to hazard his safety upon the
fortune of another day’s onset, had, aban
doning his wagons, camp equipage and
artillery, by a forced march and terrific
charge upon a portion of our extreme
1. fi—unprepared for such an event —cut his
way through our forces, and succeeded in
forming a junction with his main body.
ITc had, also, owing to the suddenness and
rapidity of his flight-, been unable to carry
bis wounded with him, or to bury his
dead ; but had left them upon the field of
battle.
This was, as may be supposed, joyful
news to us, for we had almost goten quite
enough of the lighting on that day to be
eager to repeat it on the morrow ; but with
it all, there was a little of the mortification
and regret which every soldier, worthy of
the name, feels, upon the escape of an
enemy whom he had every reason to
think his own. On the receipt of the
information from the pickets, the General
in command gave orders for a detail to be
made from our regiment to accompany
the hospital corps to the scene of action,
and assist them in their search for the
wounded of the enemy, and of some of our
own men, who, it was fearful, had been
left behind when we retired, owing to the
darkness which prevailed at the time.
Although, from our position, not called
upon to go with this detail, still, as it was
our first essay in the career of arms, and
the situation, by its novelty, imparting
that charm which is so potent over the
mind and heart of youth, we decided to
do so from our own choice. Besides, as we
had heard the wild music of the cannon
ade, and our heart had throbbed and
bounded within us at the shout of the
charge, and the sharp, continuous roll of
the musketry during the day—at
such a distance, however, from the danger
as to give us all the excitement and
none of the fear which such a scene was
apt to inspire—we were anxious to go,
when all these spirit-stirring sounds were
hushed, and gaze upon that mournfulest
ot mourniul sights— a battle-field by
moonlight.
i.ut a little Vr'iino sufficed for our de
parture, taking a friend with us, and
going on some distance before the detail,
which had the usual sad preparations to
make in the way of stretchers aud litters
ftMfisis ©i shs
for the wounded, and spades and shovels
for the dead, we set out for the place of
action. A walk of a few hundred paces
across a ploughed field of grain, brought
us to the skirt of a wood from the cover
of which, during the day, our forces had
debouched upon the enemy. The darkness,
of course, veiled most of the destruction
inflicted upon it, but ever and anon the
obstruction of an enormous tree across the
pathway, or the sight of another one par
tially cut in two, and leaning for support
upon its more fortunate brethren of the
forest, the ends of branches and
boughs dismembered and drooping from
their trunks, too plainly spoke the path
of the hissing shell or plunging shot;
while occasionally in spots where, either
from the vacancies caused by missiles,
or left by nature, the rays <>f the moon
penetrated through the umbrage of the
wood, and bathed portions of the earth in
a flood of silvery light, little patches of
blood were seen crimsoning the turf, and
imparting a deeper tinge to tho leaves
which had dropped to the ground under
tire first influence of early Autumn, As
we approached nearer the outskirt of the
grove, these evidences of the bloody
strife became more frequent; instead of a
tree being cut down in an occasional
place, they were felled in spaces several
yards in diameter; and one would have
thought, had it not been for their irregu
larity, that the hands of the peaceful im
migrant had been engaged here in rescuing
a home from the wilderness, instead of a
portion—the noblest portion of God’s
creation—endowed with all the high
attributes of that race, whom He hath
placed “but. a little lower than the
Angels;” whom He hath by the blood of
His Son, placed in almost direct commu
nication with Himself—engaged with all
their mind, and heart, and soul, in vio
lating that great law which had reverbe
rated from the rocks of Mount Sinai,
saying, “Thou shall not kill.” The
spots of blood, too, had become more nu
merous, and in some places—where you
could tell, by the confused and uncertain
impress of feet upon the pathway, that a
wounded man had passed along—they had
fallen so thickly that they changed the
color of the leaves, which the passage of
minie ball or shell through the trees had
shed upon the ground, from the verdant
brightness of Summer to the subdued
hues of Autumn.
