So bravely the loyal fisher

Sailed for the southern sea,

Never a hook nor a bait he took

For the deadly fishery ;

But the staunchest man at the straining rope In the northerner was he.

On the bloody deck of the Hartford
At last the fisher lay,

The azure charm pricked on his arm
Was striped with red that day;
And his debt of twenty years was paid

With a life in Mobile Bay.

SHERMAN'S MARCH TO THE SEA.

BY SAMUEL H. M. BYERS.

[General Sherman, in a recent conversation with the editor of this collection, declared that it was this poem with its phrase, "march to the sea," that threw a glamour of romance over the campaign which it celebrates. Said General Sherman: "The thing was nothing more or less than a change of base, an operation perfectly familiar to every military man, but a poet got hold of it, gave it the captivating label, The March to the Sea,' and the unmilitary public made a romance out of it." It may be remarked that the General's modesty overlooks the important fact that the romance lay really in his own deed of derring-do; the poet merely recorded it, or at most interpreted it to the popular intelligence. The glory of the great campaign was Sherman's and his army's; the joy of celebrating it was the poet's; the admiring memory of it is the people's.-EDITOR.]

UR camp-fires shone bright on the mountain
That frowned on the river below,

As we stood by our guns in the morning,
And eagerly watched for the foe;
When a rider came out of the darkness
That hung over mountain and tree,
And shouted: "Boys, up and be ready!
For Sherman will march to the sea."

Then cheer upon cheer for bold Sherman
Went up from each valley and glen,
And the bugles re-echoed the music

That came from the lips of the men;
For we knew that the stars in our banner

More bright in their splendor would be,

And that blessings from Northland would greet us When Sherman marched down to the sea.

Then forward, boys! forward to battle!
We marched on our wearisome way,
We stormed the wild hills of Resaca,
God bless those who fell on that day!

Then Kenesaw, dark in its glory,

Frowned down on the flag of the free, But the East and the West bore our standard And Sherman marched on to the sea.

Still onward we pressed till our banners
Swept out from Atlanta's grim walls,
And the blood of the patriot dampened

The soil where the traitor flag falls.
We paused not to weep for the fallen,
Who slept by each river and tree.

Yet we twined them a wreath of the laurel As Sherman marched down to the sea.

Oh, proud was our army that morning,
That stood where the pine darkly towers,
When Sherman said: " 'Boys, you are weary,
But to-day fair Savannah is ours!"
Then sang we the song of our chieftain,
That echoed o'er river and lea,

And the stars in our banner shone brighter
When Sherman marched down to the sea.

HEIR lips are still as the lips of the dead, eyes is

The tramp, tramp, tramp of ten thousand feet Keep time to that muffled, monotonous beat,Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!

Ten thousand more! and still they come

To fight a battle for Christendom!

With cannon and caissons, and flags unfurled, The foremost men in all the world!

Rub a dub dub! rub a dub dub!

The foe is entrenched on the frowning hill,-
A natural fortress, strengthened by skill;
But vain are the walls to those who face

The champions of the human race!

Rub a dub dub; rub a dub dub!