the ardor of true affection, and those deep-thrilling touches of patriotic sentiment that make the tendrils of the warm Southern heart to cling with redoubled fondness around the once happy and prosperous sunny South. What, for instance, could be more touching than the following little incident, which gained her so many commendations and so much silent admiration. Strewing flowers over the graves of the Confederate dead in the cemetery near Augusta, she came upon one with a head-board bearing the simple inscription, 'Unknown.' Then and there she wrote the beautiful poem ('Unknown'). This she framed, wreathed with a chaplet of flowers, and placed on the grave of the unknown defender of the Southern cross.

"UNKNOWN."

Written upon visiting the Graves of the Confederate Dead, in the Cemetery, Augusta, Ga.

And proudly do we love to tell

Their glorious deeds to Fame!
But ah! 'tis sad indeed to stand
Beside this humble stone,

And read no name and know that one
Is sleeping all “unknown !”

To know that there are loving hearts
Who'd give their all to-day

To stand beside this grave, where sleeps
Their soldier-boy in gray!

But 'tis enough to know that he

For our dear country died;

And stranger hands can twine fair flowers
Above this spot in pride.

Ah! here are many soldier-graves

He does not sleep alone!

And though no name of him is traced

Upon this simple stone,

There is a spotless scroll above!

And on that snowy page

Hath angel-hands for the "unknown"

Recorded name and age!

AUGUSTA, GA., Feb. 2, 1867.

Miss Sinclair has wooed the Muses amid many of the toils and perplexing cares of every-day life, and often the harp has been tuned to song when the soul echoed only to notes of sorrow. With the stern duties of life around us, and all its bitter trials to meet, not even the poet's heart can always be tuned to sweet melody; but the "Psalm of Life" must be sung in sad as well as sweet numbers. But God has willed that the child of genius should be the child of sorrow too; for suffering and song go linked hand in hand as twin sisters.

Miss Sinclair's present address is Milledgeville, Georgia.

THE OLD REBEL GRAY COAT.

A STORY OF THE LAST BATTLE UNDER LEE.

'Tis five years ago since this old coat was fashioned,
And the stripes and the buttons upon it were bright,

And it folded within it the heart of a soldier,
Who went forth to battle for country and right!

For two years and more, now, our darling's been sleeping
The sleep from which he will wake nevermore,

And folded away as the dearest of treasures;

I've kept the old gray coat our soldier-boy wore!

Would you hear all the story? Well, draw your chair nearer,
And sit, while you listen, close close to my side;
And I'll tell you about them—this old rebel gray coat,
And soldier-boy Willie - our darling and pride!
I'm sure you'll be weeping ere I have repeated
The whole-ah! the half of this sad story o'er;
Perchance, as a treasure, you too may be keeping
The old faded gray coat some soldier-boy wore.

I remember how eager he watched while I finished
The coat I was making-stripes, buttons, and all-
And, to see how he'd look in the garb of a soldier,

He put on his gray coat, and marched through the hall.
Oh! his step was so proud, and his eye shone so bright,
As he said he would march in the ranks the next day;
For in the brave army- our own Southern army -

We had a young soldier-boy there in the gray.

The pants were half done and he smiled as he said:
You'll finish the vest and pants both to-day,

And then I'll be dressed out and out for the battle;
A soldier all clad in a full suit of gray!
! ""
And soon we looked out on the proud-floating banner,
And heard the low tramp of slow-marching feet;
While anxious hearts followed, with tears sadly falling,
For the boys in the gray marching on through the street.

We had but a moment to give them a blessing,

And pray God to send them all back from the fray, When the music was heard, and the banner kept moving, And Willie marched off with the "ordered away!"

One day, when the battle was raging the hardest,

Lee's army-God bless him!- the bravest of all! Marched up to the front, where the muskets were gleaming, And thickly around fell each loud-hissing ball.

The boys were all weary with marching that day;
And as they were going just then in the fight,
Willie pulled off this gray coat from over his jacket,
And gave to a soldier who passed on the right,

“Here, Henry,” he said, "you'll not be in the battle,
So keep this for me till the fighting is o'er."
And this is the gray coat.

the dear, faded gray coat,

That Willie, our darling young soldier-boy, wore!

'T was scarcely a moment, he said, when he saw them
Together rush on in the midst of the fray;

'Mid the smoke of the battle he saw them all falling,
And Willie was there in the ranks of the gray.
With his hand on his musket, his face to the foe,
A comrade close by our soldier saw fall;
And after the battle they found him all bleeding,
His heart rudely pierced by a sharp rifle-ball.

And over his forehead the soft locks were parted -
Those beautiful golden locks dripping with gore.
O Willie! no wonder my heart's almost breaking
Above the old gray coat our soldier-boy wore!

They moved him away from the spot where they found him,
A blanket wrapped round the young soldier in gray,
And left him to sleep on the red field of glory,

Where he in the battle had fallen that day.

The guns ceased their fire; the banners were folded;
They said that the fighting at last was all o'er,
And our boys were all coming back home from the army,
To answer the call of the war-drum no more.

The day of surrender! oh! well might each soldier,
The bravest, the strongest, be weeping to see
The muskets all falling! the dear, conquered banner

Drooping round the sheathed sword of our own gallant Lee!

They had followed him long-braved many a danger-
And now with their leader they all turned away;
No spot on the bright swords! no stain on our banner !
And none on the soldiers who fought in the gray!

Once more the crowd pressed through the streets of the city,
To welcome the boys coming back on the boat;

There were no marching footsteps-no drums beating music — And there was no proud flag above them to float.

But, weary and worn from the heat of the battle,

We welcomed them back to our sad hearts once more; But many were missing -- and Willie among them,

And this is the gray coat our brave soldier wore.

One came with a form and step like his brother's,

And told us that Willie would come back no more;
Then he gave me this token this dear, tattered gray coat,
That Willie, our darling young soldier-boy, wore.

I folded it up, while my tears were fast falling,
And carefully put the dear relic away;

For Willie, our darling young soldier, had worn it,
This old faded treasure this dear coat of gray.

The stripes are all gone from the sleeves where I put them,
The buttons are tarnished-the collar is worn;

One pocket is gone—the color is faded;

And see how the lining inside is all torn!

And here is a patch where his hand tried to mend it,
A stitch like a soldier's - one here and one there;

To keep on the binding or tack on a button;

Oh! the trace of our darling's hand still lingers here.
How oft, when the winter winds whistled above him,
He'd fold this old coat snugly over his breast;
Then, wrapping his blanket as closely around him,
Would lay him adown on the cold ground to rest!

Now open this case, and you 'll see a sweet picture,
With gold on the hair, and blue in the eye!
One as bright as the tints of the beautiful sunset,
One fair as the light of a clear summer sky.

Ah! darling, the flush from the fair cheek has vanished;
It died when you left us, to come nevermore !
And yet in this picture he's smiling out from it
The very same gray coat our soldier-boy wore.

And this little banner-I'll tell you about it,

How well I have kept it-unspotted each fold;
Not a stain on the crimson- and how the stars glitter,
All set in their bright-shining spangles of gold.

Well, when our Willie first went as a soldier,

I gave him this banner to cherish with care, And told him to guard it, and keep his own honor As bright as its folds, and as spotless and fair.

One night, when the soldiers were posted for duty,
The long-roll was heard while the drum slowly beat;
The ranks were soon filled each one in their places,
All ready to march and not one to retreat!