Chapter X: Part XV (2)

From this retrospect it will be seen that in all the wars of the country, in the revolutionary war, in the Indian war, in the last British war, and the present Mexican war, the blood of almost every Butler able to bear arms has been freely shed in the public cause. Maj. Gen. William O. Butler is now among the highest in the military service of his country; and he has attained this grade from the ranks--the position of a private being the only one he ever sought. At the opening of the war of 1812, he had just graduated in the Transylvania University, and was looking to the law as a profession. The surrender of Detroit, and the army by Hull, aroused the patriotism and the valor of Kentucky--and young Butler, yet in his minority, was among the first to volunteer. He gave up his books, and the enjoyments of the gay and polished society of Lexington, where he lived among a circle of fond and partial relations--the hope to gratify their ambition in shining at the bar, or in the political forum of the state--to join Capt. Hart's company of infantry as a private soldier.

Before the march to join the northwestern army, he was elected a corporal. In this grade he marched to the relief of Fort Wayne, which was invested by hostile Indians. These were driven before the Kentucky volunteers to their towns on the Wabash, which were destroyed, and the troops then returned to the Miami of the lakes, where they made a winter encampment. Here an ensign's commission in the second regiment of United States infantry was tendered to the volunteer corporal, which he declined, unless permitted to remain with the northwestern army, which he had entered to share in the effort of the Kentucky militia to wipe out the disgrace of Hull's surrender by the recapture of Detroit. His proposition was assented to, and he received an ensign's appointment in the seventeenth infantry, then a part of the northwestern army, under the command of Gen. Winchester. After enduring every privation in a winter encampment, in the wildernesses and frozen marshes of the lake country, awaiting in vain the expected support of additional forces, the Kentucky volunteers, led by Lewis, Allen, and Madison, with Well's regiment, (17th U. S.) advanced to encounter the force of British and Indians which defended Detroit. On leaving Kentucky the volunteers had pledged themselves to drive the British invaders from our soil. These men and their leaders were held in such estimation at home, that the expectation formed of them exceeded their promises; and these volunteers, though disappointed in every succor which they had reason to anticipate--wanting in provision, clothes, cannon, in every thing--resolved, rather than lose reputation, to press on to the enterprise, and to endeavor to draw on to them, by entering into action, the troops behind. It is not proper here to enter into explanations of the causes of the disaster at the River Raisin, the consequence of this movement, nor to give the particulars of the battle. The incidents which signalized the character of the subject of this memoir alone are proper here.

There were two battles at the River Raisin, one on the 18th, the other on the 22d of January. In the first, the whole body of Indian warriors, drawn together from all the lake tribes, for the defence of Upper Canada against the approaching Kentuckians, were encountered. In moving to the attack of this formidable force of the fiercest, and bravest, and most expert warriors on the continent, a strong party of them were descried from the line with which Ensign Butler advanced, running forward to reach a fence, and hold it as a cover from which to ply their rifles. Butler instantly proposed, and was permitted, to anticipate them. Calling upon some of the most alert and active men of the company, he ran directly to meet the Indians at the fence. He and his comrades out-stripped the enemy, and getting possession of the fence, kept the advantage of the position for their advancing friends. This incident, of however little importance as to results, is worth remembrance in giving the traits of a young soldier's character. It is said that the hardiest veteran, at the opening of the fire in battle, feels, for the moment, somewhat appalled. And Gen. Wolfe, one of the bravest of men, declared that the "horrid yell of the Indian strikes the boldest heart with affright." The strippling student, who, for the first time, beheld a field of battle on the snows of the River Raisin, presenting in bold relief long files of those terrible enemies, whose massacres had filled his native State with tales of horror, must have felt some stirring sensations. But the crack of the Indian rifle, and his savage yell, awoke in him the chivalric instincts of his nature; and the promptitude with which he communicated his enthusiasm to a few comrades around, and rushed forward to meet danger in its most appalling form, risking himself to save others, and secure a triumph which he could scarcely hope to share, gave earnest of the military talent, the self-sacrificing courage, and the soldierly sympathies which have drawn to him the nation's esteem. The close of the battle of the 18th gave another instance in which these latter traits of Gen. Butler's character were still more strikingly illustrated. The Indians, driven from the defences around the town on the River Raisin, retired fighting into the thick woods beyond it. The contest of sharp-shooting from tree to tree was here continued--the Kentuckians pressing forward, and the Indians retreating, until night closed in, when the Kentuckians were recalled to the encampment in the village. The Indians advanced as their opposers withdrew, and kept up the fire until the Kentuckians emerged from the woods into the open ground. Just as the column to which Ensign Butler belonged reached the verge of the dark forest, the voice of a wounded man, who had been left some distance behind, was heard calling out most piteously for help. Butler induced three of his company to go back in the woods with him to bring him off. He was found, and they fought their way back--one of the men, Jeremiah Walker, receiving a shot, of which he subsequently died.

