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IHostility against France.

Proposed Withdrawal of the…

Doings at New York.

Uncle Sam's Webb Feet.

Popularity of War Candidates.

Why Charleston Does not Fall…

Completion of the Draft.

The Addition Taxes.

War with France.

Consequences of English-built…

Tactics of Lincoln.

Re-election of Lincoln.

Opinion of the Archduke Maximilian.



CAMP LIFE OF THE INSURGENTS IN LITHUANIA. To give some ever so slight idea of the camp life of the insurgents of Lithuania we insert an extract from the private letter of a volunteer, a mere private, whom fate had thrown at first into the voivodship of Kowno, and subsequently into the corps commanded by the late Abbe Mackiewicz. The letter was written to the parents of the author, who have communicated it to us; and although the contents may appear rather ro- mantic, they are nevertheless corroborated by facts: "After long inquiries, confrontations, and cross-ex- aminations, I was at last brought to a gentleman who was to facilitate my getting to the corps. I must confess that this evident mistrust rather vexed me, but when I saw during my few days' stay at Kieidany how unmercifully the Muscovites tortured the people, I became aware of the necessity of utmost caution, and thought to myself, well, it cannot be helped, I got into the fray, and must get still deeper into it. The intro- duction to this gentleman, whom I do not know to this very day who he was, but imagined him to be a dis- trict, or some other functionary of the National Government—was so peculiar and impressive, that I consider it deserving description. Imagine a very tiny room in a cottage of one of the villages of the neighbourhood, with two small windows looking into the garden; the floor strewed with sweet flag to sweeten it. On the wall a crucifix on a piece of black cloth, under it a wooden form covered with a rug; in the middle of the room a plain wooden table, upon which a few books and again another crucifix, a tallow candle, and a couple of wooden chairs consti- tuted the furniture of the room. When I entered, after u having knocked at the window, as I was instructed, the occupant of the room bolted it without saying a word, showed to me a chair, and for some time pierced me in silence with his penetrating look. He was an emaciated, short man, with a consumptive colour on his cheek. In his uneasy features a feverish excite- ment was perceptible. His look was bold and pene- trating he had a high but already wrinkled forehead, though he did not appear more than thirty years old. After a while he addressed me Citizen! who are you ?' I toldhim my name. He smiled, and said Of what use is the. name ? I want to know who you are.' I replied with the watch-word, and related to him all my adventures from the expedition to the forests of Kampinos in January. "'The past is uiiblameable. But what did you come here for ? Are you aware of what awaits you P You shall be every day hungry; yon shall sleep on the bare ground; you shall walk more often barefooted than in boots. When wounded you will be caught by the Muscovites; and, if you do not stand your ground, the commander will have you shot." I know all this, and am prepared for it.' "'Have you any relatives ? If so, write to them to bewail you beforehand. You may never see them again, because from our corps no one gets a leave of absence except to the grave. Tell me, brother, did you make your peace with G-od ? For I will not deceive you, you are going to meet death. Say, with- out any swagger, whether you are at any time ready to die for the country or not. Think well over it. There is yet time to withdraw. I will facilitate to you the return beyond the Niemen. The service is there less hard.' Citizen, my determination is irrevocable. When, last January, we were leaving Warsaw without arms -without adequate clothing, we knew what awaited us, and yet no one wavered.' You seem to be hurt, citizen, but unjustly, for no one, I am sure, listened with greater admiration to the accounts of your heroic devotedness-your sublime patriotism-which did and does achieve wonders but also no one could have.grieved more profoundly than we when we heard that the very same men who were fighting the foe with mere sticks were, a few months after, flying with muskets into Galicia. These were heart-rending, dreadful tidings for us. There is, indeed, an enormous amount of devotedness and ardour with you, but there is a lack of perseverance; you forget that Moscovy cannot be overcome in a few weeks— that in this gigantic struggle a whole generation of us must be laid low, to redeem the sins of our fathers, and reconquer the right of existence for future gene- rations. Therefore, do I ask you once more, are you ready to go to fight, with the certainty that you must perish ? are you sure that weakness will not overcome you, that yearnings after Warsaw, your relations, that unimaginable hardships will not cool your ardour and cause despondency ? Reflect, for the moment is decisive.' When he spoke thus the calm resignation of the former Christian martyrs was depicted on his coun- tenance. I instinctively felt that these were no mere words, that this was his faith, and that only men penetrated with such faith were fit to join the order of combatants for independence. These words invoked in me an involuntary confused inward struggle. Scenes of my childhood, images of my dear relations and friends, and our cottage at Praga, and former dreams of a peaceful industrious future flitted across my mind, whilst at the same time rose, as if it were in reproach, the visions of our martyrs, the remembrance of the horrors of Muscovite murders, the groans of widows and orphans, the stifled sighs from dungeons and Siberia, seemed to strike my ear, and overpowered my feelings. I blushed with shame that I could think for a moment of myself, and waver, when thousands had signed with their blood the act of future liberty. I started, therefore, from my seat, looked, with tears in my eyes, at our crucified Redeemer, and in a silent prayer made a sacrifice of whatever was dear to my