The train now encamp. The unpacking of the kettles and mess-pans, the unyoking of the oxen, the gathering about the various camp-fires, the frizzling of the pork, are so clearly expressed by the music, that the most untutored savage could readily comprehend it. Indeed, so vivid and lifelike was the representation, that a lady sitting near us involuntarily exclaimed aloud, at a certain passage, "Thar, that pork's burning!" and it was truly interesting to watch the gratified expression of her face when, by a few notes of the guitar, the pan was removed from the fire, and the blazing pork extinguished. This is followed by the beautiful aria: 66 "O! marm, I want a pancake!" Followed by that touching recitative: Shet up, or I will spank you!" To which succeeds a grand crescendo movement, representing the flight of the child with the pancake, the pursuit of the mother, and the final arrest and summary punishment of the former, represented by the rapid and successive strokes of the castanet. The turning in for the night follows; and the deep and stertorous breathing of the encampment is well given by the bassoon, while the sufferings and trials of an unhappy father with an unpleasant infant are touchingly set forth by the cornet à piston. Part Second-The night attack of the Pi Utahs; the fearful cries of the demoniac Indians; the shrieks of the females and children; the rapid and effective fire of the rifles; the stampede of the oxen; their recovery and the final repulse; the Pi Utahs being routed after a loss of thirty-six killed and wounded, while the Pikes lose but one scalp (from an old fellow who wore a wig, and lost it in the scuffle), are faithfully given, and excite the most intense interest in the minds of the hearers; the emotions of fear, admiration, and delight succeeding each other in their minds with almost painful rapidity. Then follows the grand chorus: "Oh! we gin them fits, The Ingen Utahs, We gin 'em pertickuler fits." After which, we have the charming recitative of Herr Tuden Links, to the infant, which is really one of the most charming gems in the performance: "Now, dern your skin, can't you be easy?" Morning succeeds. The sun rises magnificently (octavo flute)—breakfast is eaten-in a rapid movement on three sharps; the oxen are caught and yoked up-with a small drum and triangle; the watches, purses, and other valuables of the conquered Pi Utahs are stored away in a camp-kettle, to a small movement on the piccolo, and the train moves on, with the grand chorus: "We'll soon be thar, Gee up Bolly! Whoo up! whoo haw!" The whole concludes with the grand hymn and chorus: "When we die we'll go to Benton, Whup! Whoo haw! The greatest man that e'er land saw, Gee! Who this little airth was sent on Whup! Whoo haw! To tell a 'hawk from a hand-saw!' The immense expense attending the production of this magnificent work; the length of time required to prepare the chorus; the incredible number of instruments destroyed at each rehearsal, have hitherto prevented M. Tarbox from placing it before the American public, and it has remained for San Diego to show herself superior to her sister cities of the Union, in musical taste and appreciation, and in high-souled liberality, by patronizing this immortal prodigy, and enabling its author to bring it forth in accordance with his wishes and its capabilities. We trust every citizen of San Diego and Vallecetos will listen to it ere it is withdrawn; and if there yet lingers in San Francisco one spark of musical fervor, or a remnant of taste for pure harmony, we can only say that the Southerner sails from that place once a fortnight, and that the passage money is but forty-five dollars. Edward Pollock. BORN in Philadelphia, Penn., 1823. DIED in San Francisco, Cal., 1858. OLIVIA. [Poems. 1876.] "HAT are the long waves singing so mournfully evermore? WE What are they singing so mournfully as they weep on the sandy shore? "Olivia, oh, Olivia!"-what else can it seem to be? "Olivia, lost Olivia, will never return to thee!" "Olivia, lost Olivia!"-what else can the sad song be?— "Weep and mourn, she will not return, she cannot return, to thee!" And strange it is when the low winds sigh, and strange when the loud winds blow, In the rustle of trees, in the roar of the storm, in the sleepiest streamlet's flow, Forever, from ocean or river, ariseth the same sad moan, "She sleeps; let her sleep; wake her not. It were best she should rest, and alone." Forever the same sad requiem comes up from the sorrowful sea, For the lovely, the lost Olivia, who cannot return to me. Alas! I fear 'tis not in the air, or the sea, or the trees,-that strain: I fear 'tis a wrung heart aching, and the throb of a tortured brain; And the shivering whisper of startled leaves, and the sob of the waves as they roll,— I fear they are only the echo of the song of a suffering soul, Are only the passionless echo of the voice that is ever with me: "The lovely, the lost Olivia will never return to thee!" I stand in the dim gray morning, where once I stood, to mark, And in one long moon from this June eve you shall let her return to me." But the wind from the far spice islands came back, and it sang with a sigh,- star; And soon the sad wind and dark ocean unceasingly sang unto me, "The lovely, the lost Olivia will never return to thee!" Dim and still the landscape lies, but shadowless as heaven, For the growing morn and the low-west moon on everything shine even; The ghosts of the lost have departed, that nothing can ever redeem, What thrills me? What comes near me? Do I stand on the sward alone? And still are the long waves singing so mournfully evermore; Still are they singing so mournfully as they weep on the sandy shore,— "Olivia, lost Olivia!" so ever 'tis doomed to be, "Olivia, lost Olivia will never return to thee! "Olivia, lost Olivia!"