In the second sanguinary battle of the River Raisin, on the 22d of January, with the British and Indians, another act of self-devotion was performed by Butler. After the rout and massacre of the right wing, belonging to Wells' command, the whole force of the British and Indians was concentrated against the small body of troops under Major Madison, that maintained their ground within the picketed gardens. A double barn, commanding the plot of ground on which the Kentuckians stood, was approached on one side by the Indians, under the cover of an orchard and fence; the British, on the other side, being so posted as to command the space between it and the pickets. A party in the rear of the barn were discovered advancing to take possession of it. All saw the fatal consequences of the secure lodgment of the enemy at a place which would present every man within the pickets at close rifle-shot to the aim of their marksmen. Major Madison inquired if there was no one who would volunteer to run the gauntlet of the fire of the British and Indian lines, and put a torch to the combustibles within the barn, to save the remnant of the little army from sacrifice. Butler, without a moment's delay, took some blazing slicks from a fire at hand, leaped the pickets, and running at his utmost speed, thrust the fire into the straw within the barn. One who was an anxious spectator of the event we narrate, says, "that although volley upon volley was fired at him, Butler, after making some steps on his way back, turned to see if the fire had taken, and not being satisfied, returned to the barn and set it in a blaze. As the conflagration grew, the enemy was seen retreating from the rear of the building, which they had entered at one end, as the flame ascended in the other. Soon after reaching the pickets in safety, amid the shouts of his friends, he was struck by a ball in his breast. Believing from the pain he felt that it had penetrated his chest, turning to Adjutant (now Gen.) McCalla, one of his Lexington comrades, and pressing his hand to the spot, he said, "I fear this shot is mortal, but while I am able to move, I will do my duty." To the anxious inquiries of this friend, who met him soon afterward, he opened his vest, with a smile, and showed him that the ball had spent itself on the thick wadding of his coat and on his breast bone. He suffered, however, for many weeks.

The little band within the pickets, which Winchester had surrendered, after being carried himself a prisoner into Proctor's camp, denied his powers. They continued to hold the enemy at bay until they were enabled to capitulate on honorable terms, which, nevertheless, Proctor shamefully violated, by leaving the sick and wounded who were unable to walk to the tomahawk of his allies. Butler, who was among the few of the wounded who escaped the massacre, was marched through Canada to Fort Niagara--suffering under his wound, and every privation--oppressed with grief, hunger, fatigue, and the inclement cold of that desolate region. Even here he forgot himself, and his mind wandered back to the last night scene which he surveyed on the bloody shores of the River Raisin. He gave up the heroic part and became the schoolboy again, and commemorated his sorrows for his lost friends in verse, like some passionate, heart-broken lover. These elegiac strains were never intended for any but the eye of mutual friends, whose sympathies, like his own, poured out tears with their plaints over the dead. We give some of these lines of his boyhood, to show that the heroic youth had a bosom not less kind than brave.

THE FIELD OF RAISIN.

The battle's o'er! the din is past,
Night's mantle on the field is cast;
The Indian yell is heard no more,
An silence broods o'er Erie's shore.
At this lone hour I go to tread
The field where valor vainly bled--
To raise the wounded warrior's crest,
Or warm with tears his icy breast;
To treasure up his last command,
And bear it to his native land.
It may one pulse of joy impart
To a fond mother's bleeding heart;
Or for a moment it may dry
The tear-drop in the widow's eye.
Vain hope, away! The widow ne'er
Her warrior's dying wish shall hear.
The passing zephyr bears no sigh,
No wounded warrior meets the eye--
Death is his sleep by Erie's wave,
Of Raisin's snow we heap his grave!
How many hopes lie murdered here--
The mother's joy, the father's pride,
The country's boast, the foeman's fear,
In wilder'd havoc, side by side.
Lend me, thou silent queen of night,
Lend me awhile thy waning light,
That I may see each well-loved form,
That sunk beneath the morning storm.

These lines are introductory to what may be considered a succession of epitaphs on the personal friends whose bodies he found upon the field. It would extend the extract too far to insert them. We can only add the close of the poem, where he takes leave of a group of his young comrades in Hart's company, who had fallen together.

And here I see that youthful band,
That loved to move at Hart's command;
I saw them for the battle dressed,
And still where danger thickest pressed,
I marked their crimson plumage wave.
How many filled this bloody grave!
Their pillow and their winding-sheet
The virgin snow--a shroud most meet!
But wherefore do I linger here?
Why drop the unavailing tear?
Where'er I turn, some youthful form,
Like floweret broken by the storm,
Appeals to me in sad array,
And bids me yet a moment stay.
Till I could fondly lay me down
And sleep with him on the cold, cold ground.
For thee, thou dread and solemn plain,
I ne'er shall look on thee again;
And Spring, with her effacing showers,
Shall come, and Summer's mantling flowers;
And each succeeding Winter throw
On thy red breast new robes of snow;
Yet I will wear thee in my heart,
All dark and gory as thou art.

Shortly after his return from Canada. Ensign Butler was promoted to a captaincy in the regiment to which he belonged. But as this promotion was irregular, being made over the heads of senior officers in that regiment, a captaincy was given him in the 44th, a new raised regiment. When free from parole, by exchange, in 1814, he instantly entered on active duty, with a company which he had recruited at Nashville, Tennessee. His regiment was ordered to join General Jackson in the South, but Captain Butler finding its movements too tardy, pushed on, and effected that junction with his company alone. Gen. Call, at that time an officer in Capt. Butler's company, (since Gov. of Florida,) in a letter addressed to Mr. Tanner of Kentucky, presents, as an eye-witness, so graphically, the share which Capt. Butler had in the campaign which followed, that it may well supersede any narrative at second hand.

"_Tallehasse, April_ 3, 1844.