heart. I turned then to my host, and said: 'Brother, I am ready.' I believe you. Take the oath, and let us go.' "The oath being administered, we left the cottage by the gardens at the back, and soon reached the fields. It was a still July night. The aroma of the ripening corn was delightful. I felt light and full of confidence. After an hour's walk through corn fields and bushes, we perceived a light flickering in the window of a hut, close to the border of a forest. My guide gave the signal by repeating three times a plain- tive shriek, representing that of the kite, which was answered from the hut by a similar cry, and in less than half an hour we heard the cautious steps of an old man, in the garb of a peasant, with a straw hat on his head, who greeted us with the usual 1 God be praised.' After a short, subdued talk between my guide and the old man, w& went into the hut, where we found ready-prepared coarse linen, boots, peasants' dresses, and caps and, having changed our dress, we set out for our further journey. The old man led. us across the fewest, murmuring something under his nose. We groped along through close-set thickets, holding almost a&ths skirts of the old man's dress, and in such darkness- that I could not see the grey garments of the man, who preceded; and I cannot conceive by what the old Lithuanian could have been guided in suaft a glteomy, starless n'tght. • Our journey lasted for about a couple of hours, may be more for I only know that when we arrived at a pretty extensive glen the day began to dawn. we will stop here,' said our guide 'in about half an hour they will be here.' Saving this he went a few steps away, knelt down, ani" began to sav his prayers. In/ess than half an hour we heard,'on the opposite side of the glen, the rustling of branches, cautious steps, and a peculiar cry, which served us for a signal. The old man replied, and very soon after that we per- ceived men making their appearance from behind the trees, forming evidently the vanguard. They were all dressed iu grey coats, reaching a little below'the knee, fastened with a leather belt, and had on their heads square caps. Each had a double-barrelled gun, a hatchet stuck in his belt, a good sized bag of coarse linen across his shoulders, and a bugle horn. "The old man and my guide approached them, and they said something to one another, whilst I was standing at a distance. They gave after that a short signal with their bugles,'and went across the glen to the other side of the forest. Soon after a chain of rifle- men pushed forward out of the forest, and took up in silence their position along the very edge-of the forest. They were similarly dressed as the first ones, and were commanded by an officer in a' braided but rather worn coat. They were followed by pretty close columns of riflemen, numbering at least '300, and 100 scythemen. They had neither wagons nor baggage, but I merely saw boxes carried on poles, which, as I afterwards ascertained, contained powder and cart- ridges. All located themselves in groups all over the glen; fires were lit, kettles were put on, and they were evidently preparing for a rest; but in such silence and quiet that one might have taken them for a camp of mute men. Being used to the noise of our camps I was rather astonished at it. Last of all came the Abbe Mackiewicz, the commander of the corps, in a cassock with tucked up corners, a sword, and a revolver in his belt. He was surrounded by a few young officers in braided coats, evidently constituting his staff. All were on foot, not a single horse was to be seen in the camp, nor had they any store of provisions, except- what they carried in their bags. "My guide brought me before the leader, and pre- sented me to him. He related to him all my previous adventures, and concluded by saying— In short, commander, he appears to me a smart, vigorous Mazovian.' "1 had, during the conversation, an opportunity of studying the expression of the features of the Abbe Mackiewicz. His swarthy complexion, prominent features, long dark beard, thick eyebrows, and furrowed forehead, formed a rather gloomy ensemble, full of energy and vigour, which involuntarily penetrated with respect. Do you know how to shoot and to listen F' asked he, laconically. I do.' 'Do you know how to pray? My mother has taught me that.' Can you die ? 'I did not try it as yet.' Very well.' He then turned to one of the officers, and said, Take him to the sixth Decuria; there a gun is left after poor Manulis, eternal peace be with his soul, let them receive him there to the common kettle.' The officer bowed, and took me to my Decuria, who were all sitting' round the fire and talking together in a low voice. Citizen, this is your colleague, a Mazovian, from the banks of the Vistula love him,' and then turning to me, he said, in.:presenting me to an enormous big man, dressed like the others, but merely with a revolver in his belt, This is your Decurion.' They began to question me about Warsaw, about Langiewicz, and other leaders. The conversation became very lively, and I felt very comfortable among them. My Decuria consists of four peasants of Ig- natsov, three townsmen of Poniewicz, the son of a wealthy landowner of the district of Szavle, a school- master from Kowno, and me. I learnt that they are making all sallies and attacks at night, and rest during the day, if the Muscovites are not upon their heels. Last night they made about four Lithuanian (22 English) miles, and proposed therefore to remain the whole day in the glen. The sun had just risen when, at the signal of a whistle, the word of command, To prayers/ was re- peated in every Decuria. The sight of these several hundreds of man inured in battle and kneeling, uncovered in devout prayer, was very solemn and imposing. Before us, before a cross and the effigy of the Blessed Virgin on the camp standard, the Abbe Mackiewicz was kneeling, and struck up the sublime chant, When the morning dawn is rising.' "All around were our native forests, our present strongholds, and over us Grod and our future. Observer.


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