LINCOLN-Away with this nostrum-I'll none of it!

For know ye, I bought a box from a harum-scarum

boy,

Whom I encountered on our Western train, and

who

Cried-God wot!" Old Abe, buy some Pills ?"
These I bought, and tried, and got no better fast.
BLAIR-You'd scarce expect one of my age
To speak in public on the stage. Yet I can but think
'Tis not the confection, but the defection of the
Southern tier,

Which pains our Liege's

LINCOLN ASS! knave! think you so?
Know you not, my babbling Coz, that this defection
Is all gammon ?-the crisis is but artificial!
CHASE-We know it well; would we could for-
get it;

Yet, your Excellency, I read in some fool
Southern paper-called, I know not what-
The Mail, the Mercury, or some such absurdity-
That there is much feeling down in their unsightly

swamps,

Where Afric's wrongs smell rank to heaven.

LINCOLN What then! Let them howl!-You know full well,

That, cry as they may, there's nobody hurt!

Oh! how I do despise a peevish, complaining peo

ple—

A people who know not which side their bread is. buttered.

Misguided people! who would fain tear away three

stripes

Two of red and one of white-from our Star-
Spangled Banner.

SEWARD [aside.] Long may it wave!
WELLES-O'er the land of the free!

BATES-And the home of the brave!

LINCOLN And imagine they founded a new nation!

And now yon fighting Colonel Davis, With his ragged ragamuffin crew, loudly swears He'll sit in this very chair wherein we sit— Save the mark!-in spite of Wool or Scott. Friends, farewell! yet take something ere ye go Leave me to myself, that I may court the drowsy

god.

Watch well the door, that no foul traitors enter With machines infernal, or throated revolving

pistol.

Spread yourselves, and lose no opportunity to tell Th' expectant people that all is going well;

And while, reluctant, ye admit the Southern feeling,

Urge and declare that 'tis marvellous consoling, That nothing is hurting any body. There, go! Stand not on the order of your going, but go at

once.

[Seward and others bow and depart.] New Jerusalem! is this happiness? When erst I dreamt of might, majesty, and power; when, in days gone by,

An humble splitter of rails, wearing but one shirt a week;

Or, when in reverie, I leaned in listless mood

O'er the oar (ha! a pun) of the slow-gliding broadhorn,

And thought of the powerful and rich of earth, And, envious, contrasted their gay feasts and revels With our simple joys, our humble shuckings and possum hunts,

Our apple-bees and quilting frolics-alack-a-day! As Shakespeare says in his Paradise Lost, I sadly feel

That "distance lends enchantment to the view." -Charleston Mercury.

9

UPON THE HILL BEFORE CENTREVILLE.

JULY TWENTY-FIRST, 1861.

I'LL

BY GEORGE H. BOKER.

"'LL tell you what I heard that day:
I heard the great guns, far away,

Boom after boom. Their sullen sound
Shook all the shuddering air around;
And shook, ah me! my shrinking ear,
And downward shook the hanging tear
That, in despite of manhood's pride,
Rolled o'er my face a scalding tide.
And then I prayed. O God! I prayed,
As never stricken saint, who laid
His hot cheek to the holy tomb
Of Jesus, in the midnight gloom.

"What saw I?" Little. Clouds of dust;

Great squares of men, with standards thrust
Against their course; dense columns crowned
With billowing steel. Then, bound on bound,
The long black lines of cannon poured
Behind the horses, streaked and gored
With sweaty speed. Anon shot by,

Like a lone meteor of the sky,

A single horseman ; and he shone
His bright face on me, and was gone.
All these with rolling drums, with cheers,
With songs familiar to my ears,

Passed under the far-hanging cloud,

And vanished, and my heart was proud!

For mile on mile the line of war
Extended; and a steady roar,
As of some distant stormy sea,
On the south-wind came up to me.
And high in air, and over all,
Grew, like a fog, that murky pall,
Beneath whose gloom of dusty smoke
The cannon flamed, the bombshell broke,
And the sharp rattling volley rang,
And shrapnel roared, and bullets sang,
And fierce-eyed men, with panting breath,
Toiled onward at the work of death.
I could not see, but knew too well,
That underneath that cloud of hell,
Which still grew more by great degrees,
Man strove with man in deeds like these.

But when the sun had passed his stand
At noon, behold! on every hand