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In a Louisiana Regiment. 115

sacks, filling" haversacks and loading wagons to take our plunder to the steamer Morrison, which arrived almost simultaneously with the order to move. The news of our early departure had spread uptown before the soldiers themselves were made aware of it, thanks to the energy of newspaper reporters, and it was not long before, what ap- peared to be, a big half of the city's population was on the ground. Wives, mothers, sisters, sweethearts, with weeping eyes and sad- dened hearts, clinging to their loved ones, could be seen on every hand, and even those who were from other portions of the State were made serious and depressed by the sorrowful lamentations of the weeping women.

The last load of camp equipage had been sent to the river and only the stacks of arms and uniformed soldiers were left to mark the spot where our home had been for weeks, when loud above the hum of conversation and crying of women a bugle was heard sounding the assembly, followed by the short, sharp commands of "Fall in! Fall in!" With a great cheer the men fell into their respective places, were brought to Attention." "Take arms," "Carry arms," "Right face," "Forward march," quickly followed, the band struck up "The Girl I Left Behind Me," and the regiment marched gayly to the river, followed by the multitude of civilians, men and women, waving handkerchiefs and wishing Godspeed to those about to enter actively upon a war of four years' duration, and which left only poverty, desolation and misery in its wake.

Weep, mothers, weep; weep, heartbroken wife; weep, gentle sis- ter, for you are perhaps parting forever from your loved ones. Were you gifted with prophetic vision whereby you could penetrate the dark war-clouds of the future, you might see many of the dear ones now marching so bravely and proudly aboard the majestic steamer, lying stark and cold in death, on bloody shot-torn fields, or dying in fever- infected hospitals, with nothing but strangers to wipe the death- damp from their brows, or to utter a prayer for their soul's repose. Soldiers, take a last lingering look at your Crescent City, while the mighty engines throb and pulsate, impatient of restraint, for the years will pass before those of you who survive the bloody conflict will tread its streets again.

" I wish I had a gurl to cry for me; but the devil a wun cares

whether I go or stay," said a brawny young Irishman, as he looked

on at the parting of other soldiers from those they held dearest in

life.

. "A gurl to cry for ye, do you ? Maybe ye'd like to have a wife