Roll, Shenandoah, proudly roll
Adown thy rocky glen;
Above thee lies the grave of one
Of Stonewall Jackson's men.
Beneath the cedar and the pine,
In solitude austere,

Unknown, unnamed, forgotten, lies
A Georgia Volunteer.

[Southern.]

"HOW ARE YOU, SANITARY?”

BY BRET HARTE.

[There is nothing in the history of the Civil War worthier of celebration in verse, or more to be honored in the remembrance, than the organization and work of the United States Sanitary Commission. When the conditions created by the stress of the war became apparent, the compassion of kindly men and women in the North was deeply stirred by the thought that there was suffering among the soldiers which the government could not relieve, and that there were wants which could not be supplied by military agencies. The generous desire to minister to these wants and to relieve this suffering was quickly organized into action with that business-like sagacity which distinguishes the American character. The Sanitary Commission was formed as the agent and almoner of the popular generosity. It was supported entirely by voluntary contributions. It was as thoroughly organized as the army commissariat itself, and wher

ever there was a comfort needed, or a wounded or sick man to be cared for, its supply wagons, its appliances, and its trained nurses were found. The affectionate gratitude of the troops toward the beneficent association is reflected in this poem.-EDITOR.]

D

OWN the picket-guarded lane

Rolled the comfort-laden wain,

Cheered by shouts that shook the plain,
Soldier-like and merry:

Phrases such as camps may teach,
Sabre-cuts of Saxon speech,

Such as "Bully!" "Them 's the peach!" "Wade in, Sanitary!"

Right and left the caissons drew
As the car went lumbering through,
Quick succeeding in review

Squadrons military;

Sunburnt men with beards like frieze, Smooth-faced boys, and cries like these: "U. S. San. Com." "That's the cheese!" "Pass in, Sanitary!"

In such cheer it struggled on
Till the battle front was won;
Then the car, its journey done,
Lo! was stationary ;

And where bullets whistling fly
Came the sadder, fainter cry:
"Help us, brothers, ere we die !---
Save us, Sanitary!"

Such the work. The phantom flies, Wrapped in battle-clouds that rise; But the brave-whose dying eyes, Veiled and visionary,

See the jasper gates swung wide, See the parted throng outside— Hears the voice to those who ride: "Pass in, Sanitary!"