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About The Yamhill County reporter. (McMinnville, Or.) 1886-1904 | View Entire Issue (May 24, 1895)
0. R. & N. £0. E. McN El LL, Receiver. and asked if I couldn't write a ’hurrah’—• something to make a noise with and get the people stirred up. I told him I thought I could. Sunday being a rainy day, I re mained at home and composed what I then named I Wish I Was In Dixie’s Land ’ Nobody ever knew how it came to be called •Dixie.’ Well, Jerry was so delighted with it that he made us rehearse all day Monday for the evening's performance. The song was a go’ right from the start. Bands played it. Musical people In Cin cinnati, Louisville and New Orleans crib bed’ it, and lawsuits followed until Firth & Pond published it under my own name and so settled the dispute as to author ship. ’’ It was first sung in New Orleans in 1860, the original words, from which all other versions sprang, being as follows: I wish I was in the land ob cotton; Old times dar am not forgotten: Look away, look away, look away, Dixie land. In Dixie land, whar 1 was born in, Early on one frosty mornin, Look away, look away, look away, Dixie laud Den I w ish I was in Dixie, CHORUS. Hooray, hooray! Glory, glory, hallelujer! Glory, glory’, halle In Dixie land I’ll took my stand, lujer! lib and die in Dixie. Glory, glory, hallelujer! On Ca-ni-yun's hap To Away, away, away down south in Dixie; py sho’. Away, away, away down south in Dixie. The war song is as follows: John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the Old missus marry "Will de weaber, ” William was a gay deceaber; grave, Look away, etc. John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in tho But when he put his arms around 'er, grave, John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the He smiled aa fierce as a forty pounder; Look away, etc. grave, Den I wish I was in Dixie, etc. His soul is marching on. His face was sharp as a butcher’s cleaber, CHORUS. Glory, halle-halleluiah! Glory, halle halle But dat did not seem to greatly greab ’er: Look away, etc. luiah ! Old missus acted the foolish part, Glory, halle-halleluiah! And died tor the man who broke her heart; His soul is marching on 1 Look away, etc. He'a gone to be a soldier iu the army of the Den I wish I was in Dixie, etc. Lord (thrice), Now, here’s health to the next old missus, His soul is marching on. And all the gals that want to kiss us; John Brown’s knapsack 1 b strapped upon his Look away, etc. back (thrice), But if you want to drive away sorrow, His soul is marching on. Come and hear dis nig tomorrow; Look away, etc. His pet lambs will meet him on the way Den I wish I was in Dixie, etc. (thrice), As they go marching on. Dar's buckwheat cakes and Ingen batter, Makes you fat or a little fatter; We will hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree Look away, etc. (thrice), Den hoe it down and scratch your grabble; As they go marching on. To Dixio’s laud I'm bound to trabble; Look away, etc. Now, three cheers for the Union (thrice). Den I wish I was in Dixie, etc. As we are marching on. It relieved the tedium of camp life, and as it resounded through columns of men tramping patiently along the dusty high ways it lightened the weariness of their footsteps. It is said that the words, with the ex ception of the first stanza, were written by Mr. Charles S. Hall of Massachusetts, but long before the war the air. wedded toother words, was familiar on every plan tation in too south. It was the favorite camp meeting melody of the negroes, and few spectacles were more inspiring than when, with grotesque gestures, they join ed in singing (the women first): Say, my brudders. will we meet yo’? Say, my brudders, will we meet yo’? Say, my brudders. will we meet yo'? On Ca-ni yun’s happy Bho'? Then the men responding: Ya-a-B, my sistern, we will meet yo’, Y’a-a-s, my sisteru, we will meet yo’, Ya-a-s, my sistern, we will meet yo', Where partin is no mo’. Soul Stirring Songs That In spired the Soldiers. TO THE PEODUOT OF FERVID PATRIOTISM, GIVES THE CHOICE OF TWO TRANSCONTINENTAL ROUTES uü : ûn nra ei EÏ. VIA VIA SPOKANE Minneapolis DENVER OMAHA AND AND ST. PAUL KANSASCY LOW RATES TO ALL EASTERN CITIES. OCEAN STEAMERS Leave Portland Every 3 Days • • FOR • ’ SAN 4- FRANCISCO For full details call on C. A. WALLA' E, McMinnville. Or. Or A(l<lr»s: W. II Ht’RLBVHT, Gen. Pass. Agt. 1‘OKTL *!»», OK. EAST AND SOUTH VIA The Shasta Route Express Trains Leave Portland Dally LËAVE. ARRIVE Portland..........<• 15 P M | San Francisco.. 10:45 A M bun Francisco. 7:00 P M Portland . ... .... 0:20 AM Above trains stop at all stations from Portland to Albany inclusive. Also Tangent, Shedds, Hal- cey. Harrisburg, Junction City, Irving, Eugene and alJ stations from Roseburg to Ashland inclu- ftiv*. Iloicburg Hail Daily. LEAVE ARRIVE Portland......... 8 30 A M I Roseburg 5 50 P M Roseburg 7-00 A M | Portland 4 JO P M DINING CARS ON OGDEN ROUTE. PULLMAN * BUFFET SLEEPERS SECOND CLASS SLEEPING CARS Attached to all Through Trains. BETWEEN .West Side Division. PORTLAND AND CORVALLIS Mail Train Daily, (Except Sunday.) Portland XrJ 5:35 t- M Y57 A~yrrxT- 10:15 A M 1 Lv 1£15 r M i Ar McMinnville Corvallis Lv 3:01 P M Lv| 1:00 P M At Albany and Corvallis connect with trains of Oregon Pacific Kuilroad, Express Train Daily, (Except Sunday.) <4‘i P Mi Lv 715 P M Lv 7 ¿5 P M I Ar Portland St. Joseph McMinnville Ar | »'.’5 A M Lv I 5 51 A Ji Lv | 5 5) A M Through Tickets to «11 points in Eastern States, Canada and Europe can be obtained at lowest rates from G A Wilcox, Agent, McMinn ville. E. P. ROGERS, Asst. G. F. & P A., Portland, Or. H KOEHLER. Manager. LOCAL DIRECTORY. CHURCHES B aptist —Services Sunday 11 a. m. and 7:3up. iu ; Sunday school 9 :aO a tn.; tht young people’s society 6:15 p m Prayer meeting Thursday 7 :30 p. tn. Covenant meeting first Sat each month 2 :00 p. in. E. B. P ace , Pastor. M ethodist E piscopal —Services every Sabbath 11 00 a. in and 7:30 p. in. Sundaj school 9:30 a m. Prayer meeting 7:00 p’ m. Thursday. L ee T hompson , Pastor. C umb . P hesb yterian — Services every Sab bath 11 00a m and 7:30 p. m. Sunday school 9:30 a. m. Y. P. C. E., Sunday 6 :30 p ni. Prayer meeting Thursday, 7 :30 p. m. E E. T hompson , Pastor. C hristian —Preaching at 11 a. ni. and at < 30 p. m on the first and third Sundays . on the second and fourth Sundays at 7:3ti until further notice At Carlton on sec ond and fourth Sundays at 11 a. in., and Saturday evening before at 7:30. At No. 8 at 3 p in on se-ond and fourth Sundays. J ames C ampbell , V. D. M.. Pastor S t . J ames E piscopal C hurch —Lay-Ser vices every Sunday at 11 o’clock a. m. S t . J ames C atholic —First st., between G and H. Sunday school 2:30 p. m. Ves per» 7 :80. Services once a month. T. Baiony, Pastor SECRET ORDERS. K nowles C hapter N o , 12, O. E. 9.