He left me pars.

After traveling a spell, I obsarved a ole house by the readside, & feelin' faint and thirsty, I entered. The only family I found at home was a likely lookin' young femail gal, whose Johnny had gone for a solger. She was a weepin' bitterly.

"Me putty rose-bud,' sez I, "why dost thou weep?" She made nary answer, but weepedested on. I placed me hand onto her hed, brusht back the snowy ringlets from her pale brow, an' kis-an' passyfied her.

What cawsed them tears, fare maid?" I arskt again.

"Why," sez she, "brother John promist 2 bring me home some Yankee boans to make jewelry, but he had to go an' git killd, & now I won't get ary Boan, an'-O, it's 2 bad-boo300-00-0!"

Yes, it was muchly 2 bad-and more too. A woman's tears brings the undersined, an' for the time bein' I was a rebel sympathizer.

Enny Fathers?" "Only one.

Unkle Reub."

But he's ded. Mother went over to see

"Was John a putty good brother?" "Yes, John was O so kind.

to repose these weary head onto.'

His was the only breast I had

I pitied the maid, and hinted that she might repose her weary head on my Shirt front-an' she reposed. And I was her Brother John for a while, as it were.

Ere we parted, I arskt for a draught of water to squench me thirst, an' the damsel tript gaily out of the door to procure it. As she was gone a considirable period, I lookt out the winder and saw her hoppin' briskly 4th, accompanied by 2 secesh cusses, who war armed to the teeth. I begin to smell as many as two mouses. The "putty dear" had discovered I was a Yankee, an' was goin' to hev me tooken prisoner. I frustrated her plans a few-I leapt out the back winder as quick as a Prestidiguretaterandisch, an' when she entered the domicil, she found brother John" non ester, (which is Latin or sumthin',) and be4 I had proceeded much I found me Timerepeter non ester too. The fare maid, who was Floyd's Neace, had hookt it while reposin' on me weskit. It was a hunky watch-a family hair-loom, an' I woodn't have parted with it fer a dollar & sixty-nine cents ($1.69).

In doo corse ov mail I arrov in Richmon. I unfolded me mission, and was ushered into J. Davis's orgust presents. But the result was not as soothing to weak nerves as my hart could wish, and I returned to Washington, disgustid with all peas measures. The sympathizers may do their own dirt eatin' in the footer, as they hey done in the parst. Good-byl Adoo! Farewell!

BINGEN ON THE RHINE.-By Mrs. Norton.

A SOLDIER of the Legion lay dying in Algiers,

There was lack of woman's nursing, there was dearth of wom ɩn's

tears;

But a comrade stood beside him, while his life-blood ebb'd away,
And bent, with pitying glances, to hear what he might say.
The dying soldier falter'd, as he took that comrade's hand,
And he said, "I never more shall see my own, my native land;
Take a message, and a token, to some distant friends of mine,
For I was born at Bingen-at Binger on the Rhine.

"Tell my brothers and companions, when they meet and crowd around

To hear my mournful story in the pleasant vineyard ground,
That we fought the battle bravely, and when the day was done,
Full many a corse lay ghastly pale, beneath the setting sun.
And midst the dead and dying, were some grown old in wars,
The death-wound on their gallant breasts, the last of many sears:
But some were young-and suddenly beheld life's morn decline;
And one had come from Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

"Tell my mother that her other sons shall comfort her old age,
And I was aye a truant bird, that thought his home a cage:
For my father was a soldier, and even as a child

My heart leap'd forth to hear him tell of struggles fierce and wild;

And when he died, and left us to divide his scanty hoard,

I let them take whate'er they would, but kept my father's sword, And with boyish love I hung it where the bright light used to

shine,

On the cottage-wall at Bingen-calm Bingen on the Rhine!

"Tell my sister not to weep for me, and sob with drooping head, When the troops are marching home again, with glad and gallant

tread;

But to look upon them proudly, with a calm and steadfast eye, For her brother was a soldier too, and not afraid to die.

And if a comrade seek her love, I ask her in my name

To listen to him kindly, without regret or shame;.

And to hang the old sword in its place (my father's sword and mine,)

For the honor of old Bingen-dear Bingen on the Rhine!

"There's another-not a sister; in the happy days gone by, You'd have known her by the merriment that sparkled in her

eye;

Too innocent for coquetry,-too fond for idle scorning,

Oh! friend, I fear the lightest heart makes sometimes heaviest

mourning;

Tell her the last night of my life (for ere the moon be risen
My body will be out of pain-my soul be out of prison,)

I dream'd I stood with her, and saw the yellow sunlight shine On the vine-clad hills of Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

"I saw the Blue Rhine sweep along-I heard, or seem'd to hear, The German songs we used to sing, in chorus sweet and clear; And down the pleasant river, and up the slanting hill,

The echoing chorus sounded, through the evening calm and still; And her glad blue eyes were on me as we passed with friendly talk.

