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Robert E. Lee Portrait
THE ARMORY AT ALBANY, NEW
OUR ARMY AT ALBANY.
THE accompanying illustrations
will introduce the reader to the ALBANY ARMORY the headquarters of our State
army in that section of the State. Here, since the President's proclamation,
large bodies of men have been constantly engaged in close drill, and here the
Military Board concentrates its efforts in endeavoring to fit them out.
Our second picture represents the
drumming out of two soldiers who refused to take the oath. They were stripped of
their arms, a white feather stuck over each ear, and they were marched out of
the Armory grounds with the drums playing the Rogue's March. Crowds of people
assembled to see them undergo the degrading penance.
TOWN AND COUNTRY.
'TIS five years ago, I was
playing At pool, as he doubled me in,
I remember Fred Lushington
saying, "Yes, nice little girl, but no tin."
"Oh! such a sweet net was she
spreading To catch me." He stroked his mustache. "I'd have ask'd you to dance at
my wedding, But I beat a retreat in quick march."
"I'd no thought at her feelings
of hurting, But the thing began awkward to grow; If I did pass the limits of
It was down in the country, you
"So," said Frederick, "fearing
extraction Of what this all meant by papa, I fled, leaving no ground for an
action." And laughed, as he lit his cigar.
Poor innocent fool! she is
What he wrote in 'er album that
day, The verse of a false-hearted pleading, Inscribed "To the bright eyes of
She rises; the light low is
burning; She walks to the window; no moon; All starless the dark night is
In silence, the point of its
Hark! listen! in sobs of wild
passion, Goes forth on the blackness her cry; Like rain drops, they heavily
flash on The stream of the hour flowing by.
Her dark hair all flowing around
her, Her face hidden in her white hands,
In a trance of dull sorrow, thus
found her Dawn, winterly lighting the lands.
Did she die? Not all; she has
married Since then Sir Actaeon de Vere,
And the thrust of that sorrow has
With a fool and ten thousand a year.
I met her, as lovely as ever,
'Tis what bring all this back,
yesterday, Fred was there, looking out for the Trevor, He bowed, as he pass'd on
And though in the Row that's
celled Rotten, Such feelings, of course, have no place, I thought she had not
quite forgotten, By the flush, as she mov'd, on her face.
Lang Syne and the sketchings
together, Beneath the cool rustle of leaves, Whence oft, in the rich autumn
weather, They wander'd
away to the sheaves.
DRUMMING OUT ALBANY VOLUNTEERS
WHO REFUSED TO TAKE THE OATH. - [FROM A SKETCH MADE ON THE SPOT.]