—Meets a Masonic hail tue tirst ami third Monday evening in each mouth. Visiting members cordlallv in vited C H. McKINNEY, Sec. MRS C. W. TALMAGE, W. M. A 0. V. W —Charity Lodge No. 7 meets first and third Fridays of eueh mouth, 7:30 p. m. Lodge room in Union block. H. C. BURNS, M. W. J. D. BAKER. B«eorder. 10 Yamhill Lodge so. 10 D. of H. meets in Union hall second ana fourth Friday evenings of each month. C uster P ost No. 9—Meets the second «nd fourth Saturday of each month in Union hall at 7:3t p. m. on second Saturday and at 10:30 a m. on tth Saturday. All members uf the order are ■ordlallv invited to attend our meetings. J B. S tilwell , commander. B. F. CLUBINS, Adjt. Th!« extra ordinary Re- Jnveuator 1« the most wonderful discovery of the age. It has been en dorsed by the leading Belen- tltio men of Europe and America. Nudyan la gmely vege Hu«van «tope hamitureness of the dis- charge in A) days. 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Sentimental, Humorous and Purely Patri otic—Authors of “The Battle Cry of Freedom,” “Battle Hymn of the Repub lic,” “My Maryland" and “The Bonnie Blue Flag.” Tho songs of a nation are among the most enduring of its memories, and in time of war are the most potent of its mor al Influences. Frenchmen are moved by "The Marseillaise,” Germans are aroused to fighting enthusiasm by “The Watch on the Rhine,” Englishmen have inarched to battle singing “Rule Britannia” and “God Save the Queen," and we have all read bow "Annie Laurie, ” begun by a sen tinel on his post, swept in grand chorus through the British camp in front of Se vastopol. The favorite of the Italian is known as “The Garibaldian Hymn,” while we Americans recognize the loftiest and purest patriotism in the stirring measures of our own “Star Spangled Banner. ” Nevertheless it is noteworthy that no great war song ever has been written by a great poet. Its melody and verse have been rather the inspired product of fervid patriotism than of the studied effort of gen ius. During the first three years of the late war thousands of verses were composed by earnest men and women in both the north and south, but how few among these winged messengers of the brain survive! There were lyrics that timed tho march to battle, war slogans that raDg out like the Inspiring rat - a - tat of a drum and elegies that recit ed the virtues of tho hero dead, yet the memory of most of them passed away with the genera t i o n that saw their birth. Of those that have lingered longest and bld fair to become a GEORGE F. ROOT, permanent heritage of the struggle brief mention may be here made. Opinions will vary as to the degree of their popularity or order of merit, but sev eral will always retain their old ring and make the pulse beat faster wherever vet erans of the war are assembled. No one, for instance, will deny a place of honor to "The Battle Cry of Freedom.” It was one of several songs written by George F. Root, a oomposer and publisher of many other beautiful songs and ballads prior to 1861, and was first sung by the celebrated Hutchinson family at a mass meeting in the city of New York. Mr. Root was born in Sheffield, Mass., Aug 80, 1820, and as an evidence of his virility the incident may bo related that as recent ly as January of the present year, at a mil itary entertainment in Chicago, the ven erable maker of the verse and music, gray haired, yet alert, was called to the stage and in a strong voice sang his own patri otic rallying song. At the end of eaoli verse he was oheered to the echo, and not oontent with that the audience took the words out of the mouths of the army of singers and joined enthusiastically In the chorus. The story has been printed that during the desperate fight In the Wilderness, May 6, 1864, a Federal command was driven back in disorder with heavy loss Re forming, it prepared once more to confront the enemy. At this moment some of the men of the Forty-fifth Pennsylvania began to sing: We’ll rally round the flag, boys, rally once again. The refrain was taken up by other regl tnentsln line of battle, and, with recovered spirits, the previously disheartened boys dashed back into the thick of the fight. Tho original words are as follows: Yea, we’ll rally round the flag, boys. We’U rally once again, Shouting the battle cry of freedom We will rally from the hillside, We will rally from the plain, Shouting the battle cry of freedom When the war broke out, other lines were written to fit the measure, and the stirring melody at once became the ohlef war song of the south. It is said that Pres ident Lincoln requested a band to play “THE BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUB “Dixie” In 1865, a short time after the surrender of Appomattox, remarking that LIC.” For loftiness of sentiment “The Battle “as we had captured the rebel army we Hymn of the Republic” will easily take had captured also the rebel tune.” rank with the grandest of our martial songs. Having been sung many times Of “My Maryland,” which Jaiues Rus during the war, and under a variety of cir sell Lowell pronounced the finest poem cumstances, a description of the manner inspired by tbe civil war, the following in which it was composed by Mr». Julia story is told: It was In April, 1861, that Ward Howe will be of Interest. James R. Randall, a native Marylander, Being in Washington near the end of then in Louisiana, published “An Exiled the year 