"SIR,--I avail myself of the earliest leisure I
have had since the receipt of your letter of the
18th of February, to give you a reply.

"A difference of political sentiments will not
induce me to withhold the narrative you have
requested, of the military services of Col. Wm. O.
Butler, during the late war with Great Britain,
while attached to the army of the South. My
intimate association with him, in camp, on the
march, and in the field, has perhaps made me as
well acquainted with his merits, as a gentleman and
a soldier, as any other man living. And although we
are now standing in opposite ranks, I cannot forget
the days and nights we have stood side by side,
facing the common enemy of our country, sharing the
same fatigues, dangers, and privations, and
participating in the same pleasures and enjoyments.
The feelings and sympathies springing from such
associations in the days of our youth can never be
removed or impaired by a difference of opinion with
regard to men or measures, when each may well
believe the other equally sincere as himself, and
where the most ardent desire of both is to sustain
the honor, the happiness and prosperity of our
country.

"Soon after my appointment in the army of the
United States, as a lieutenant, in the fall of
1814, I was ordered to join the company of Capt.
Butler, of the 44th regiment of infantry, then at
Nashville, Tennessee. When I arrived, and reported
myself, I found the company under orders to join
our regiment in the South. The march, mostly
through an unsettled wilderness, was conducted by
Capt. Butler with his usual promptitude and energy,
and by forced and rapid movements we arrived at
Fort Montgomery, the headquarters of Gen. Jackson,
a short distance above the Florida line, just in
time to follow our beloved general in his bold
enterprise to drive the enemy from his strong
position in a neutral territory. The van-guard of
the army destined for the invasion of Louisiana had
made Pensacola its headquarters, and the British
navy in the Gulf of Mexico had rendezvoused in that
beautiful bay.

"The penetrating sagacity of Gen. Jackson
discovered the advantage of the position assumed by
the British forces, and with a decision and energy
which never faltered, he resolved to find his
enemy, even under the flag of a neutral power. This
was done by a prompt and rapid march, surprising
and cutting off all the advanced pickets, until we
arrived within gun-shot of the fort at Pensacola.
The army of Gen. Jackson was then so inconsiderable
as to render a reinforcement of a single company,
commanded by such an officer as Capt. Butler, an
important acquisition. And although there were
several companies of regular troops ordered to
march from Tennessee at the same time, Capt.
Butler's, by his extraordinary energy and
promptitude, was the only one which arrived in time
to join this expedition. His company formed a part
of the centre column of attack at Pensacola. The
street we entered was defended by a battery in
front, which fired on us incessantly, while several
strong block-houses, on our flanks, discharged upon
us small arms and artillery. But a gallant and
rapid charge soon carried the guns in front, and
the town immediately surrendered.

"In this fight Capt. Butler led on his company with
his usual intrepidity. He had one officer, Lieut.
Flournoy, severely wounded, and several
non-commissioned officers and privates killed and
wounded.

"From Pensacola, after the object of the expedition
was completed, by another prompt and rapid
movement, we arrived at New Orleans a few weeks
before the appearance of the enemy.

"On the 23d of December the signal-gun announced
the approach of the enemy. The previous night they
had surprised and captured one of our pickets; had
ascended a bayou, disembarked, and had taken
possession of the left bank of the Mississippi,
within six miles of New Orleans. The energy of
every officer was put in requisition, to
concentrate our forces in time to meet the enemy.
Capt. Butler was one of the first to arrive at the
general's quarters, and ask instructions; they were
received and promptly executed. Our regiment,
stationed on the opposite side, was transported
across the river. All the available forces of our
army, not much exceeding fifteen hundred men, were
concentrated in the city; and while the sun went
down the line of battle was formed; and every
officer took the station assigned him in the fight.
The infantry formed on the open square, in front of
the Cathedral, waiting in anxious expectation for
the order to move. During this momentary pause,
while the enemy was expected to enter the city, a
scene of deep and thrilling interest was presented.
Every gallery, porch and window around the square
were filled with the fair forms of beauty, in
silent anxiety and alarm, waving their
handkerchiefs to the gallant and devoted band which
stood before them, prepared to die, or defend them
from the rude intrusion of a foreign soldiery. It
was a scene calculated to awaken emotions never to
be forgotten. It appealed to the chivalry and
patriotism of every officer and soldier--it
inspired every heart, and nerved every arm for
battle. From this impressive scene the army marched
to meet the enemy, and about eight o'clock at night
they were surprised in their encampment,
immediately on the banks of the Mississippi.
Undiscovered, our line was formed in silence within
a short distance of the enemy; a rapid charge was
made into their camp, and a desperate conflict
ensued. After a determined resistance the enemy
gave way, but disputing every inch of ground we
gained. In advancing over ditches and fences in the
night, rendered still more dark by the smoke of the
battle, much confusion necessarily ensued, and many
officers became separated from their commands. It
more than once occurred during the fight that some
of our officers, through mistake, entered the
enemy's lines; and the British officers in like
manner entered ours. The meritorious officer in
command of our regiment, at the commencement of the
battle, lost his position in the darkness and
confusion, and was unable to regain it until the
action was over. In this manner, for a short time,
the regiment was without a commander, and its
movements were regulated by the platoon officers,
which increased the confusion and irregularity of
the advance. In this critical situation, and in the
heat of the battle, Capt. Butler, as the senior
officer present, assumed command of the regiment,
and led it on most gallantly to repeated and
successful charges, until the fight ended in the
complete rout of the enemy. We were still pressing
on their rear, when an officer of the general's
staff rode up and ordered the pursuit discontinued.
Captain Butler urged its continuance, and expressed
the confident belief of his ability to take many
prisoners, if permitted to advance. But the order
was promptly repeated, under the well-founded
apprehension that our troops might come in
collision with each other, an event which had
unhappily occurred at a previous hour of the fight.
No corps on that field was more bravely led to
battle than the regiment commanded by Capt. Butler,
and no officer of any rank, save the
commander-in-chief, was entitled to higher credit
for the achievement of that glorious night.

