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
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LOW RATES TO ALL
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OCEAN STEAMERS
Leave Portland Every 3 Days
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For full details call on
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Or A(l<lr»s:
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EAST
AND SOUTH
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Express Trains Leave Portland Dally
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At Albany and Corvallis connect with
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ville.
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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.
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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 . R
N
!Ru
* *
1ST
Pullman
Sleeping Cat’s
Elegant
Dining Cars
Tourist
Sleeping Cars
ST. PAUL
MIXNEArOLIS^
DULUTH
FARGO
GRAND FORKS
CROOKSTON
WINNIPEG
HELLENA and
BUTTE
THROUGH TICKETS TO
CHICAGO
WASHINGTON
PHILADELPHIA
NEW YORK
BOSTON AND ALL
i POINTS EAST and SOUTH
For information, time cards, maps or
i tickets, call on or write
C. H. FLEMING, Agent.
MCMINNVILLE.
A. 0. CHARLTON, Asst.Gen.Pas.Agt
¿56 MORRISON ST.. COR
30
PORTLAND, ORECON.
Mexican
Mustang
Liniment
for
Burns,
Caked & Inflamed Udders.
Piles,
Rheumatic Pains,
Bruises and ¿trains,
Running Sores,
Inflammations,
Stiff joints,
Harness & Saddle Sores,
Sciatica,
Lumbago,
Scalds,
Blisters,
Insect Bites,
All Cattle Ailments,
All Horse Ailments,
All Sheep Ailments,
Penetrates Muscle,
Membrane and Tissue
Quickly to the Very
Seat of Pain and
Ousts it in a Jiffy.
Rub in Vigorously.
Mustzuig Liniment conquer»
Pain,
Makes tun or Eeast well
again.