1861, she witnessed a review of Son’s Appeal” to his mother state to cast the Union troops on the Virginia side of her fortunes with the seceding common the Potomac and was deeply Impressed by wealths of the south. Political feeling in her experience. In the return journey to Maryland at the lime was inteuse. Tbe the city a number of war songs were sung, residence of Colonel William Mlles Cary among others "John was one of the many centers of Confed whereupon one of erate feeling among the patrician element the party suggest of the population, the greater portiou of ed that so grand which was ardently in sympathy with a melody deserv tbe secession movement. It was here, one ed more worthy evening in June, 1861, during tbe meet words, and that ing of a musical olub, that Miss Hettle 6he should write Cary, one of tbe daughters, suggested that them. the words of “My Maryland” should bo That night, adapted to some music. In order to make while Mrs. Howe the suggestion more impressive she re was resting, she cited tbe poem. In a moment Miss thought out line Jenny Cary, her sister, exclaimed as If in after line and spired, "Lauriger Horatlus!” the well verse after verse known college song that has resounded of “The Battle JULIA ward rows . from the musical throat of almost every Hymn of the Republio," and with the in college boy. Thus the words found voice spiration yet warm sprang from her bed In tbe great hymn that has since been and committed the patrlotlo stanzas to beard around tbe world. paper. They are as follows: A few months later a memorable scene Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming occurred at Manassas While visiting friends In tbe army the two sisters were of the Lord. He is tramping out the vintage where the serenaded by the now celebrated Washing grapes of wrath are stored; ton artillery of New Orleans. When the He bath loosed the fateful lightning of bls ter band ceased playing, one of tbe offioers rible swift sword; exclaimed, “Let’s hear a woman’s voice.” His truth is marching on. Miss Jenny Cary standing, in the tent I have seen him in the watchfires of a hundred door, thereupon sang “My Maryland." circling camps: The refrain was speedily taken up by hun They have bullded him an altar in the evening dreds of the southern soldiers, and from dews and damps; I can read his righteous sentence by the dim that moment tbe verses lived and grew In to a power It was the birth of tbe song In and flaring lamps; the army. As the words may not now be His day is marching on- generally remembered, they are repeated I have read a fiery gospel, writ tn burnished here: rows of steel: Th# despot’s heel Is on thy shore. “As ye deal with my contemners, so with ye Maryland 1 my grace shall deal; His touch is at tby temple door, Let the hero born of woman crush the serpent Maryland! with his heel," Avenge tho patriotic gore Since God is marching on. That flecked the streets ot Baltimore, And be the battle queen ot yore, He has sounded forth a trumpet that shall nev Maryland, my Maryland! er call retreat; He la sifting out the hearts of men before hi.- Hark to thy wandering eon’s appeal, judgment seat; Maryland! Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer him; be ju My mother state! To thee I kneel, bilant, my feet. Maryland I Our God is marching on. For life and death, for woe and weal. Thy peerless chivalry reveal, In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, across the sea, Maryland, my Maryland! With a glory in bis bosom that transfigures you and me: Thou wilt not cower in the dust. As he died to make men holy, let us die tc Maryland 1 make men free Thy beaming sword shall never rust, While God is marching on- Maryland! Remember Carroll’s sacred trust, Remember Howard’s warlike thrust, "WE ARE COMING, FATHER ABRA And all thy elumberers with the just, HAM.” Maryland, my Maryland! A stirring war song that was famous In Come, for thy shield 1 b bright and strong, its day and generation, and which served Maryland! its purpose at the time, was known by the Come, for thy dalliance does thee wrong above title. It was In answer to the proc Maryland! lamation of President Lincoln in 1868, Come to tliiue own heroic throng calling for 300,000 volunteers to swell the That stalks with liberty along, And give a new key to thy song, /.ray, and It doubtless contributed to that Maryland, my Mary land I result At first the stanzas appeared anony 1 see the blush upon tby cheek. mously In the New York Evening Post of Maryland! But thou wast ever bravely meek, July 16, 1862, and the authorship was at Maryland! tributed to William Cullen Bryant and But, lo, there surges forth a shriek! then to Julia Ward Howe. Subsequently It From hill to hill, from creek to creek, beoame known that the author was Mr. Potomac calls to Chesapeake, James Sloane Gibbons, a native of Wil Maryland, my Maryland! mington, Del., but a resident of New York Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, city. He was an ardent abolitionist, and Maryland! for a time was odo of the editors of The Thou wilt not crook to his control, Antislavery Standard. Tho words are as Maryland! follows: Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the blade, the shot, tbe bowl, We are coming. Father Abraham, Than crucifixion ot the soul, Three hundred thousand more, Maryland, my Maryland! From Mississippi's winding stream And from New England's shore. 