"A short time before the battle of the 8th of
January, Capt. Butler was detailed to command the
guard in front of the encampment. A house standing
near the bridge, in advance of his position, had
been taken possession of by the light troops of the
enemy, from whence they annoyed our guard. Capt.
Butler determined to dislodge them and burn the
house. He accordingly marched to the attack at the
head of his command, but the enemy retired before
him. Seeing them retreat, he halted his guard, and
advanced himself, accompanied by two or three men
only, for the purpose of burning the house. It was
an old frame building, weather-boarded, without
ceiling or plaster in the inside, with a single
door opening to the British camp. On entering the
house he found a soldier of the enemy concealed in
one corner, whom he captured, and sent to the rear
with his men, remaining alone in the house. While
he was in the act of kindling a fire, a detachment
of the enemy, unperceived, occupied the only door.
The first impulse was to force, with his single
arm, a passage through them, but he was instantly
seized in a violent manner by two or three stout
fellows, who pushed him back against the wall with
such force as to burst off the weather-boarding
from the wall, and he fell through the opening thus
made. In an instant he recovered himself, and under
a heavy fire from the enemy, he retreated until
supported by the guard, which he immediately led on
to the attack, drove the British light troops from
their strong position, and burnt the house in the
presence of the two armies.

"I witnessed on that field many deeds of daring
courage, but none of which more excited my
admiration than this.

"Capt. Butler was soon after in the battle of the
8th of January, where he sustained his previously
high and well earned reputation for bravery and
usefulness. But that battle, which, from its
important results, has eclipsed those which
preceded it, was but a slaughter of the enemy, with
trivial loss on our part, and presenting few
instances of individual distinction.

"Capt. Butler received the brevet rank of major for
his gallant services during that eventful campaign,
and the reward of merit was never more worthily
bestowed. Soon after the close of the war, he was
appointed aid-de-camp to Gen. Jackson, in which
station he remained until he retired from the army.
Since that period I have seldom had the pleasure of
meeting with my valued friend and companion in
arms, and I know but little of his career in civil
life. But in camp, his elevated principles, his
intelligence and generous feelings, won for him the
respect and confidence of all who knew him; and
where he is best known, I will venture to say, he
is still most highly appreciated for every
attribute which constitutes the gentleman and the
soldier.
"I am, sir, very respectfully,
"R. K. CALL."
"MR. WILLIAM TANNER."

General Jackson's sense of the services of Butler, in this memorable campaign, was strongly expressed in the following letter to a member of the Kentucky Legislature:

"_Hermitage, Feb._ 20, 1844.

"MY DEAR SIR,--You ask me to give you my opinion of
the military services of the then Captain, now
Colonel, Wm. O. Butler, of Kentucky, during the
investment of New Orleans by the British forces in
1814 and 1815. I wish I had sufficient strength to
speak fully of the merit of the services of Col.
Butler on that occasion; this strength I have not:
Suffice it to say, that on all occasions he
displayed that heroic chivalry, and calmness of
judgment in the midst of danger, which distinguish
the valuable officer in the hour of battle. In a
conspicuous manner were those noble qualities
displayed by him on the night of the 23d December,
1814, and on the 8th of January, 1815, as well as
at all times during the presence of the British
army at New Orleans. In short, he was to be found
at all points where duty called. I hazard nothing
in saying that should our country again be engaged
in war during the active age of Col. Butler, he
would be one of the very best selections that could
be made to command our army, and lead the Eagles of
our country on to victory and renown. He has
sufficient energy to assume all responsibility
necessary to success, and for his country's good.

"ANDREW JACKSON."