--what else could the sad song be?— "Weep and mourn, she will not return,-she cannot return to thee!" VOL. VIII.-11 WHEN Charles Carleton Coffin. BORN in Boscawen, N. H., 1823. AN AMERICAN COLONEL. [Four Years of Fighting. 1866.] HEN the army began a forward movement in pursuit of Bragg, General Gillmore issued an order, known as General Order No. 5, which reads as follows: "All contrabands, except officers' servants, will be left behind when the army moves to-morrow morning. Public transportation will in no case be furnished to officers' servants. "Commanders of regiments and detachments will see this order promptly enforced." Among the regiments of the division was the Twenty-Second Wisconsin, Colonel Utley, an officer who had no sympathy with slavery. He had a cool head and a good deal of nerve. He had read the Proclamation of President Lincoln, and made up his mind to do what was right, recognizing the President as his Commander-in-Chief, and not the State of Kentucky. There were negroes accompanying his regiment, and he did not see fit to turn them out. Three days later he received the following note: October 18th, 1862. COLONEL: You will at once send to my headquarters the four contrabands, John, Abe, George, and Dick, known to belong to good and loyal citizens. They are in your regiment, or were this morning. Your obedient servant, Q. A. GILLMORE, Brigadier-General. Colonel Utley, instead of sending the men, replied: "Permit me to say, that I recognize your authority to command me in all military matters pertaining to the military movements of the army. I do not look upon this as belonging to that department. I recognize no authority on the subject of delivering up contrabands save that of the President of the United States. "You are, no doubt, conversant with that Proclamation, dated Sept. 22, 1862, and the law of Congress on the subject. In conclusion, I will say, that I had nothing to do with their coming into camp, and shall have nothing to do with sending them out." The note was despatched to division headquarters. officer called upon Colonel Utley. Soon after an "You are wanted, sir, at General Gillmore's quarters." Colonel Utley made his appearance before General Gillmore. "I sent you an order this evening." "Yes, sir, and I refused to obey it." "I intend to be obeyed, sir. I shall settle this matter at once. I shall repeat the order in the morning." "General, to save you the trouble and folly of such a course, let me say that I shall not obey it." The Colonel departed. Morning came, but brought no order for the delivery of the contrabands to their former owner. As the regiment passed through Georgetown, a large number of slaves belonging to citizens of that place fled from their masters, and found shelter in the army. Some of the officers who had less nerve than Colonel Utley gave them up, or permitted the owners to come and take them. A Michigan regiment marching through the town had its lines entered by armed citizens, who forcibly took away their slaves. Colonel Utley informed the inhabitants that any attempt to take contrabands from his lines would be resisted. "Let me say to you, gentlemen," he said to a delegation of the citizens, "that my men will march with loaded muskets, and if any attempt is made upon my regiment, I shall sweep your streets with fire, and close the history of Georgetown. If you seriously intend any such business, I advise you to remove the women and children.” The regiment marched the next morning with loaded muskets. The citizens beheld their negroes sheltered and protected by a forest of gleaming bayonets, and wisely concluded not to attempt the recovery of the uncertain property. The day after its arrival in Nicholasville, a large, portly gentleman, lying back in an elegant carriage, rode up to the camp, and making his appearance before the Colonel, introduced himself as Judge Robertson, Chief Justice of the State of Kentucky. "I am in pursuit of one of my boys, who I understand is in this regiment," he said. "You mean one of your slaves, I presume?" "Yes, sir. Here is an order from the General, which you will see directs that I may be permitted to enter the lines and get the boy," said the judge, with great dignity. "I do not permit any civilian to enter my lines for any such purpose, said the Colonel. The Judge sat down, not greatly astonished, for the reputation of the Twenty-Second Wisconsin, as an abolition regiment, was well established. He began to argue the matter. He talked of the compromises of the Constitution, and proceeded to say: |