Down many a path beloved of yore, and well remembered walk, And her little hand lay lightly, confidingly in mine:

But we'll meet no more at Bingen-loved Bingen on the Rhine!"

His voice grew faint and hoarser,-his grasp was childish weak,-
His eyes put on a dying look,-he sigh'd and ceased to speak:
His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled,—
The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land-was dead!
And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she look'd down
On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown;
Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seem'd to shine
As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

OUR DEFENDERS.-By T. Buchanan Read.
OUR flag on the land and our flag on the ocean,
An angel of peace wheresoever it goes:

Nobly sustain'd by Columbia's devotion,
The angel of death it shall be to cur foes!

True to its native sky

Still shall our eagle fly,

Casting his sentinel glances afar;

Though bearing the olive-branch,
Still in his talons staunch

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Iark to the sound! There's a foe on our border,—
A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom;
Freemen are rising and marching in order,
Leaving the plough and the anvil and loom.
Rust dims the harvest-sheen
Of scythe and of sickle keen;

The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar;
Veteran and youth are out,

Swelling the battle-shout,

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Our brave mountain eagles swoop from their eyrie,
Our lithe panthers leap from forest and plain;
Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie,
Out of the East roll the waves of the main.

Down from their Northern shores,

Swift as Niagara pours,

They march, and their tread wakes the earth with its jar;
Under the Stripes and Stars,

Each with the soul of Mars,
Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

Spite of the sword or assassin's stiletto,

While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave,
The oak of the North, or the Southern palmetto,
Shall shelter no foe except in the grave!
While the Gulf billow breaks,
Echoing the Northern lakes,

And ocean replies unto ocean afar,
Yield we no inch of land

While there's a patriot hand

Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war!

HEZEKIAH STUBBINS' ORATION, July 4th.

FELLER-CITIZENS of Pine Holler: Fourth of July's come, and we've come to meet him. Here we are, with our cannon, and muskets, and fire-crackers, and squibs, ready to kick up a rusty, or pitch slam-bang into any feller that's got a word to say agin our forefathers, that fit, bled, and died for liberty. (Why don't you cheer me?)

Feller-Citizens: In the name of the martyrs of liberty, who fell supportin' the declaration on the bloody fields of Trafalgar; in the names of Franklin, Washington, and Bonyparte, who, hand in hand, fit the bloody British lion at Monterey; in the name of the mighty eagle himself, who now flaps his wings on the top-rail of creation, I tell you something's got to be did. (Cheer me agin.)

You've got to look at the clock-work of this glorious Union, and see if there ain't a peg out-a jint loose, or the cogs don't want greasin'. You've got to overhaul the conductors you've put on the Union Smoky-lotive, and see if they hain's been playin hob with the machinery, or cabbagin the funds. You've got to git rid of them pesky fellers who don't know nothin, and yit go round makin election speeches, and tryin to bust the glorious Union; and you've got to elect us fellers, that have got larnin, and knows how to protect your rights. (That's the place to cheer me agin.)

Feller-Citizens: If we've got to stan every thing these lyin scamps keep tellin us 'bout how uncommon patriotic they are, and what big hearts they have, and how they love liberty, and what a splurge they'll make, and what a rumpus they'll

kick up when they get to Congress, and what partikelar fits they'll give the rich monopolers who won't vote for 'em, and what nice things they'll do for us honest, hard-fisted fellows, if we'll only elect 'em; and then, when we put 'em through, can't see us over their shirt collars, and don't even know as such beings as Hezekiar Stubbins, or Enoch Grimes, or Jedediah Spewkins, live upon the face of the airth; if such things are going to be did, what's the use of having Fourth of July's, (Cheer me agin.)

What's the use of firin cannon,
Shooting crackers, burnin squibs,
If there has to be a man on
Every stump a tellin fibs.

Must the heroes of Pine Holler
Hear to all the pizen snakes

Try their best to make 'em swaller
'Bout the value of the stakes?
Louder than the rattlin thunder,
Swifter than the lightnin's flash,
Say, We'll never nuckle under,
Or believe their pesky trash.
Yes, sir! Tell them nation fellers,
Preachin 'bout the Union dear,
If they want to keep their smellers
Out of danger, keep from here.

(Now cheer me agin.)

Feller-Citizens: Such doins ain't to be stood; and, if you don't want them mean, chicken-hearted fellers to bring this country to perdition, let every man, boy and yelper, give a shout for Stubbins, liberty, and the dear Union, that shall rouse the bloody British lion from his lair, and send him howlin o'er the sandy plains of Popocatapeete; while the Russian Bear shall be so skeered, that, sneakin like a whipped spaniel, he shall throw himself kerwhollop into the gulf of 'blivion; and the glorious American Eagle, hearin the rumpus, and flappin his wings o'er the universal Yankee nation, that stretches from the Bay of Biscay to Californy, shall thunder out Stubbins! Fourth of July! and Yankee Doodledum forever! (Scene closes with three cheers.)