Slowly and silently pass the hours of the night, The east blushes red, and the stars fade one by one; The sun has risen, and far away on the right The booming artillery tells that the fight is begun. * * * * * 'Steady, boys, steady; now, forward! charge bayonet!' Onward they sweep with a torrent's resistless might; With the rebels' life-blood their glittering blades are wet, And many a patriot falls in the desperate fight. The battle is ended--the victory won--but where Are Harry and Charlie, and Tom with the dauntless eyes, Who went forth in the morn, so eager to do and to dare?-- Alas! pale and pulseless they lie 'neath the starry skies. Together they stood 'mid the storm of leaden rain, Together advanced and charged on the traitor knaves, Together they fell on the battle's bloody plain, To-morrow together they'll sleep in their lowly graves. A father's voice fails as he reads the list of the dead, And a mother's heart is crushed by the terrible blow; Yet there's something of pride that gleams through the tears they shed, Pride, e'en in their grief, that their boys fell facing the foe. And though the trumpet of fame shall ne'er tell their story, Nor towering monument mark the spot where they lie, Yet round their memory lingers an undying glory: They gave all they could to their country--they only could die. A MERCHANT'S STORY. 'All of which I saw, and part of which I was.' CHAPTER XXII. I found Selma plunged in the deepest grief. The telegram which informed her of Preston's death was dated three days before (it had been sent to Goldsboro for transmission, the telegraph lines not then running to Newbern), and she could not possibly reach the plantation until after her father's burial; but she insisted on going at once. She would have his body exhumed; she must take a last look at that face which had never beamed on her but in love! Frank proposed to escort her, but she knew he could not well be spared from business at that season; and, with a bravery and self-reliance not common to her years and her sex, she determined to go alone. Shortly after my arrival at the house, she retired to her room with Kate, to make the final arrangements for the journey; and I seated myself with David, Cragin, and Frank, in the little back parlor, which the gray-haired old Quaker and his son-in-law had converted into a smoking room. As Cragin was lighting his cigar, I said to him: 'Have you heard the news?' 'What news?' 'The dissolution of Russell, Rollins & Co.' 'No; there's nothing so good stirring. But you'll hear it some two years hence.' 'Read that;' and I handed him the paper which Hallet had signed. 'What is it, father?' asked Frank, his face alive with interest. 'Cragin will show it to you, if it ever gets through his hair. I reckon he's learning to read.' 'Well, I believe I _can't_ read. What the deuce does it mean?'