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Civil War Harper's Weekly, June 15, 1861

This issue of Harper's Weekly has a variety of interesting stories and pictures. The cover has an illustration and story on the death of Colonel Ellsworth. The issue also has a discussion on the problem of fugitive slaves. News describes early events in the Civil War.

(Scroll Down to See entire page, Newspaper Thumbnails will take you to the page of interest)

 

Ellsworth's Death

Colonel Ellsworth's Death

Revolution

The Right of Revolution

The Fugitive Slave Question

The Fugitive Slave Question

Rebel Cavalry

Capture of Rebel Cavalry

General Bragg's Camp

General Bragg's Camp

Camp Anderson

Camp Anderson

Santa Rosa Island

Santa Rosa Island

Las Moras

Confederate Troops on the Las Moras

Civil War Camps

Civil War Camps

Rebel Steamboats

Rebel Steamboats

Arlington heights

Arlington Heights

Senator Douglas

Senator Douglas

Newport News

Newport News

 

 

 

 

HARPER'S WEEKLY.

[JUNE 15, 1861.

372

MY LITTLE SWEET-HEART.

AH! sad are they of whom no poet writes, Nor ever any story-teller hears-

The childless mothers who on lonesome nights Sit by their fires and weep, having the chores Done for the day, and time enough to see All the wide floors

Swept clean of playthings, they, as needs must be, Have time enough for tears.

But there are griefs more sad

Than ever any childless mother had

You know them, who do smother nature's cries Under poor masks

Of smiling, slow despair

Who put your white and unadorning hair

Out of your way, and keep at homely tasks Unblest with any praises of men's eyes,

Till death comes to you with his piteous care And to unmarriageable beds you go, Saying, " It is not much—'tis well, if so

We only be made fair,

And looks of love await us when we rise."

My cross is not as hard as theirs to bear, And yet alike to me are storms or calms : My life's young joy,

The brown-cheeked farmer boy,

Who led the daisies with him like his lambs—Carved his sweet picture on my milking-pail, And cut my name upon his thrashing-flail, One day stopped singing at his plow—alas ! Before that summer-time was gone, the grass Had choked the path which to the sheep-field led, Where I had watched him tread

So oft on evening's trail

A shining oat-sheaf balanced on his head, And nodding to the gale.

Rough wintry weather came, and when it sped, The emerald wave

Swelling above my little sweet-heart's grave, With such bright, bubbly flowers was set about, I thought he blew them out,

And so took comfort that he was not dead.

For I was of a rude and ignorant crew, And hence believed whatever things I saw Were the expression of a hidden law;

And with a wisdom wiser than I knew

Evoked the simple meanings out of things By childlike questionings.

And he they named with shudderings of fear Had never, in his life, been half so near

As when I sat all day with cheeks unkissed, And listened to the whisper, very low,

That said our love, above death's wave of woe, Was joined together like the seamless mist.

God's yea and nay

Are not so far away,

I said, but I can hear them when I please; Nor could I understand

Their doubting faith, who only touch his hand Across the blind, bewildering centuries.

And often yet, upon the shining track

Of the old faith, come back

My childish fancies, never quite subdued, And when the sunset shuts up in the wood The whispery sweetness of uncertainty,

And night, with misty locks that loosely drop About his ears, brings rest, a welcome boon, Playing his pipe with many a starry stop That makes a golden snarling in his tune;

I see my little lad

Under the leafy shelter of the boughs, Driving his noiseless, visionary cows, Clad in a beauty I alone can see:

Laugh, you, who never had

Your dead come back, but do not take from me The harmless comfort of my foolish dream,

That these, our mortal eyes,

Which outwardly reflect the earth and skies,

Do introvert upon eternity :

And that the shapes you deem

Imaginations, just as clearly fall;

Each from its own divine original,

And through some subtle element of light, Upon the inward, spiritual eye,

As do the things which round about them lie, Gross and maternal on the external sight.

CAPTURE OF SECESSION CAVALRY AT ALEXANDRIA.

WE publish herewith, from a drawing by our special artist, an engraving of the CAPTURE OF FORTY SECESSION CAVALRY AT ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA, on the morning of 24th ult., when the advance into Virginia was made. The correspondent of the Herald thus described the affair:

One of the most unexpected features of this morning's military adventures into Virginia was the capture of a company of four officers and thirty-six men, composed of F. F. V.'s, of Fairfax County, Virginia, who had been enrolled into a brilliant and dashing cavalry corps. This secession company were early alarmed by the arrival of the Government forces in Alexandria, and, mounting their horses, began a precipitate retreat, riding till they believed themselves far beyond the reach of pursuit. They were rejoiced to see troops advancing from the west, whom they supposed to be reinforcements to their aid. Rushing hastily forward, they found themselves surrounded by the Michigan volunteers, and surrendered without a blow.

They were taken on board the steamer Baltimore, Captain West, and conveyed as prisoners of war to the Navy-yard. We found them gayly attired, with feathered chapeaus, apparently unconscious of the fate to which their treason naturally consigns them. Some of them were anxious to convince those with whom they conversed that their friends and relations, as well as their own unbiased sympathies, were on the side of the flag of our Union. They were a crest-fallen troop indeed, for some had already doffed their feathered chapeau for the simple felt. The captain was a man of fine physique and carriage. His plume was still aloft, and spurs in place, and haversack marked " W. W. Ball." Doubtless his admirers and friends are still in a maze at his sudden trip across the Potomac.

Rebel Cavalry

 

 

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