And now, the moon, which for the last,
few minutes had been struggling behind
a mass of darkening clouds, bursts forth
in augmented splendor, and sends a
million rays of light glittering through
the gloomy arches of the forest. And
stay —what dark object is that which, until
now unperceived, lies a few rods farther
on by the side of that bloody trail ? Im
pelled by a feeling which we cannot con
trol—we would call it curiosity under
other circumstances, but here it is too
light a word for so solemn a subject—we
turn towards the spot. Perhaps it is but
the remains of some monarch of ihe
forest which the winds of Heaven had
uprooted many years ago, and lying for so
long a period exposed to the assaults of
the seasons, hut this much of it was left to
remind the wanderer of its former glories ;
or it may be, some horse belonging to
the cavalry 7, or staff; some faithful dog,
who, following the fortunes of his master
to the field, had met with death, either
from the fatal ball, or scarcely less deadly
falling trunk. As we approach nearer,
the faint outlines take a more distinct
form; and see, as we attain the proper
angle of refraction, something on its
breast gleams in the moonlight like a
o
star. A lew steps more brings us to the
object—and all alone, at the dead hour of
night, with no sound but the mournful
sigh of the night breeze, as it murmurs
among tbe branches, or the melancholy hoot
of the owl, from the lofty summit ot
yonder swaying pine, unwatched by any
eyes save those of the lustrous stars
which beam high overhead in the brow
of Night, and seem to look sadly down
upon this spectacle of human strife—we
stand over the dead body of a Confede
rate Soldier. Mortally wounded in
the battle, lie tried to leave the field and
reach the rear, where he would meet
with succor and relief. He reached the
shadow of the woods before the superhu
man strength with which men mortally
wounded are endowed (and for which
Science lias never been able to account,)
had left him, and struggled on along the
little pathway till, faint Irom loss of blood,
and beginning to feel that the band ot
Death was indeed upon him, he began to
reel and stagger from one side to the
ojhor, until outraged Nature asserts her
sway, and he falls upon the greensward
never to rise in life again.
Oh, what pen can paint what we
imagine must have been the agony of
that death scene ! L nder the most sooth
ing influences —where the victim lies
upon a bed of down, with the skillful
and benevolent physician near to alleviate
by his art the physical pains which at-
tend the dissolution oi the soul ‘rom the
body—where friends and relatives caister
round and by the power of love make
the dying man feel that though he will no
longer on earth yet he will not be for
gotten, but still live enshrined in the
hearts of thos«* who remain behind —
with the holy Man of God there—whether
he be the Catholic Priest or the Protes
tant Clergyman—to offer the sweet con
solation of religion, which however much
we may slight in health is so grateful
in the hour of danger ; to soothe by his
ministrations and assuage by his prayers
the bitter pangs of death, and to point
out to the dying sinner the way to that
brighter and happier land behind the
cloud vault.
With all these ameli nations and
amenities we know death to be
terrible. Then how much more so must
ir, have been to the poor soldier lying
here in the dews of heaven under the
blue skies of Virginia, enduring
alone and unaided those pangs conse
quent upon the dismemberment of all
earthly ties. No friend or relative to
soothe, no physician to alleviate, no holy
comforter to cheer the agony' ol dying
And yet look at him more closely, see if
there be any mark of that mental or phys
ical anguish aparent, which we feel that he
must have suffered. No, the body lies
stretched upon the turf, which here has
escaped the trampling of hostile hosts—
the form which was carried so proudly to
battle this morning, imbued with that
courage and confidence, which are the
chief characteristics of the cause ot right,
now reclines on the bosom of earth,
emotionless and cold as marble. The
noble head, once the seat of thought and
intelligence, is now pillowed upon the
snarled roots of an ancient oak—from
O .
the other side of which gushes a tiny
sylvan rivulet which glides almost imper
ceptibly among the grass, gathering force
and strength as it goes, till it bursts out
upon the meadow a full-grown stream—
one hand droops listlessly by his side,
the other rests upon his breast grasping
the object which we have described as
glistening in the moonbeams; the feet
and limbs are half drawn up as if by the
inevitable death agony, but with this
single exception there is no sign save of
peace and holy calm ; none of that dis
tortion of features so common to the dead.
The face wore that sweet expression and
half smile which is noticed upon the face
of sleeping infants; and wc feel as we
gaze upon it that there can have been
nothing of bitterness, scarcely of regret
in this death.
The face too, is strikingly handsome,
and its beauty has not been marred by
the fatal shot which we see now has pen
etrated his breast. Although the lower
part of it is bronzed by exposure to the
Southern suns, the forehead is white and
smooth as alabaster, and is encircled by
thick masses of clustering ringlets, now
damp with the dews of death.
Actuated by a desire to see what it was
the soldier bad grasped so tenaciously
and attached such a. value to, we with
some difficulty succeeded in loosening
the clutch of the closed fingers and took
possession of what we now found to be a
locket, yet so covered with the blood which
had gushed from his wound, as to render
it impossible to distinguish the picture.
Taking it to the little rill behind the oak, we
saturated our handkerchief with water and
soon accomplished the removal ot the stain
from the glass and carrying it out a short
distance from the shadow ot the tree, by,
the friendly aid of the full harvest moon
we saw disclosed the features of a loveiy
female, apparently not more than twenty
one or two years old ; on the case of the
minature was engraved the letters E. E.
B , Ga.