1 hear the distant thunder bum, We leave our plows and workshops. Maryland! Our wive3 and children dear. The old line’s bugle, fife aud drum, With hearts too full tor utterance. Maryland! With but a silent tear. She is not dead nor deaf nor dumb— We dare not look behind us, Huzza, she spurns the northern scum 1 But steadfastly before— She breathes, she burns! She’ll come, We are coming, Father Abraham, she’ll come! Three hundred thousand more. Maryland, my Maryland! Glory, halle-halleluiahl Glory, ballehalle- luiahl Glory, hall«-halleluiah! Hip, hip, hip, hurrah! I CHORUS. The Union forever! Hurrah, boys, hurrah! Down with the traitors, up with the stars, Whilo we rally round the flag, boys, Rally once again, Shouting the battle cry of freedom. We are springing to the call Of our brothers gone before, Shouting the battle cry of freedom, And we 11 All the vacant ranks With a million freemen more, Shouting the battle cry of freedom We ere marching to the field, boya. Going to the fight, Shouting the battle cry of freedom, And we’ll bear the glorious stars Of the Union and ths right, Shouting the battle cry of freedom If we fall amid the fray, boys. We will face them to the last. Shouting the battle cry of freedom, And our comrades brave shall hear us As we are rushing past. Shouting the battle cry of freedom. Another of the numerous war songs written by Mr. Root and which acquired a popularity that has not yet passed away Is known wherever the English language is spoken as TRAMP. TRAMP. TRAMP, THE BOYS ARE MARCHING. In the prison cell I sit. Thinking, mother, dear, of you, And our bright and happy home so far away, And the tears they fill my eyes, Spite of ail that I can do, Though I try to cheer my comrades and be gay. CHORUS. Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boyB are marching; Cheer up, comrades, they will come, And beneath the Btarry flag We shall breathe the air again Of the free land in our own beloved home. In the battle front we stood When their fiercest charge they made. And they swept us off, a hundred men or more, But before we reached their lines They were beaten back, dismayed, And we heard the cry of vict’ry o’er and o’er So within the prison cell We are waiting tor the day That shall come to open wide the iron door. And the hollow eye grows bright, And the poor heart almost gay, As we think of seeing home and friends once more. In a different strain, but with a pathos that endeared the song to thousands oi households as well as to the boys in camp, the same composer wrote: JUST BEFORE THE BATTLE, MOTHER Just before the battle, mother, I am thinking most of you, While upon the field we’re watching With the enemy in view, Comrades brave around me lying, Filled with thoughts of home and God, For well they know that on the morrow Some will sleep beneath the sod CHORUS. Farewell, mother, you may never Press me to your heart again. Oh. you’ll not forget me, mother. If I'm numbered with the slain. Oh, I long to see you, mother. And the loving ones at home. But I'll never leave our banner Till in honor J can come. Tell the traitors all around you That their cruel words we know. In every battle kill our soldiers By the help they give the foe Hark, I hear the bugle sounding 'Tis the signal for the fight Now, may God protect us, mother. As he ever does the right Hear the "Battle Cry of Freedom,” How it swell* upon the air! Oh, yes, we'U rally round the standard Or perish nobly there. “JOHN BROWN’S BODY.” After the execution of John Brown at Harper’s Ferry, in December, 1859, a song was adopted that speedily became a part of the marching music of the armios of the north. Its catchy phrases were not only familiar around the firesides of the coun try, but in all public gatherings where music was wont to Inspire the multitude. CHORUS. W'a are coming, we are coming, Our Union to restore; We are coming, Father Abraham, Three hundred thousand more; We are coming, Father Abraham, Three hundred thousand more. If you look across the hilltops That meet the northern sky, Long, moving lines of rising dust Your vision may descry, And now the wind an instant Tears the cloudy veil aside And floats our spangled flag In glory and in pride, And bayonets in the sunlight gleam And bands brave music pour. We are coming, Father Abraham, Three hundred thousand more. SONGS OF THE SOUTH. With the advent of war, poetry and song began in one shape or another to find their themes throughout the south—the woman at her hearthstone and the soldier in the field; to represent all aspects of popular feeling—the enthusiasm of vlotory, the de spondency of defeat, the pride that exulted in the hero and the grief that mourned his loss. Three distinctive 6ongs, however, quick ly became sectional and were adopted ub expressive of the popular feeling—“Dix ie,” “My Maryland” and "The Bonnie Blue Flag.” The history of each Is in teresting. especially that of the first, which appears to have taken a place with "The Star Spangled Banner” and "Yankee Doodle." Its author is Dau Emmett, who still lives at the ripe old age of 79. Recently, being asked to relate the cir cumstances of its composition, he said: “In the spring of 1859 I was in the em ploy of the Bryant minstrels In New York, at 478 Broadway, and my particular busi ness was to invent'walk arcunds.’ One Saturday night Jerry Bryant came to me Next to “Dixie” In Its power of arous- Ing enthusiasm and as a marching _ song Is "The Bonnie Blue Flag.” It is a singu- ~ - * lar coincidence that, like “Dixie, »» ” - it was written and first produced on the stage, and both were presented to the southern people in New Orleans. The oomposer was an Irish comedian, the late Harry Macar- thy. A single verse will convey bd idea both of Its spirit and swinging movement: We are a band of brothers and native to the soil, Fighting for our liberty with treasure, blood and toil, And when our rights were threatened the cry rose near and far— Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that hears a single star CHORUS. Hurrah, hurrah, for southern rights hurrah! Hurrah for the Bonnie Blue Flag that bears a single star. Many minor songs were written In vari ous parte of the south during the war, but all were adapted to familiar melodies, the old time negro airs being most popular, but they are only memorable as indicating the spirit and temper of those stormy times. “MARCHING THROUGH GEORGIA.” Although written )ate in the war, prob ably no song commemorating the struggle or Intended to inspire the troops has a stronger foothold in the hearts of the peo ple than “Marching Through Georgia.” In the very melody is an expression of en thusiasm that even after 80 years makes the song dear to the hearts of the old sol diers and sets their feet to keeping time with the music. That the sentiment of the Grand Army of the Republio is in