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In fact, 't is quite a throphy.
Our chickens roast,

Wid butthered toast,

I'm sure would timpt St. Payther; Now you'll declare

Our bill of fare

It could n't be complayther.

For we're the boys

That hearts desthroys, &c.

V.

Now silence all,

While I recall

A memory sweet and tender;

The maids and wives

That light our lives

With deep, enduring splendor-

We'll give no cheer

For those so dear,

But in our hearts we 'll bless them,

And pray to-night,

That angels bright

May watch them and caress them.

For we 're the boys

That hearts desthroys,

Wid making love and fighting;

We take a fort,

The girls we court,

But most the last delight in.

SOUTH CAROLINA GENTLEMAN.

17

SOUTH CAROLINA GENTLEMAN.

AIR: "The Fine Old English Gentleman."

Down in a small Palmetto State the curious ones may find,

A ripping, tearing gentleman, of an uncommon kind, A staggering, swaggering sort of chap, who takes his whiskey straight,

And frequently condemns his eyes to that ultimate vengeance which a clergyman of high standing has assured must be a sinner's fate:

This South Carolina gentleman, one of the present time.

You trace his genealogy, and not far back you 'll see,
A most undoubted octoroon, or mayhap a mustee,
And if you note the shaggy locks that cluster on his

brow,

You'll find that every other hair is varied with a kink that seldom denotes pure Caucasian blood, but on the contrary betrays an admixture with a race not particularly popular now:

This South Carolina gentleman, one of the present time.

He always wears a full-dress coat, pre-Adamite in cut, With waistcoat of the loudest style, through which his ruffles jut,

Six breastpins deck his horrid front, and on his fingers

shine

Whole invoices of diamond rings which would hardly pass muster with the Original Jacobs in Chathamstreet for jewels gen-u-ine :

This South Carolina gentleman, one of the present time.

He chews tobacco by the pound and spits upon the floor If there is not a box of sand behind the nearest door,

And when he takes his weekly spree he clears a mighty track, Of everything that bears the shape of whiskey-skin, gin and sugar, brandy sour, peach and honey, irrepressible cock-tail rum, and gum, and luscious apple-jack:

This South Carolina gentleman, one of the present time.

He takes to euchre kindly, too, and plays an awful hand, Especially when those he tricks his style don't under

stand,

And if he wins, why then he stoops to pocket all the stakes,

But if he loses, then he says to the unfortunate stranger who had chanced to win: "It 's my opinion you are a cursed abolitionist, and if you don't leave South Carolina in one hour you will be hung like a dog.” But no offer to pay his loss he makes:

This South Carolina gentleman, one of the present time.

Of course he 's all the time in debt to those who credit

give,

Yet manages upon the best the market yields to live;
But if a Northern creditor asks him his bill to heed,
This honorable, gentleman instantly draws two bowie-

knives and a pistol, dons a blue cockade, and declares that in consequence of the repeated aggressions of the North, and its gross violations of the Constitution, he feels that it would utterly degrade him to pay any debt whatever, and that in fact he has at last determined to SECEDE: This South Carolina gentleman, one of the present time.

ARMY HYMN.

19

ARMY HYMN.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

"Old Hundred."

O LORD of Hosts! Almighty King!
Behold the sacrifice we bring!
To every arm Thy strength impart,
Thy spirit shed through every heart!

Wake in our breasts the living fires,
The holy faith that warmed our sires;
Thy hand hath made our Nation free:
To die for her is serving Thee.

Be Thou a pillared flame to show
The midnight snare, the silent foe;
And when the battle thunders loud,
Still guide us in its moving cloud.

God of all nations! Sovereign Lord!
In Thy dread name we draw the sword,
We lift the starry flag on high
That fills with light our stormy sky.

From Treason's rent, from Murder's stain,
Guard Thou its folds till Peace shall reign, -
Till fort and field, till shore and sea
Join our loud anthem, PRAISE TO THEE!

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WHEN a deed is done for Freedom, through the broad earth's aching breast

Runs a thrill of joy prophetic, trembling on from east to

west;

And the slave, where'er he cowers, feels the soul within

him climb

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