As we stood there in the heart
of the forest alone with the dead
soldier, and gazing on what w T as 1o him
the dearest being in life, imagination
carried us on the wings of fancy far, far
away from the forests of \ irginia and
the shadow of the Blue Ridge, over the
banks of the Rappahannock, and the
meadows of the James, away from this
scene of slaughter and woe, to a peaceful
little valley in Georgia. It is one of those
picturesque spots so olten met with in
the Empire State The valley is clett
between two hills the summits of which
are crowned by a iorest oi stately pines,
which toss their long branches to and tro
to the gentle influence oi the summer
winds. The sides of the valley are cov
ered with a thick undergrowth of oak and
occasionally large masses ot hoary aud
liehened rocks, from behind one of which
bubbles a fountain of* crystal water,
which glides like a thread of light into
the valley below, and flows through the
carpet-like turf with which the valley is
bedecked, on to the mighty Ogeechee.
Nor is the habitation which the art and
ta,ste of man has placed here, unworthy
so fair a scene. Several hundred feet up
I the valley, just under the shadow of a
rocky boulder, stands a little cottage, cm-
bowered in rose trees, whose neat appear
ance and tasty architecture show that
comfort if not wealth has its abode here ;
and the porch overgrown with honey
suckle and columbine bespeaks the abode
of cultivated women of whose presence
flowers are so sure a harbinger.
Having now surveyed the outward
appearance of this habitation, let. us enter
and see if its interior accords with its
exterior Entering the vine-screened
porch, and as we enter —but, Tis in spirit
only, remember—what a scene strikes
the eye 1
In an old arm-chair near tuc open win
dow—far it is not chdi enough here for
fire—sits a fine picture of the Southern
matron, engaged in making clothes for
her soldier boy, away in the Army ot
Northern Virginia. A tew teet from
her with her head leaning on one hand,
musing over a crumpled and soiled letter
which bears too, the blots ot many tears,
is the wife of him who lies here to-night
in the gloom of the forest, dead to her
forever She sits so as to be able to ob
serve through the open window a little
boy, not more than three years old, who
is wreathing a garland of the wild flowers
which so profusely begem the tint. And
what heart is there so callous to sorrow,
or so dead to the holier and tenderer
feelings of our natuie, as not to
touched to the core by this sweet picture
of rural and domestic happiness ?—a hap
piness which is so soon to fade awav,
never to return
The letter which the young wife reads
is from the dear husband away in the
service of his country, and has brought
words full of affection and cheerfulness
to the ones at home, who have read it
again and again, and treasured each pre
cious syllable up in their hearts never to
he forgotten. And when the sun sinks
down to rest behind the golden hi us to
night. will these pure aud innocent bungs
kneel hand in hand before the footstool
of a loving God, and offer up prayers for
the welfare of cm who is already
looking down upon them lovingly
from " the bright Heaven beyond
the stars.
Filled with the sad picture which
our imagination had drawn in such
sombre colors, we walked to the side
of the dead soldier aud replaced the dear
ly prized souvenir upon his breast,
knowing that as when he lived, ’twas the
place he loved to keep it, now that he
was dead, it should be buried with him—
paving observance to a supcrstitution, il
you will, but a superstition which springs
from those higher and holier feelings
which are the noblest characteristics ot
the race of man. Hardly had we done
so when a sound of footsteps smote upon
our ear; ’twas the burial party on their
way to the battle-field. Signalling them
to come to us, wc bade them dig a grave
under the shadow ot the oak, by the side
of the rill, to serve as the la.-,t resting
place on earth for the dead.
But a lew minutes sufficed for the
dozen brawny men to hollow a home suf
ficiently large for its inmate. Carefully
those rough hands lifted him from his
blood stained couch, and placed him ten
derly and gently in his quiet home, ami
the hard eyes though used to such scenes
were dimmed by the moisture which
came unbidden to them. But stilling
such feelings they soon with their spades
filled the grave and smoothed it over with
turf as neatly as possible Then shoul
dering their instruments, they proceeded
on their way to the scene where so much
of the same work awaited them. Re
maining behind fora few minutes till the
forest was still again, in order that the
solemnity of the scene might be undis
turbed, we too took our leave of the hero,
lying alone in a strange clime and sunk
in that sleep which knows no waking
the wild shout of the charge, or the
dreadful music of the cannonade will fall
heedless upon his ears—the revielle beat
ing at morn or the tattoo sounding at
night-fall will he powerless to awake
him—The Winter will come and depart—
Slimmer will appear again—the trees will
send forth their leaves, and the wild
flowers bud into beauty—the gently flow
ing rivulet will blend its murmurs with
the sighs of tlte Southern breeze—the
birds, those sweet songsters of the skies
will thrill the arches of the forest with
their lays of love and devotion—the
turf now trampled and bruised above
his grave, will greet the spring with fresh
verdure--the skies shall be as blue—
the s ars as bright as they are now—the
sun will kiss the Eastern hills as he rises
and bathe the skies in a flood of glory
when he sets —but the sleeping soldier
shall never behold them again. And we
felt as we left the place that that one young
and innocent life, which had been quench
ed, forever, was worth more in the sight
of God than all the questions of honor
and policy over which nations have
fought since the creation.