Gen. Jackson gave earlier proof of the high estimation in which he held the young soldier who had identified himself with his own glory at New Orleans. He made him his aid-de-camp in 1816--which station he retained on the peace establishment, with the rank of colonel. But, like his illustrious patron, he soon felt that military station and distinction had no charms for him when unattended with the dangers, duties, and patriotic achievements of war. He resigned, therefore, even the association with his veteran chief, of which he was so proud, and retired in 1817 to private life. He resumed his study of the profession that was interrupted by the war, married, and settled down on his patrimonial possession at the confluence of the Kentucky and Ohio rivers, in the noiseless but arduous vocations of civil life. The abode which he had chosen made it peculiarly so with him. The region around him was wild and romantic, sparsely settled, and by pastoral people. There are no populous towns. The high, rolling, and yet rich lands--the precipitous cliffs of the Kentucky, of Eagle, Tavern and other tributaries which pour into it near the mouth--make this section of the State still, to some extent a wilderness of thickets--and the tangled pea-vine, the grape-vine and nut-bearing trees, which rendered all Kentucky, until the intrusion of the whites, one great Indian park. The whole luxuriant domain was preserved by the Indians as a pasture for buffalo, deer, elk, and other animals--their enjoyment alike as a chase and a subsistence--by excluding every tribe from fixing a habitation in it. Its name consecrated it as the dark and bloody ground; and war pursued every foot that trod it. In the midst of this region, in April, 1791, Wm. O. Butler was born, in Jessamine county, on the Kentucky River. His father had married, in Lexington, soon after his arrival in Kentucky, 1782, Miss Howkins, a sister-in-law of Col. Todd, who commanded and perished in the battle of the Blue-Licks. Following the instincts of his family, which seemed ever to court danger, Gen. Pierce Butler, as neighborhood encroached around him, removed, not long after the birth of his son William, to the mouth of the Kentucky River. Through this section the Indian warpath into the heart of Kentucky passed. Until the peace of 1794, there was scarcely a day that some hostile Savage did not prowl through the tangled forests, and the labyrinths of hills, streams and cliffs, which adapted this region to their lurking warfare. From it they emerged when they made their last formidable incursion, and pushed their foray to the environs of Frankfort, the capital of the State. General Pierce Butler had on one side of him the Ohio, on the farther shore of which the savage hordes still held the mastery, and on the other the romantic region through which they hunted and pressed their war enterprises. And here, amid the scenes of border warfare, his son William had that spirit, which has animated him through life, educated by the legends of the Indian-fighting hunters of Kentucky.

To the feelings and taste inspired by the peculiarities of the place and circumstances adverted to, must be attributed the return of Col. Butler to his father's home, to enter on his profession as a lawyer. There were no great causes or rich clients to attract him--no dense population to lift him to the political honors of the State. The eloquence and learning, the industry and integrity which he gave to adjust the controversies of Gallatin and the surrounding counties, would have crowned him with wealth and professional distinction, if exhibited at Louisville or Lexington. But he coveted neither. Independence, the affections of his early associates, the love of a family circle, and the charm which the recollection of a happy boyhood gave to the scenes in which he was reared, were all he sought. And he found them all in the romantic dells and woodland heights of Kentucky, and on the sides of the far spreading, gently flowing, beautiful Ohio. The feeling which his sincere and sensitive nature had imbibed here was as strong as that of the Switzer for his bright lakes, lofty mountains, and deep valleys. The wild airs of the boat horn, which have resounded for so many years from arks descending the Ohio and Kentucky, floating along the current and recurring in echoes from the hollows of the hills, like its eddies, became as dear to him as the famous Rans de Vache to the native of Switzerland. We insert, as characteristic alike of the poetical talent and temperament of Butler, some verses which the sound of this rude instrument evoked when he returned home, resigning with rapture "the ear piercing fife and spirit stirring drum" for the wooden horn, which can only compass in its simple melody such airs as that to which Burns has set his beautiful words--

When wild war's deadly blast was blawn,
And gentle peace returning,
Wi' mony a sweet babe fatherless,
And many a widow mourning;
I left the lines and tented field.

The music of this song made the burden of the "Boatman's Horn," and always announced the approaching ark to the river villages.

The sentiments of the poet, as well as the sweet and deep tones which wafted the plaintive air over the wide expanse of the Ohio, may have contributed to awaken the feeling which pervade these lines.

THE BOAT HORN.

O, boatman! wind that horn again,
For never did the list'ning air
Upon its lambent bosom bear
So wild, so soft, so sweet a strain--
What though thy notes are sad, and few,
By every simple boatman blown,
Yet is each pulse to nature true,
And melody in every tone.
How oft in boyhood's joyous day,
Unmindful of the lapsing hours,
I've loitered on my homeward way
By wild Ohio's brink of flowers,
While some lone boatman, from the deck,
Poured his soft numbers to that tide,
As if to charm from storm and wreck
The boat where all his fortunes ride!
Delighted Nature drank the sound,
Enchanted--Echo bore it round
In whispers soft, and softer still,
From hill to plain, and plain to hill,
Till e'en the thoughtless, frolick boy,
Elate with hope, and wild with joy,
Who gamboled by the river's side,
And sported with the fretting tide,
Feels something new pervade his breast,
Chain his light step, repress his jest,
Bends o'er the flood his eager ear
To catch the sounds far off yet dear--
Drinks the sweet draught, but knows not why
The tear of rapture fills his eye
And can he now, to manhood grown,
Tell why those notes, simple and lone,
As on the ravished ear they fall,
Bind every sense in magic spell?
There is a tide of feeling given
To all on earth, its fountain Heaven.
Beginning with the dewy flower,
Just oped in Flora's vernal bower--
Rising creation's orders through
With louder murmur, brighter hue--
That _tide_ is sympathy! its ebb and flow
Give life its hues of joy and wo.
Music, the master-spirit that can move
Its waves to war, or lull them into love--
Can cheer the sinking sailor mid the wave,
And bid the soldier on! nor fear the grave--
Inspire the fainting pilgrim on his road,
And elevate his soul to claim his God.
Then, boatman! wind that horn again!
Though much of sorrow mark its strain,
Yet are its notes to sorrow dear;
What though they wake fond memory's tear!
Tears are sad memory's sacred feast,
And rapture oft her chosen guest.

