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2 [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.