Its favor was well illustrated by an old back woodsman In an Ohio post. He was dress- ed, so the story goes, in a faded suit, of homespun, and his shaggy head was sur mounted by a greasy, broad brimmed hat. I d his right hand he was carrying a small sized cord wood stick as a cane. But after he had traveled a couple of miles it was plain that the strain was beginning to tell on the old fellow. He was traveling at a go-as you please rate, when bis commander, anxious to make a good appearance with his post on dress parade, stepped up to him and said, “Say, Tom, keep step; you are throwing out tbe whole lino. ” “Cap, how kin a feller keep step to that music?" he replied, paint ing to tbe band leading the line with one of the popular airs of the c; day. “Why don’t f'Z they play some- i thing like this?” HENRY C. WORK. and he hummed, in a voice husky and scratchy and out of tune, a straiu from "Marching Through Georgia. ” The captain laughed aud turned away, held a moment’s conversation with the leader of the band, and the introductory notes of the next pieoe caused the old fel low to straighten up. His cudgel waved about like the batuu of a drum major, and a little later a thousand feet were com ing down as oue, the fatigue of the march was forgotten, and a thousand voices were joined in the rousing chorus. The words of the famous song were written by Henry C. Work. He was born in Middletown, Conu., in 1838 aud died in Hartford June 8, 1884: Bring the good old bugle, boys, We’ll sing another song— Bing it with a spirit That will start the world along— Sing it as we used to sing It, Fifty thousand Strong- While we’re marching through Georgia. CHORUS. Hurrah! Hurrah! we sing the jubilee! Hurrah! Hurrah! the flag that makes us free! So we sang the chorus, from Atlanta to the sea, While we were marching through Georgia. How the darkies shouted When they heard the joyful sound! How the turkeys gobbled Which our commissary found! How the sweet potatoes even Started from the ground While we were marching through Georgia! “Sherman’s dashing Yankee boys Will never reach the coast!” So the saucy rebels said, And 'twas a handsome boast, Had they not forgot, alas, To reckon with tho host. While we were marching through Georgia. So we made a thoroughfare For freedom aud her train. Sixty miles in latitude, Three hundred to the main. Treason fled before us, For resistance was in vain, While we were marching through Georgia. “WHEN JOHNNY COMES MARCHING HOME.” A favorite among the boys in the army as well as in the social circles at home is known far and near by the above title. The song was written by the late Patrick Sarsfield Gilmore, famous as the leader of the band which bears his name. It has also been ascribed to Mr. Louis Lambert. Whatever may be the merit of the words, however, the song owes its popularity to the rollicking tune which has long been known as “Johnny, Fill Up the Bowl:” When Johnnie comes marching home agam, Hurrah! Hurrah! We’U give him a hearty welcome then, Hurrah! Hurrah! The men will cheer, the boys will shout. The ladies they will aU turn out. And we’U all feel gay When Johnnie comes marching home. The old church bell will peal with joy. Hurrah! Hurrah! To welcome home our darling boy, Hurrah! Hurrah! The village lads and lassies gay, With roses they will strew the way. And we’ll all feel gay When Johnnie comes marching home. SONGS OF AFFECTION. Brief reference has been made to "An nie Laurie” as a sentimental song that became popular in the English army dur ing the Crimean war. So, during our own struggle, pathetic words were allied to touohlng musio and sung around the campflreH and domestic firesides One of these, “Tenting on the Old Camp Ground,” is still remembered by the old soldiers both ot the north and south, and iuay yet be beard in many a home circle. It was composed by Walter Kittredge, who was born In Merrimac, N. H., Oct 8, 1832, and known as a publio singer and writer of songs and ballads. Having been drafted in 1862, he was preparing to go to the front when the words and music ocourred to him, and In a few minutes he transcribed them to paper. At first the song was refused by music publishers, but It is said that when published its sale reached hundreds of thousands of copies: TENTING ON THE OLD CAMP GROUND. We’re tenting tonight on the old camp ground. Give us a song to cheer Our weary hearts—a song of home And friends We love so dear CHORUS. Many are the hearts that are weary tonight, Wishing for the war to cease Many aro the hearts looking for the right. To see the dawn of peace. Tenting tonight, tenting tonight, Tenting on the old camp ground We’ve been tenting tonight on the old camp ground, Thinking of days gone by, Of the loved ones at home that gave us the hand And the tear that said "goodby.” We aro tired of war on the old camp ground- Many are dead and gone Of the brave and true who left their homes Others have been wounded long. We’ve been fighting today on the old camp ground. Many are lying near; Some are dead and some are dying; Many are iu tears. Among the authors of the time was the late Charles C. Sawyer of Brooklyn, to whom we are Indebted for the following, which quickly found its way across the lines and became popular in the south. It was written In the autumn of 1861, and more than 1,000,000 copies have been sold: WHEN THIS CRUEL WAR IS OVER. Dearest love, do you remember When we last did meet, How you told me that you loved me, Kneeling at my feet? Oh, how proud you stood before me. In your suit of blue, When you vowed to me and country Ever to be true. Soon with angels I'll be marching. With bright laurels on my brow. I have for my country fallen. Who will care for mother now? For half a minute I sat quite still, taken aback and wondering, while tbe Other touching songs of affection that be bacon cooled on the plate before me, what long to this group are “Mother, I’ve Come I was to do. I did not doubt the monk Homo to Die,” “Brother’s Fainting at was telling the truth. Why should he lie the Door” and “The Vacant Chair.” The to me? And I cursed my folly in testing latter, by Henry S. Washburn, is still • to a coward's honor or a serving man's favorite throughout the country. good faith. But lamentations were use less What was I to do? I had no horse THE VACANT CHAIR. and no means of getting oue. I was in a We shall meet, but we shall miss him; There will be one vacant chair; strange country, and to try to escape on We shall linger to caress him foot from pursuers who knew the roads While we breathe our evening prayer. and had tbe law ou their side, would be a When, a year ago, we gathered, hopeless undertaking. Yet to be hauled Joy was in his mild blue eye, back to Coton End a prisoner—I could not But a golden chord is severed. face that. Mechanically I raised a morsel And our hopes in ruins Ue. of bacou to my lips, and as I did so a C horus .