This retirement, which may almost be considered seclusion, was enjoyed by Col. Butler nearly twenty-five years, when he was called out by the Democratic party to redeem by his personal popularity the congressional district in which he lived. It was supposed that no one else could save it from the Whigs. Like all the rest of his family, none of whom had made their military service a passport to the honors and emoluments of civil stations, he was averse to relinquish the attitude he occupied to enter on a party struggle. The importunity of friends prevailed; and he was elected to two successive terms in Congress, absolutely refusing to be a candidate a third time. He spoke seldom in Congress, but in two or three fine speeches which appear in the debates, a power will readily be detected which could not have failed to conduct to the highest distinction in that body. Taste, judgment, and eloquence, characterized all his efforts in Congress. A fine manner, an agreeable voice, and the high consideration accorded to him by the members of all parties, gave him, what it is the good fortune of few to obtain, an attentive and gratified audience.

In 1844 the same experiment was made with Butler's popularity to carry the state for the Democracy, as had succeeded in his congressional district. He was nominated as the Democratic candidate for governor by the 8th of January Convention; and there is good ground to believe that he would have been chosen over his estimable Whig competitor, Governor Owsley, but for the universal conviction throughout the state that the defeat of Mr. Clay's party, by the choice of a Democratic governor in August, would have operated to injure Mr. Clay's prospects throughout the Union, in the presidential election which followed immediately after in November. With Mr. Clay's popularity, and the activity of all his friends--with the state pride so long exalted by the aspiration of giving a President to the Union--more eagerly than ever enlisted against the Democracy, Col. Butler diminished the Whig majority from twenty thousand to less than five thousand.

The late military events with which Maj. Gen. Butler has been connected--in consequence of his elevation to that grade in 1846, with the view to the command of the volunteers raised to support Gen. Taylor in his invasion of Mexico--are so well known to the country that minute recital is not necessary. He acted a very conspicuous part in the severe conflict at Monterey, and had, as second in command under Gen. Taylor, his full share in the arduous duties and responsibilities incurred in that important movement. The narrative of Major Thomas, senior assistant adjutant-general of the army in Mexico, and hence assigned by Gen. Taylor to the staff of Gen. Butler, reports so plainly and modestly the part which Gen. Butler performed in subjecting the city, that it may well stand for history. This passage is taken from it.

"The army arrived at their camp in the vicinity of
Monterey about noon September 19th. That afternoon
the general endeavored by personal observation to
get information of the enemy's position. He, like
Gen. Taylor, saw the importance of gaining the road
to Saltillo, and fully favored the movement of Gen.
Worth's division to turn their left, &c. Worth
marched Sunday, September 20th, for this purpose,
thus leaving Twiggs' and Butler's divisions with
Gen. Taylor. Gen. Butler was also in favor of
throwing his division across the St. John's river,
and approaching the town from the east, which was
at first determined upon. This was changed, as it
would leave but one, and perhaps the smallest
division, to guard the camp, and attack in front.
The 20th the general also reconnoitered the enemy's
position. Early the morning of the 21st the force
was ordered out to create a diversion in favor of
Worth, that he might gain his position; and before
our division came within long range of the enemy's
principal battery, the foot of Twiggs' division had
been ordered down to the northeast side of the
town, to make an armed reconnoisance of the
advanced battery, and to take it if it could be
done without great loss. The volunteer division was
scarcely formed in rear of our howitzer and mortar
battery, established the night previous under cover
of a rise of ground, before the infantry sent down
to the northeast side of the town became closely
and hotly engaged, the batteries of that division
were sent down, _and we were then ordered to
support the attack._ Leaving the Kentucky regiment
to support the mortar and howitzer battery, the
general rapidly put in march, by a flank movement,
the other three regiments, moving for some one and
a half or two miles under a heavy fire of round
shot. As further ordered, the Ohio regiment was
detached from Quitman's brigade, and led by the
general (at this time accompanied by Gen. Taylor)
into the town. Quitman carried his brigade directly
on the battery first attacked, and gallantly
carried it. Before this, however, as we entered the
suburbs, the chief engineer came up and advised us
to withdraw, as the object of the attack had
failed, and if we moved on we must meet with great
loss. The general was loath to fall back without
consulting with Gen. Taylor, which he did do--the
general being but a short distance off. As we were
withdrawing, news came that Quitman had carried the
battery, and Gen. Butler led the Ohio regiment back
to the town at a different point. In the street we
became exposed to a line of batteries on the
opposite side of a small stream, and also from a
_tête de pont_ (bridge-head) which enfiladed us.
Our men fell rapidly as we moved up the street to
get a position to charge the battery across the
stream. Coming to a cross-street, the general
reconnoitered the position, and determining to
charge from that point, sent me back a short
distance to stop the firing, and advance the
regiment with the bayonet. I had just left him,
when he was struck in the leg, being on foot, and
was obliged to leave the field."

"On entering the town, the general and his troops
became at once hotly engaged at short musket range.
He had to make his reconnoisances under heavy fire.
This he did unflinchingly, and by exposing his
person--on one occasion passing through a large
gateway into a yard which was entirely open to the
enemy. When he was wounded, at the intersection of
the two streets, he was exposed to a cross-fire of
musketry and grape."

"In battle the general's bearing was truly that of
a soldier; and those under him felt the influence
of his presence. He had the entire confidence of
his men."

