The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, And wider still those billows of war, But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down; And there, through the flush of the morning light, Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, He stretched away with his utmost speed; Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, Under his spurning feet, the road And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, The first that the General saw were the groups Of stragglers, and then the retreating troops; What was done? what to do? a glance told him both, Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, becauss The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, "I have brought you Sheridan all the way Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! COURTIN' IN THE COUNTRY.—By II. Elliot McBride. ZEKIEL gets the "chores" done, That Zeke's gettin on his Sunday go-to-meetins just to go a holdin'. Zeke marches to the place; He knocks and hears "Come in!" They're all glad to see him, They take his shawl and pin. Zeke, after looking round, Squats on the proffered seat; Consequently he doesn't say much : but all the time he keeps a lookin' at his hat. The old gentleman talks Of horses and the crops; And the old lady asks About his mother's hops. She also friendly asks What butter they have churned? Zekiel gets uneasy, And he mentally ejaculates; "Hops, butter and things be derned !" Old folks keep a talkin', Crickets keep a buzzin', Sally looks at Zekiel, Zekiel keeps a fussin'; Sally thinks it's bedtime, And old folks seem tickled And keep a looking at each other, and then at Zekie and Sally, as if they knew a thing or two. The old man pulls his boots Feeling kinder funny: For him to pop the question, get a wife, and com mence a layin' up the money. Now the old folks are gone, Zeke fidgets all around She asks him why so mum? And Zekiel hems and haws: He gives an awful cough. Then he crosses his legs, then he uncrosses them, and then he says, "Because!" Zekiel clears his throat, Then hitches up his chair; Sally looks slantin' like As if she didn't care. Zeke clears his throat again, Again hitches near; And Sal, the little pet, After knitting to the "middle of the needle," lays away her stocking and looks as if she wouldn't "skeer." Zeke at once "pitched right in," Flung his arms around her: Said that she must be his, She'd not get a sounder. Zeke kept a holdin' on And swore his fate he'd know; While Sal could but utter, "Zeke Jones, I'll tell you what it is, I can't stand it, and I won't let you hug me so!" But Zeke vowed and declared, And his love was growin'; Zeke Jones, I would like mighty well to believe you; but I'm most awfully afraid you're blowin' !" "I'll be dogged if I am!" If you won't have me Sal, I'll go right off to the wars, and some day there will a big cannon ball come along and take off my head cher biz!" "Oh, yes, I'll have you Zeke, He couldn't sleep a wink that night, without dreaming of the good time to come. EXTRACT FROM SENATOR BAKER'S SPEECH AT UNION SQUARE, N. Y., April 20th, 1861. FELLOW-CITIZENS, what is this country? Is it the soil on which we tread? Is it the gathering of familiar faces? Is it our luxury, and pomp, and pride? Nay, more than these, is power, and might, and majesty alone? No, our country is more, far more than all these. The country which demands our love, our courage, our devotion, our heart's blood, is more than all these. Our country is the history of our fathersour country is the tradition of our mothers-our country is past renown-our country is present pride and power-our country is future hope and destiny-our country is greatness, glory, truth, constitutional liberty-above all, freedom forever! These are the watchwords under which we fight; and we will shout them out till the stars appear in the sky, in the stormiest hour of battle. Young men of New York-young me n of the United States-you are told this is not to be a war of aggression. In one sense that is true; in another, not. We have committed aggression upon no man. In all the broad land, in their rebel nest, in their traitor's camp, no truthful man can rise and say that he has ever been disturbed, though it be but for a single moment, in life, liberty, estate, character, or honor. The day they began this unnatural, false, wicked, rebellious warfare, their lives were more secure, their property more secure, by us--not by themselves, but by us-guarded far more securely than any people ever have had their lives and property secured from the beginning of the world. We have committed no oppression, have broken no compact, have exercised no unholy power; have been loyal, moderate, constitutional, and just. We are a majority of the Union, and we will govern our own Union, within our own Constitution, in our own way. We are all democrats. We are all republicans. We acknowledge the sovereignty of the people within the rule of the Constitution; and under that Constitution and beneath that flag, let traitors beware. I would meet them upon the threshold, and there, in the very State of their power, in the very atmosphere of their treason I propose that the people of this Union dictate to these reb els the terms of peace. It may take thirty millions; it may take three hundred millions. What then? We have it. It may cost us seven thousand men; it may cost us seventy-five thousand men in battle; it may cost us seven hundred and fifty thousand men. What then? We have them. The blood of every loyal citizen of this Government is dear to me. My sons, my kinsmen, the young men who have grown up beneath my eye and beneath my care, they are all dear to me; but if the country's destiny, glory, tradition, greatness, freedom, government, written constitutional government--the only hope of a free people-demand it, let them all go. Let no man underrate the dangers of this controversy. Civil war, for the best of reasons upon the one side, and the worst upon the other, is always dangerous to liberty-always fearful, always bloody; but, fellow-citizens, there are yet worse things than fear, than doubt and dread, and danger and blood. Dishonor is worse. Perpetual anarchy is worse. States forever commingling and forever severing are worse. Traitors and Secessionists are worse. To have star after star blotted out to have stripe after stripe obscured-to have glory after glory dimmed-to have our women weep and our men blush for shame throughout generations to come-that and these are infinitely worse than blood. When we march, let us not march for revenge. As yet we have nothing to revenge. It is not much that where that tattered flag waved, guarded by seventy men against ten thousand; it is not much that starvation effected what an enemy could not compel. We have as yet something to punish, but nothing, or very little, to revenge. The President himself, a hero without knowing it--and I speak from knowledge, having known him from boyhood--the President says:-"There are wrongs to be redressed, already long enough endured." And we march to battle and to victory because we do not choose to endure this wrong any longer. They are wrongs not merely against us-not against you, Mr. President-not against me-but against our |