—We shall meet, etc. thought occurred to me—an idea suggest ed by some talk I had heard the evening At our fireside, sad and lonely. before at Towcester. Often will the bosom swell At remembrance of the story Fanciful as the plan was, I suatched at How our noble soldier fell— it, and knowing each instant to be pre How he strove to bear our banner cious took my courage in my hand—and Through the thickest of the tight my tankard. "Here,” I cried, speaking And upheld our country's honor suddenly and loudly, “here is bad luck to In the strength of manhood's might. purveyors, Master Host!” True, they tell us wreaths of glory There were a couple of stablemen within Evermore will deck his brow, hearing, lounging in the doorway, besides But this soothes the anguish only the landlord aud bls wife and tbe farmers. Sweeping o’er our heartstrings now. Sleep today, O early fallen, In thy green and narrow bed! Dirges from the pine and cypress Mingle with the tears we shed. Among the songs commemorative the death of Colonel Ephraim E. Ellsworth was the following: DEATH OF ELLSWORTH. Down where the patriot army, Near Potomac’s side, Guards the glorious cause ot freedom. Gallant Ellsworth died. Brave was the noble chieftain, Who at his country’s call Hastened to the field of battle And was the first to fall. HUMOR IN SONG. Humor bad its place among the songs as well as sentiment and martial spirit. Henry C. Work, the author Of “Marching Through Georgia,” wrote: GRAFTED INTO THE ARMY. Our Jimmy has gone to live in a tent: They have grafted him into the army. He finally puckered up courage and went When they grafted him into the army. I told them the child was too young. Alas, At the captain’s forequarters they said he would pass— They'd train him up well in the infantry class— So they grafted him into the army. CHORU9- Oh, Jimmy, farewell! Your brothers tell Way down in Alabarmy; I thought they would spare a lone widder’s heir. But they grafted him into the army. Dressed up in his unicorn, dear little chap I They have grafted him into the army. It seems but a day since he sot on my lap, But they have grafted him into the army. And these are the trousies he used to wear— Them very same buttons—the patch and the tear— But Uncle Sam gave him a brand new pair When they grafted him into tho anny Rhymesters in the army were not only numerous, but never without a theme. Sometimes It concerned a company, at others a regiment or brigade. For in stance, a certain Chicago company, hav ing distinguished itself at Shiloh, adopted a song the refrain of which, sung to the rollicking air, “The Leg of a Duck,” an nounced to their comrades that Company K has shown the way, Bully for you! Bully for youl Your turn’s coming some other day, Bully for youl Bully for youl Every popular tune In vogue was appro priated that suited the passing whim of tbe merry soldiers. “Ob, Dear, What Can the Matter Be?” “Vive l’Amour,” “We Won’t Go Home Till Morning,” “Such a Climbing Up Stairs,” “PhiladelphiaGals, Won’t You Come Out Tonight?” "Shoo Fly,” “Old Uncle Ned” and a score of others are members of this family. Here is one of the favorites sung to the tune of "The Low Back Car,” by Miles O’Reilly. SAMBO AB A SOLDIER. Some tell us it is a burning shame To make the naygurs fight, And that the trade of being kilt Belongs to but the white. But as for me, upon my sowl. So liberal are we here I’ll let Sambo be murthered in place of myself On every day in the year. CHORUS. On ev, .> day in the year, boys, And every hour in the day. The right to be kilt I’ll divide with him, And divil a word I’ll say. The men who object to Sambo Should take his place and fight. And it’s better to have a naygur’s hue Than a liver that’s wake and white. Though Sambo's black as the ace of spades, His fingers a thrigger can pull. ▲nd his eye runs straight on the barrel sights From under his thatch of wool. CHORUS. So bear me all, boys, darlings, Don’t think I’m tipping you chaff. The right to be kilt I’ll divide wid him, And give him the largest half. “The Year of Jubilee” was an especial favorite and many a time has beguiled the boys on their march: THE YEAR OF JUBILEE Say, darkies, hab you seen de mass«,, Wid de muffstash in his face, Go long de road Borne time dis mornin Like he’s gwine to leave de place? He seen de smoke way up de rlbber, Where de Lincum gunboats lay: He took his hat, an be let’ berry sudden, Au I specs he’s runnsd sway. CHORUS. De massa run, ha, ha! De darky stay, ho, ho! It must be now de kingdom comin An de y’ar ob jubilo. He’s six foot one way, two foot tudder, An he weighs t’ree hundred poun; His coat so big he couldn’t pay de tailor, An it won’t reach half way roun. He drills so much dcy calls him cap'n, Au he gits so mighty tanned, I specs he’ll try to fool dem Yankees For to t’ink he’s contraband. Weeping, Bad and lonely, Hopes and fears, bow vain 1 Yet praying, when this cruel war is over Praying that we meet again I When the summer breeze is sighing Mournfully along, Or when autumn leaves are falling, Sadly breathes the song. Oft in dreams I see thee lying On the battle plain, Lonely, wounded, even dying, Calling, but in vain. De oberseer, he make us trouble, An he dribes us roun a spell, We lock him up in the smokehouse cellar, Wid de key flung in de well. De whip is lost, de han'cuff broke, But de massa hab his pay. He’s big an ole