And beyond the grief felt in the loss of the kind friend and agreeable companion, our plaint, in common with the whole world, ever must be, that he did not live to finish his book.

CAVALRY SONG.

  The squadron is forming, the war-bugles play. 
  To saddle, brave comrades, stout hearts for a fray! 
  Our captain is mounted,—­strike spurs, and away!

  No breeze shakes the blossoms or tosses the grain;
  But the wind of our speed floats the galloper’s mane,
  As he feels the bold rider’s firm hand on the rein.

  Lo, dim in the starlight their white tents appear! 
  Ride softly! ride slowly! the onset is near! 
  More slowly! more softly! the sentry may hear!

  Now fall on the Rebel—­a tempest of flame! 
  Strike down the false banner whose triumph were shame! 
  Strike, strike for the true flag, for freedom and fame!

  Hurrah! sheathe your swords! the carnage is done. 
  All red with our valor, we welcome the sun. 
  Up, up with the stars! we have won! we have won!

NO FAILURE FOR THE NORTH.

We have reached a point in the history of our national troubles where it seems desirable to examine our present position, and to consider whether we ought to surrender ourselves to despair, or congratulate ourselves on decided success,—­whether we should abandon all attempts to restore the Union, assert the dignity of the Constitution, and punish treason, or nerve ourselves to new effort, and determine to persevere in a righteous cause so long as a single able-bodied man remains or a dollar of available property is unexpended.

It may be, it must be, conceded that we commenced the contest with very crude and inadequate notions of what war really is.  We proposed to decide the issue by appealing to the census and the tax-list,—­tribunals naturally enough occurring to a mercantile and manufacturing community,—­but how if the enemy prefer cannon and cold steel?  Our first campaign was in the field of statistics, and we found the results highly satisfactory.  Our great numerical superiority, aided by our immense material resources, gave us an early and an easy victory.  We outnumbered the enemy everywhere, defeated them in every pitched battle, starved them by a vigilant blockade, secured meanwhile the sympathy and support of the whole civilized world by the holiness of our cause, and commanded its respect by the display of our material power and our military capacity,—­and in a few short months crushed the Rebellion, restored the Union, vindicated the Constitution, hung the arch-traitors, and saw peace in all our borders.  This was our campaign—­on paper.  But war is something more than a sum in arithmetic.  A campaign cannot be decided by the rule of three.  No finite power can control every contingency, and have all the chances in its favor.