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The helpless prey of treason's lust,
The helpless mark of treason's thrust,
Now shall thy sword in scabbard rust?
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri !

She thrills! her blood begins to burn,
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri !
She's bruised and weak, but she can turn,
Belle Missouri! My Missouri!
So! on her forehead pale and stern,
A sign to make the traitors mourn,
Now for thy wounds a swift return,
Belle Missouri! My Missouri !

Stretch out thy thousand loyal hands,
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri !
Send out thy thousand loyal bands,
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri !
To where the flag of Union stands,
Alone, upon the blood-wet sands,
A beacon unto distant lands,

Belle Missouri ! My Missouri!

Up with the loyal Stripes and Stars,
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri !
Down with the traitor stars and bars,
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri!

Now by the crimson crest of wars,
And liberty's appealing scars,
We'll lay the demon of these wars,
Belle Missouri ! My Missouri !

TO GENERAL G. B. McCLELLAN.

I TURN from the records of deeds in the past;

The heroes of old seem forgotten at lastThe bright page of knighthood attracts me no

more,

Though the chivalric spirit as dreamed of before, Grows real, and sheds on my country its rayWith that country alone can my thoughts rest today.

Our dear native land, in the hour of its woe-
Our dear olden flag that the false would lay low-
On the soil of the one shall our heroes arise,
While the folds of the other float out to the skies.
In their cause let the valor of old be outshone,
And the best of the deeds of the past be outdone.

But who may be second where Scott is the chief? Who so gallantly work for his country's relief?

McClellan! McClellan! our hearts with a bound
Declare that in thee a fit soldier is found.

With thee for a leader, so faithful, so brave,
Our cry shall be "Onward! our country to save."

Lead on, then, O youthful commander! lead on;
It is for the right that our fields must be won,
With thee at our head we will do what men can,
"Tis "the man for the place" and the place for the

man.

With patience we'll wait, with a cheer we will dare, For why should we not, if McClellan be there?

God keep thee, McClellan! God keep thee and guide;

Before him the strongest are weak in their pride; But we know he may grant to the prayer of the

weak,

The victory that armies else vainly might seek; And so in our hearts shall be ever a prayer,

While our cry shall be "Forward! McClellan is there!"

-Boston Post, January, 1862.

IT

JONATHAN TO JOHN.

A YANKEE IDYL.

T don't seem hardly right, John,
When both my hands was full,
To stump me to a fight, John—
Your cousin, tu, John Bull!
Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I

guess

We kno it now," sez he;
"The lion's paw is all the law,
Accordin' to J. B.,

Thet's fit for you an' me!"

Blood an't so cool as ink, John:
It's likely you'd ha' wrote,

An' stopped a spell to think, John,

Arter they'd cut your throat!

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I

guess

He'd skurce ha' stopped," sez he,

"To mind his p's and q's ef that weasan'

Hed belonged to ole J. B.,

Instid o' you an' me!"

Ef I turned mad dogs loose, John,

On your front-parlor stairs,

Would it jest meet your views, John,
To wait an' sue their heirs?

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I guess,

I on'y guess," sez he,

"Thet, ef Vattel on his toes fell,
'Twould kind o' rile J. B.,

Ez wall ez you an' me!"

Who made the law thet hurts, John,
Heads I win-ditto, tails?
"J. B." was on his shirts, John,

Onless my memory fails.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I

guess,

(I'm good at thet,)" sez he,

"Thet sauce for goose an't jest the juice For ganders with J. B.,

No more than you or me!"

When your rights was our wrong, John,
You didn't stop for fuss:

Britanny's trident-prongs, John,

Was good 'nough law for us.

Ole Uncle S. sez he, "I

guess,

Though physic's good," sez he,

"It doesn't foller that he can swaller

Prescriptions signed 'J. B.,'

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