The narrative of Major Thomas continues:

"When Gen. Taylor went on his expedition to
Victoria, in December, he placed Gen. Butler in
command of the troops left on the Rio Grande, and
at the stations from the river on to
Saltillo--Worth's small division of regulars being
at the latter place. Gen. Wool's column had by this
time reached Parras, one hundred or more miles west
of Saltillo. General Butler had so far recovered
from his wound as to walk a little and take
exercise on horseback, though with pain to his
limb. One night, (about the 19th December,) an
express came from Gen. Worth at Saltillo, stating
that the Mexican forces were advancing in large
numbers from San Luis de Potosi, and that he
expected to be attacked in two days. His division,
all told, did not exceed 1500 men, if so many, and
he asked reinforcements. The general remained up
during the balance of the night, sent off the
necessary couriers to the rear for reinforcements,
and had the 1st Kentuckey, and the 1st Ohio foot,
then encamped three miles from town, in the place
by daylight; and these two regiments, with
Webster's battery, were encamped that night ten
miles on the road to Saltillo. This promptness
enabled the general to make his second day's march
of twenty-two miles in good season, and to hold the
celebrated pass of Los Muertos, and check the enemy
should he have attacked Gen. Worth on that day, and
obliged him to evacuate the town. Whilst on the
next, and last day's march, the general received
notice that the reported advance of the enemy was
untrue. Arriving at the camp-ground, the general
suffered intense pain from his wound, and slept not
during the night. This journey, over a rugged,
mountainous road, and the exercise he took in
examining the country for twenty miles in advance
of Saltillo, caused the great increase of pain now
experienced."

The major's account then goes on to relate Gen. Butler's proceedings while in command of all the forces after the junction of Generals Worth and Wool--his dispositions to meet the threatened attack of Santa Anna--the defences created by him at Saltillo, and used during the attack at Buena Vista in dispersing Miñon's forces--his just treatment of the people of Saltillo, with the prudent and effectual precautions taken to make them passive in the event of Santa Anna's approach. It concludes by stating that all apprehensions of Santa Anna's advance subsiding, Gen. Butler returned to meet Gen. Taylor at Monterey, to report the condition of affairs; and the latter, having taken the command at Saltillo, transmitted a leave of absence to Gen. Butler, to afford opportunity for the cure of his wound.

This paper affords evidence of the kind feeling which subsisted between the two generals during the campaign, and this sentiment was strongly evinced by Gen. Butler, on his arrival in Washington, where he spoke in the most exalted terms of the leader under whom he served.

In person Gen. Butler is tall, straight, and handsomely formed, exceedingly active and alert--his mien is inviting--his manners graceful--his gait and air military--his countenance frank and pleasing--the outline of his features of the aquiline cast, thin and pointed in expression--the general contour of his head is Roman.

The character of Gen. Butler in private life is in fine keeping with that exhibited in his public career. In the domestic circle, care, kindness, assiduous activity in anticipating the wants of all around him--readiness to forego his own gratifications to gratify others, have become habits growing out of his affections. His love makes perpetual sunshine at his home. Among his neighbors, liberality, affability, and active sympathy mark his social intercourse, and unbending integrity and justice all his dealings. His home is one of unpretending simplicity. It is too much the habit in Kentucky, with stern and fierce men, to carry their personal and political ends with a high hand. Gen. Butler, with all the masculine strength, courage, and reputation to give success to attempts of this sort, never evinced the slightest disposition to indulge the power, whilst his well-known firmness always forbade such attempts on him. His life has been one of peace with all men, except the enemies of his country.

MATHEW MIZZLE, OF THE INQUIRING MIND.

BY THE LATE JOSEPH C. NEAL.

How could he help it? Born with an inquiring turn of mind, and gifted from the first with a disposition toward experimental philosophy, by what processes would you undertake to change the current of Mathew Mizzle's mind? He is one of those who take nothing for granted. A weight of authority is little in his mind when compared to the personal investigation of the fact--facts for the people, and for himself as one of the people--that's the pivot on which Mathew Mizzle turns and returns, one fact being to his mind worth whole volumes of speculative assumption; and to Mizzle all facts, let them relate to what they may, are of peculiar interest. It is useless to tell him so. He must go, see and examine for himself. Often, for instance, as he had been told that Gruffenhoff's big dog would bite at the aspect of strange visitations, do you think that this species of information would content the youthful Mizzle? No--he must see into the matter for himself, and ascertain it beyond the possibility of a doubt, by touching up Gruffenhoff's big dog with a stick, as the aforesaid big dog lay asleep in the sun, whereby the demonstration was immediately afforded. The big dog would bite--he did bite severely; and thus the little Mizzle added another fact to his magazine of knowledge, as well as an enduring scar to his person, which placed the result upon record, and kept memory fresh on the subject. One dog, at least, will bite; and thenceforth, Mathew Mizzle admitted the inference that dogs are apt to bite, under circumstances congenial to such dental performances. If you doubt it, there's the mark.

"Burnee--burnee, baby," are the notes of warning often heard in the nursery, when heated stoves become an object of interest to little human specimens just learning to creep. But "burnee, burnee," conveyed no precise idea to the infantile Mizzle during his preliminary locomotive operations; and in consonance with the impulses of his nature, he soon tried the stove in its most intense displays of caloric, and in this way determined that "burnee, burnee," was unpleasant to the person, and injurious to the costume and raiment of that person, to say nothing of its threatening dispositions toward the whole establishment. "Burnee, burnee," to the house, as well as "burnee, burnee," to the baby. And so also as to lamps and candles--that they would "burnee" too, was placed, painfully, beyond the impertinent reach of a doubt in minds of the most sceptic order. Mathew Mizzle can show you the evidences to this day, scored, as it were, upon the living parchment, and engrossed in characters not to be misunderstood upon the cuticular binding of his physical identity.