enough for to know better Dau to went an run sway. WHO WILL CARE FOR MOTHER NOW? Why am I so weak and weary? See how faint my heated breath. All round to me seems darkness. Tell me, comrades, is this death? Ab, how well I know your answer! To my fate I meekly bow. If you’ll only tell me truly Who will care for mother now? CHORUS. Soon with angels I’ll be marching, With bright laurels on my brow; I have for my country fallen. Who will care for mother now? Who will comfort her in sorrow? Who will dry the falling tear— Gently smooth her wrinkled forehead! Who will whisper words of cheer? Even now I think I see her Kneeling, praying for me—how Can I leave her in anguish? Who will care for mother now? Let this knapsack be my pillow, And my mantle be the sky. Hasten, oomrades, to the battle, I will like a soldier die. OLD SHADY- Oh, yah, yah, darkies, laugh wid me, Fur de white folks say Ole Shady’s free, So don’t you see dat de jubilee Is a-coming, coming—Hail mighty day! CHORUS. Den away, away, fur I can’t wait any longer, Hooray, hooray, I’m going home! Oh, mass’ got scared and so did his lady, Dis chile breaks fur Ole Uncle Aby; “Open de gates, out here’s Ole Shady A-coming, coming”-—Hail mighty day! Goodby, Mass’ Jeff, goodby Mis’r Stephens, ’Scuse dis niggah fur takin his leavins, Spect purty soon you’ll hear Uncle Abram tt Coming, coming—Hail mighty day! Goodby, hard work, wid never any pay, I’ze a-gwine up north where de good folks say Dat white wheat bread and a dollar a day Are coming, coming—Hail mighty day! Oh, I’ve got a wife and I’ve got a baby, Livin up yonder in Lower Canady, Won’t dey laugh when dey see Ole Shady A-coming, coming—Hail mighty day! ^OTICE is hereby given that the underaigued, a> ivherirt of Yamhill county, btate of Oregon by virtue of an execution aud order of sale iasue<i out ot the circuit court of the state of Oregon, for the county of Yambill, bearing date of May 7th A- D. 1895, upon and to enforce that certaiu judgment rendered by said court on the 15th dav of April, A. I). 1895. in that suit therein pending u herein George Thomson was plaintin aud S. C. Force and Barbara E. Force bi.- wife. Kelh Mau.s and Company au<t P. K. Smith were de fondants, and wherein it whs ordered, adjudged and decreed by said court that the plaintiff. Geonje Thomson, have and recover of and from tbe defendants, 8. C. Force and Barbara E. Force, the sum ot SISl.tU». with interest thereon from the 15th day of April. 1895, at the rate of ten per cent per annum, 125.00 attorney’s, fees and the costs and disbursements taxed at $13.50, aud that the defendant, Kelly Maus and Company, recover of and from the defendants. S. C. Force and Barixru E.Force, the sum of #357.15, with interest thereon from tbe 15th day of April, A. D. 1895. at the rate of8per cent, per annum, and $35.00 attorney's tees, and ordering the sale of the following de acribed real property, to-wit: Beginning at the northwest corner of lot one (1) ot block number three (3) of the original town plat of McMinnville, in Yumhill county. Oregon, and running thence south 100 feet to the south west corner uf said lot one (1); thence east 35 feel; thence north 100 feel; thence west 35 feet to the place of beginning. Now, therefore, by virtue of said judgement, writ of execution aud order of sale. 1 will on Saturday, the blh day of June, A. 1). 1895, at the hour of one o’clock p. m. of said day. at the court house door iu McMinnville, in Yamhill county, Oregon, sell at public auction, to the highest bidder for cash in band, tbe above described real property, and out of the proceeds arising front such sale 1 will first satisfy the above amount found due the plaintiff, George Thomson, and (he overplus, if any there be, I will apply to the payment of the sums of money found due the de fendant, Kelly Maus and Compauy. Dated this the Ttli day of May. A. D. 1895 W. G HENDERSON. Sheriff<>f Yamhill county. Oregon. ’OTICE is hereby given that the undersigned, as sheriff of Yamhill county, state of Oregon, by virtue of a writ of execution Issued out of the circuit court oi tbe stale of Oregon, for the county of Yamhill, on the 24th day of April, A. D. 189.», and bearing said date, upon and to enforce that certain judgement rendered by said court on the 25th day of September, A. D. 1898, in that certaiu action wherein E. C. Walker and E. W. Wallace, partners in business as Wallace A Walker, was plaintiff, and Delia Kellett and W S. Kellett were defendants, in which it was ad judged that the said plaintitis, Wal lace £ Walker, recover from tbe defendant. Delia Kellett, the sum of seventy-five aud thirty three oue hundredths dollars (#75.33) w ith interest thereon at the rate of 8 per cent, per annum from the 25th day of September, 1893, and the costs and disbursements taxed at $18 0U, and tor accruing costs. Aud whereas, by virtue of said writ of execu tion, I did on the 24th day of April, a . D. 1895, duly levy upon the following described real prop erty of said defendant, Delia Kellett, to-wit: All of the right, title and interest of said Delia Kellett in and to lot number one (1) iu block nineteen (19) in Rowland’s addition to tbe city of McMinnville, in Yamhill county, State of Oregon. Now, therefore, by virtue of said judgemeut aud execution, I will on Saturday, the 15tii day of June, A. D. 1895, at the hour of oue o’clock p ui. of said day, at the court house door in McMinn ville, Yamhill county, sell at public auction to tie highest bidder for cash iu hand, tbe above described real property to satisfy said execution, costs and accruing costs. Dated this the8tb day of May, A. D. 1895. W. G HENDERSON, Sheriff of Yamhill county, Oregon X CHORUS. First to fall, thou youthful martyr, Hapless was thy fate; Hasten we as thy avengers From thy native state. Speed we on from town to city, Not for wealth or fame. But because we love the Union And our Ellsworth’s name. NOTICE OF SHERIFFS SALE. NOTICE OF SHERIFF S SALE Strike, freemen, for the Union; Sheathe your swords no more While remains in arms a traitor On Columbia’s shore. De darkies got so lonesome libbiu Iu de log hut on de lawn Dey moved