O _ _
Impatience under affliction eats out the
life aud comfort of all our mercies.
HOW TO FORETELL THE WEATHER,
In a manual of the barometer, coin
piled by Hear Admiral Fitzroy, and pub
lished some years ago by the Liverpool
Board of Trade, the following useful (,b
--servations occur:
“ Whether clear or cloudy, a rosy sky
at sunset denotes fair weather; a red sky
in the morning bad weather, or much
wind, perhaps rain; a high dawn, w:n<] ;
and a low dawn, fair weather. Suit look
ing or delicate clouds toretell fine weather,
with moderate and light breezes; hard
edged, oily-look ing clouds, wind. A dark,
gloomy, blue sky is windy ; but a light,
blue sky indicates tine weather Gener
ally, the softer clouds look less windy,
but perhaps more rain may be expected ;
and the harder, more ‘ greasy’ rolled,
tufted, or ragged, the stronger the
coming wind will prove. Alse, a bright
yellow sky at sunset, presages wind; a
pale yellow, wet; and thus, by the preva
lence of red, yellow, or gray tints, the
coming weather may be told very nearly;
indeed, if aided by instruments, almost
exactly. Small, inky-looking clouds lure
teil rain; light scud clouds driving
across masses, show rain and wind; but,
if alone, may indicate wind only.
High upper clouds, crossing the Run,
moon or stars, in a direction different
from the lower clouds, ol the winds than
f it below, foretell a change of wind.
When sea birds fly out early and tar
to seaward, moderate wind and fair
weather may be expected. W hen they
hang about the land or over it, sometimes
flying inland, expect a strong wind with
stormy weather.
“ There are other signs of a coming
change in the weather known less gener
ally than may be desirable, and arc, there
fore, worthy of notice : such as when
birds of long flight—rooks, swalh ws
and others—hang about home aud fiy up
and down, or low, rain and wind may bo
expected. Also, when animals seek shel
tered places, instead of spreading over
their usual range ; when smoke from
chimneys does not ascend readily, or
straight upward during a calm, an un
favorable change is probable.
“ Dew is an indication of line weather:
so is fog. Neither of these form under
an overcast sky, or when there is much
wind. One sees fog occasionally rol led
away, as it were by wind, but seldom or
never formed while it is blowing. *
BREVITIES.
There are 199 parishes in Ireland in
which there is no Protestant.
Anew machine for navigating the air,
invented by a Scotchman, will be brought
out under the auspices of the British
Aeronautic Society. It is a sort of bird,
with a body fifteen feet in length, and
wings stretching out to the width oi
thirty-five feet. A tail reaches out behind
to give direction to the movement, wink
the wings are flapped by an engine o.
forty horse power. This, it is thought,
can be made to proceed through the air at
the rate of forty miles an hour.
In the 27 years, 1834 to 1861, the popu
lation of Ireland had decreased 2,155,13:
the Roman Catholic population had fallen
otf by as many as 1,930,795, or 30 per
cent., and the Protestant by 224,731, «»r
15.8 per cent. The decrease in the Esta
blished Church was 159,803, or 15.7 per
cent. Dividing the population of Ireland
into two grand classes, Protestant am'
Roman Catholic, it appears the forme
amounted to 1,289,200, or 22.23 per cent.,
while the latter amounted to 4,505,265. or
77.69 per cent.
Conversation calls out into light wha*
has been lodged in all the recesses and.
secret chambers of the soul. By occa io: -
al hints and incidents, it brings all usefu
notions into remembrance ; it unfolds and
displays the hidden treasure of knowledge,
with which reading, observation, and
study had before furnished the mind. By
mutual discourse the soul is awakened,
and altered to bring forth its hoard - ot
knowledge; audit learns how to render
them most useful to mankind, A man vi
vast reading, without conversation, is like
a miser, who lives only to himself. — Wa l *
on the J find.
The Revue Naiionale publishes ar
article by M. Leroy Beaulieu, containing
t number of terrible statistics taken tV* O.O
o Dual documents. One of them gives tin
return of the number of men killed n
action ill wars during the last fourteen
years:—Crimea, 784,991; Italy »-5,‘-'--u
Schleswig - Holstein, 3,500; >1 r:;ie
America, 281,000; South America, 51' -
000; War of 1866, 45,000; distant expo
Hit ions, 65,000. Total number ol
killed. 1,743,491.
One of the finest watches of the Ame
can Watch Company at W altham. ■>! l: "'
was presented to the Rev. Pere Oinie.
French Catholic Missionary at -da -o •
Mancbooria, in the extreme northern
part of the Empire, for his Christian '
ness in saving the lives of several V .
cans who had been shipwrecked on
Corean coast, sent overland through l mvs.
ami from thence to Mutkeu.
