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29. an incident of the war.

There are bright spots in the darkness of war. Deeds of mercy by an enemy shed lustre on our common humanity. They have been commemorated in the heroic song of Homer, and have been eagerly caught and honored in every age by the human heart. They bid us hope, too, that the present contest grows, in part, out of mutual misapprehension of the purposes and spirit of the two sections of the country arrayed against each other.

The following lines were written by a lady of Stock-bridge, and commemorate an incident very touching and beautiful, which rests upon the best authority, and which ought to be known.

Colonel Mulligan refused his parole at Lexington, and his wife resolved to share his captivity. Accordingly she left her infant, fourteen months old, in the care of one of the strongest secessionist women in the town. That woman assumed the charge of the little child, and dressed it in the captured American flag.

The fight had ceased! The cannon's roar
Was silent on Missouri's shore;
The leader and his band so brave
Had turned from walls they could not save--

When voice was heard of sore lament,
A mother o'er her baby bent,
And fast the bitter tears were shed
That fell upon his little head:

“Thy father yields his post and sword,
But rebels shall not have his ‘word;’
In prison rather ling'ring lie,
Than yield the right to fight and die!

“And faithful love shall follow there,
His hard captivity to share;
But thee, my boy! such fate for thee!
Like fettered cherub thus to be!

“To pine in loathsome, poisoned air,
To dwell in dungeon damp and bare [20]
Oh! better far for thee, my blest,
Beneath the daisy's turf to rest.”

The words her lips are scarcely past,
When round her arms are kindly cast;
A foeman's wife with pitying face,
The mother and the child embrace.

With glowing cheek, with brimming eyes,
“Give me thy son!” she earnest cries;
“And haste thee! for the moments press--
They spare thee but a brief caress!”

She's gone, and other care shall shield
The all-unconscious happy child;
Who laughs when glitt'ring foemen come,
And shouts at roll of hostile drum.

But still his friend with instinct true
Has robed him in his red and blue!
And — mantle fit!--has o'er him thrown
The flag 'neath which the boy was born!

--N. Y. Evening Post.

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