dere t’iugB in de masse ) parlor For to keep it while he’s gone. Dar's wine an cider iu de kitchen, An de darkiee dey hab some. I specs it will all be ’flscated When de Lincum sojers come. CHORUS. Storv V of Francis Gludde J caught a glimpse of him, wild eyed and frantic with fear. A villager or two also had dropped in, and tbore were two peddlers lying half asleep In the corner. All these pricked up their ears more or less at my words. But, like most country folk, they were slow to take in anything new or unexpected, and I had to drink afresh and say again, "Here is bad luck to purveyors!” before any one took It up. Then the landlord showed he understood. “Aye, so say I!” be cried, with an oath. “Purveyors, indeed! It is such as they give the queen a bad name.” “God bless her!” quoth the monk loyal ly- “And drown the purveyors!” a fanner exclaimed. “They were here a year ago and left us as bare as a shorn sheep," etruck in a strapping villager, epeaking at a white beat, but telling roe no news, for this was what I had beard at Towcester the night before. “The queen should lie warm It she uses all the wool they took! And the pack horses they purveyed to carry off the plunder—why, the packmen avoid Strat ford ever since as though we bad the black death I Ob, down with the purveyors, say II The first that comes this way I will show the bottom of the Ouse. Aye, that I will, though I hang for it!" “Easy, easy, Tom Miller!" the host In terposed, affecting an air ot assurance, even while he oast au eyeot trouble at bis flitches. “It will be another ten years be fore they harry us again. There Is Pot ter’s Puryl They never took a tester’s worth from Potter’s Puryl No, nor from Preston Gobion! Buttbey will ¿o to them next, depend upon It!” “I hope they will,” I said, with a world of gloomy insinuation In my words. “But I doubt it!” And this time my hint was not wasted. The landlord changed color. “What are you driving at, master?” he asked mildly, while the others looked at ine in silence and waited for more. “What if there be one across the road now?” I said, giving way to the tempta tion and speaking falsely—for which I paid dearly afterward. "A purveyor, I mean, unless I am mistaken In him, or be tells lies. Be has come straight from the chancellor, white wand, warrant and all. He Is taking his dinner now, but he has sent for the hundredman, so I guess he means business.” “For the hundredman?” repeated tbs landlord, his brows meeting “Yes, unless I am mistaken.” There was silence for a moment. Theo the man they called Tom Miller dashed bis cap on the floor, and folding his arms defiantly looked round on his neighbors. “He has come, has he!” be roared, his face swollen, his eyes bloodshot. “Then I will be as good as my word! Who will help? ¿ball we sit down and be shorn like sheep, as we were before, so that our children lay on the bare stones, and we pulled the plow ourselves? Or shall we show that we are free Englishmen and not slaves of Frenchmen? Shall we teach Master Pur veyor not to trouble ue again? Now, what say you, neighbors?" So fierce a growl of impatience and au ger rose round me as at oDce answered the question. A dozen red faces glared at me and at one another, and from the very mo tion and passion of the men as they snarled and threatened the room seemed twice as full as it was. Their oaths and cries of encouragement, not loud, but the more dangerous for that, the fresh burst of fury which rose as the village smith and an other came in and learned the news, the menacing gesturesofa score of brandished fists—these sights, though they told of the very effect at which I had aimed, scared as well as pleased me. I turned red and white and hesitated, fearing that I bad gone too far. The thing was done, howevei, and, what was more, I had soon to take care of my self. At the very moment when the hub bub was at Its loudesj I felt a chill run down my back as I met the monk’s eye, and, reading in it whimsical admiration, read in It something besides, and that was an unmistakable menace. “Clever lad!’' the eye said. “I will expose you," tt threatened. I had forgotten him—or, at any rate, that my acting would be transparent enough to him bolding the clew In bls hand—and bis look was like the shock of : cold water to me. But It is wonderful how keen the wits grow on the grindstone of necessity. With scarcely a second's hesitation I drew out my only piece ot gold, and unnoticed by the other men, who were busy swearing at and encourag ing one another, I disclosed a morsel of It. Tho monk’s crafty eyes glistened. 1 laid my finger on my lips. He held up two fingers. I shook my bead and showed au empty palm. I had no more. He nodded, and the relief that nod gave me was great. Before I bad time, however, to consider the narrowness of my escape a movement of the crowd—for the Dews had spread with strange swiftness, and there was now a crowd assembled which more than filled the room—proclaimed that tbs purveyor had come out and was in the street. The room was nearly emptied at a rush. Though I prudently remained behind, I could, through the open window, hear as well as see what passed. The leading spirits had naturally struggled out first and were gathered, sullen and full of dan gerous possibilities, about tbe porch. I suppose the bishop's messenger saw In them nothing but a crowd of country clowns, for be came hectoring toward the door, smiting his boot with his whip and puffing out his red cheeks mightily. He felt brave enough, now that he had dined and bad at bls back three stout constables sworn to keep the queen’s peace. 7’o be Continued. Dr. H. R. Fish, of Gravois Mills, Mo., a practicing physician of many years ex perience, writes: “DeWitt’s Witch Ha zel Salve has no equal for indolent sores, scalds and burns. It stops pain instant ly, heals a burn quickly and leaves no scar. Rogers Bros. W. C T. U.—Meets on every Fri day at 3 p. tn. in reading room, Union block C lara G E mov , Pres. J ennie G allentine , Sec’y Thus* F. Oakes, Henry C. Payne, Henry C. House, Receivers. orthern pacific r . 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