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Bunker Hill day in Virginia.--Out a mile from the city of Alexandria, Va., on a beautiful plain, is the camp of the Massachusetts Fifth, in which are two companies from Charlestown. When at home, the 17th is kept by them as an anniversary, and they determined to remember the Battle of Bunker Hill although on Virginia soil. A half mile west from the camp there is a beautiful shady grove of oaks, and there they spread their collation. Invited guests were present — citizens of Massachusetts now in this vicinity, twenty or more. After battalion drill, the companies, under command of Capt. Boyd, proceeded to the grove. The fine band of the Michigan Regiment was engaged for the occasion, and they filled the surrounding woods with “Hail, Columbia,” and “Yankee Doodle.” There were long tables erected; there were cold meats, pastry, fruit, oranges, strawberries and cream, nuts, raisins, tea and punch, but no other spirituous liquors. After the feast came the patriotism — speeches and sentiments from Captains Boyd and Swan, Z. K. Pangborn, J. M. Stone, of Charlestown, Col. Lawrence, Col. Green, Hon. J. M. S. Williams, of Cambridge, and many other gentlemen; and then the boys all joined in singing an ode for Bunker Hill, written for the occasion by George H. Dow, Esq. :--

“for Bunker Hill.”

Though many miles away
From home and friends, to-day,
We're cheerful still;
For, brothers side by side
We stand, in manly pride,
Beneath the shadow wide
Of Bunker Hill.

The memory of that spot,
Ne'er by one man forgot,
Protects us here!
We feel an influence, lent
From its proud Monument--
By Freedom's angel sent,
Our souls to cheer I

If, o'er the dark'ning sky,
The piercing battle-cry
Shall sound its call--
God of our Native Land,
Be with this little band!
Columbia's Guardian, stand
By one and all!

By all that blesses life--
While ranked in Freedom's strife--
With right good will
For Victory we'll try,
With hope and daring high;
Our cheers shall rend the sky,
For Bunker Hill!

Oh, how grandly it sounded through the woods! The band took up the harmony when they had finished, and it crashed louder than before. The young Virginians, and the crowd of sable sons and daughters of the Old Dominion, listened, and were glad. The stern features of the little sons of the chivalry, who had been taught to hate the invaders, relaxed into smiles as they helped themselves to the profusion of good things left, and felt the soul-stirring strains.

It was delightful — the day, the occasion, the scene. It was the 17th of June, the anniversary of the battle of Bunker Hill. It was in Virginia. Those who celebrated it were there because they loved their country, and were true to the memory of their Revolutionary fathers, the Constitution, and their flag. They were ready to spring from that festive table up the hill that rose above them at the first alarm, and fight as their fathers fought in ‘75. It was a lovely scene. In the distance was the marble Capitol and the unfinished monument to the ever blessed memory of Washington, and the winding Potomac; nearer was the city of Alexandria, the bridges, and groves, and verdant fields red with clover bloom, or waving with milk-white daisies; the tents of the encampments; the moving masses of men; the red legged Zouaves; the dark-blue Pennsylvanians and Michiganders, their arms glistening in the sun as they wheeled and deployed, or rushed across their parade; the hurrahs of the Bunker Hill boys; the roll of distant drums, and up the plain two miles distant were the solid columns of ten thousand men in review, with their banners waving in the air. It was a scene of indescribable beauty and grandeur.

Under such auspices and amid such scenes was the ever-memorable day of victory in defeat nobly and fittingly celebrated in the Old Dominion by the ever-loyal sons whose home is beneath the shadow of Bunker Hill.--“Carleton,” in the Boston Journal.

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