N.H., Windsor, Vt., Trenton, N.J., Bridesburg, Pa., and New York City, Watertown, and Ilion, N.Y.  Besides these, there are more than fifty establishments where separate parts of the musket are manufactured in large quantities, and purchased by Government to supply the places of those injured or destroyed in the service.  It is estimated that the private armories alone are manufacturing monthly upwards of sixty thousand rifled muskets.  The Government contracts for these arms extend to January next, and the total number which will then have been produced will be enormous.  The cost of manufacturing a musket at the Government works is estimated at about nine dollars; but the contract-price to the private arms-companies is twenty dollars for those which equal the Government standard in every respect, nineteen dollars and ninety cents for those which lack a little in finish, nineteen dollars for the next grade, eighteen for the next, and sixteen for the lowest and poorest which are accepted.

As the arms are finished, they are sent away to the various Government arsenals,—­those made in New England to Watertown, Mass.,—­where they remain until the exigencies of the service require them.  At the present time, there is a sufficient number of new rifled muskets of the best qualify stored in the various arsenals to arm the entire levy about to be called into the field,—­and should the war continue so long, there will be enough manufactured during the next twelve months for a new levy of over one million of men.  These arms, it must be remembered, are entirely independent of those ordered by the respective State governments, which would swell the amount very largely.

* * * * *

THE PEWEE.

    The listening Dryads hushed the woods;
      The boughs were thick, and thin and few
      The golden ribbons fluttering through;
    Their sun-embroidered, leafy hoods
      The lindens lifted to the blue: 
    Only a little forest-brook
    The farthest hem of silence shook: 
    When in the hollow shades I heard—­
    Was it a spirit, or a bird? 
    Or, strayed from Eden, desolate,
    Some Feri calling to her mate,
      Whom nevermore her mate would cheer? 
          “Pe-ri!  Pe-ri!  Peer!”

    Through rocky clefts the brooklet fell
      With plashy pour, that scarce was sound,
      But only quiet less profound,
    A stillness fresh and audible: 
      A yellow leaflet to the ground
    Whirled noiselessly:  with wing of gloss
    A hovering sunbeam brushed the moss,
    And, wavering brightly over it,
    Sat like a butterfly alit: 
    The owlet in his open door
    Stared roundly:  while the breezes bore
      The plaint to far-off places drear,—­
          “Pe-ree! pe-ree! peer!”