The route of the procession was up Broadway to Grace,

Where prayers were to be offered befitting the desperate case;

But a breakfast-bell rang near me, and roused by its thrilling stroke,

Just on the corner of Tenth street I lost the vision and woke.

YE FLYGHT OF YE RAYL-SPLITTER.

A BALLAD.

OF all ye flyghts that ever were flown,

By several persons or one alone

Of science, or Dr. Franklin's kite;

Of "Mincio" Raymond away from the fight,
Or the flight of Professor Lowe's balloon,
From here to England, one day at noon-
The funniest flight of the dreariest bore,
Was Abraham's flight through Baltimore.

Weary and worn like a hunted moose,
Limbs like the wind-mill hanging loose;
Quaking at heart, and flighty at head,
The old Rayl-Splitter he went to bed:

But scarcely in his blankets enveloped was he

When he cried: "I am struck with a bright idee ;
Procure me hither, and don't be long,
A hot rum toddy, and make it strong."

Now, various dreams are like to come
From a brimming beaker of good old rum;
And some of them too are just as bad
As any that Tam O'Shanter had.

And so when Abraham laid him down
To dream of doing the Southerners brown,
It chanced that a phantasy bloody and grim,
Came sailing over, and lit on him.

Dead men tossed about like stones-
Broken bridges, blood and bones,
Grinning death's heads, such as grace
Every antique burial-place;
Daggers, pistols, bludgeons, guns,
Thunder showers of red-hot buns
These he saw or seemed to see,
All because of the bright idee.

Then suddenly in from the murky night
There came a messenger wild with fright;

And he cried to Abraham where he lay:
“Get up, old fellow, and hurry away!”
So the dismal phantoms of sleep gave place
To a very practical view of the case;

And the Rayl-Splitter said as he looked at him: "John,

Just wait till I get my trowsers on.”

So he swore an oath by the kingdom come,
That Satan was in that glass of rum;
And he said: "May I never split rails again,
If I don't run off by special train.”
Then shrouded closely up to the eyes
With a cloak and Scottish cap likewise,
He left his people dissolved in brine,
And ran away as the clock struck nine.

Swiftly along the Central Road

Went the fiery horse with his precious load,
And at every snort he seemed to say:
""Tis a Western gentleman running away,
The greatest hegira under the sun,
See if it isn't a glorious run.”

Thus honest Abraham, safe and sound,
Stood at last on the Capital ground.

Ah! very noble it seems to be,
This modern standard of chivalry;
And very noble and very grand

Is the chiefest magnate in the land—
Abraham Lincoln, stalwart and tall,

Who ran away, quaking, from nothing at all;
The "honest uncle" in sixty-one,

Who skulked in the night to Washington.

-New-Orleans Crescent.

SANGUINARIA CANADENSIS.

BY JOEL BENTON.

I.

I KNOW the patch where the waxen, milk

white blossoms grow,

On a pea-green palmate leaf by the woody slope of the hill;

Close to the budding coppice, thick as an army

of snow,

And the May wind drifts their leaves in a heap by the silver rill.

II.

I plucked a flower from its stem, lustrous and

fair to see,

One that had loitered late with a splendor for me to behold;

Saxifrage, Colts-foot, Trillium, Rue, and Ane

mone,

I bound in a quaint bouquet, with its central nimbus of gold.

III.

Lo! a color of red, of orange, a saffron stain Darkens my hand, and clings in a multiplied ragged scar;

"What if I had plucked the flower that was planted in pain,

And bathed with scarlet blood my country in crimson war?"

IV.

I thought: "O parricide, traitor, perjurer, villain, knave,

Prince of the rebels, striking at Freedom's consummate flower;

You will carry a damning Macbeth stain to your grave

That shall brighten the name of Arnold to

history's latest hour."

-The Independent, May 30, 1861.