It was useless, also, to place the little Mathew at the head of stairs, with information that any further advance on his part would prove matter of injury. How could he know until he had tried? Indeed, it required several clear tumbles down an entire flight to satisfy his judgment on this point, and to imprint it on his mind, through the medium of his bumpology, that the swiftest transition from one place to another, especially when effected by the downward movement, is not always the safest and the most agreeable. But afterward, none knew better than he what is meant by the word "landing," as applied to the staircase. "The Landing of Columbus" may be celebrated in pictures; but Mathew Mizzle accomplished landings that made very nearly as much noise as that effected by "the world-seeking Genoese," and the voyages of both were accompanied by squalls.

But it was not by the touch alone that Mathew Mizzle sought after information in his earlier career. His taste was equally curious. Strange bottles were subjects of the most intense interest, so that like Mithridates, he almost became proof against injury by the frequent imbibings of poison. He knew that pleasant draughts came from bottles, but had to learn that because a bottle has contents, it does not necessarily follow that these contents are either safe or agreeable. Ink, for instance--a copious mouthful of ink--however literary one may be, ink thus administered is not a matter over which the recipient is inclined greatly to rejoice. It did not appear so, at least, when Mathew Mizzle, in frock and trowsers, astonished, after this fashion, his mouth, his clothing and the carpet--so astonished himself that he forgot to reverse the bottle, but permitted it to pour in a steady stream right into the aperture of his lovely countenance. No one probably in the wide world ever acquired a greater variety of knowledge, as to the effect of substances of all kinds upon the human palate, than was obtained by Mathew Mizzle in the course of his earlier investigations into the relative qualities of solids and liquids. A spoonful of Cayenne pepper probably afforded him as much of surprise as any thing of the same portable compass. The varied expressions of his countenance would have been a study to a Lavater. The opera-house never witnessed a dance more remarkable for force and for expression; and if ever Mathew Mizzle was wide awake--wider than on any previous occasion, it was when he had seasoned himself highly with Cayenne. It made Mathew piquant to a degree; and something of the same kind might have been said of him when under the influence of mustard. He was then the warmest boy anywhere about; and fully appreciated the cheering influence of "the castors"--he did not go upon castors for a long time afterward, and never again to the same extent.

There was another source of trouble to Mathew Mizzle. His eyes proper were sharp enough; but the knowledge they acquired was not sufficient to satisfy his devouring thirst for information, and therefore much of his seeing was done with the tips of his fingers, or the grasp of his hands. He must touch every thing, and of course spoilt many things. Leave him alone in the room for a moment, and he would open all the letters, peep into every drawer, smell at every unknown substance, displace your china, spoil your musical-box, climb up the piano-forte, and pull over the vases of flowers. If you did not hear a crash this time, do not flatter yourself. Some secret, but equally important mischief has been accomplished, though it may not be apparent for days. The Mathew Mizzles always leave their mark; and when a gun went off in his hands, the shot that fractured the mirror rendered it fortunate that the mark was only a mirror, as Mathew Mizzle roared with terror at "the sound himself had made."

Mathew Mizzle, grown as he is now to man's estate, has perchance changed the objects of his pursuit, but the activity both of his mind and of his body remains undiminished. Curious as ever to ascertain facts. He is one of those who have ever an eye upon their neighbors. He follows people to ascertain whither they are going. It is a favorite amusement of his to peep through the blinds of an evening, to ascertain what you and your family are about. He listens at doors, and he peers through cracks and patronizes knot-holes. If he can learn nothing else, it is a satisfaction for him to ascertain what you are about to have for dinner, and who stopped in to tea. Speak over loud in the street, and Mathew Mizzle saunters close at your elbow, but with such an unconscious look, that you would never dream that he had come merely for information.

No one knows better than he all about the domestic difficulties of families. His sources of intelligence are innumerable. Sometimes you may find him on the back fence, taking observations of the domestic circle; and he has been seen of an evening up the linden-tree in front of domiciles, for similar purposes. The servants of the vicinage are all on confidential terms with Mathew Mizzle; and--have you not noted the fact?--when you would have secret discourse with a friend, Mizzle comes upon you, as the birds of prey scent a battle-field. All secrets appear to hold a species of telegraphic communication with our friend Mathew Mizzle, as to the fact at least, that there is a secret in existence, as well as a regard to its local habitation.

Ubiquitous Mathew Mizzle, yet invariably out of place. Open the door suddenly, and Mathew Mizzle is almost knocked down. Throw out a bucket of water at night, and Mathew Mizzle is there to receive its contents. Pass a stick through the key-hole, and it's Mizzle's eye that suffers the detriment. You stumble over him in dark entries--you find him lying perdu in the closet. Go where you will, there is Mizzle, if it be in the wrong place for Mizzle's presence.

Behold him prowling round the scenes to investigate the mysteries of a theatrical performance. There he is, just where he was told not to be, and William Tell was not in fault that his arrow has stricken Mathew Mizzle breathless. What business had Mizzle there in Switzerland, lurking near the walls of Altorf?