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Come, drowning foes! your friends we 'll be,

We 've licked! Haw! haw! You're licked! Hee! hee!

Hooraw for you! Hooraw for we!

We'll wait till the whole wide land is free,

And then we 'll have our JUBILEE !

November 12, 1864.

THE SWEET LITTLE MAN.

DEDICATED TO THE STAY-AT-HOME RANGERS.

OW, while our soldiers are fighting our battles,
Each at his post to do all that he can,

Down among rebels and contraband chattels,
What are you doing, my sweet little man?

All the brave boys under canvas are sleeping,

All of them pressing to march with the van, Far from the home where their sweethearts are weeping; What are you waiting for, sweet little man?

You with the terrible warlike moustaches,

Fit for a colonel or chief of a clan,

You with the waist made for sword-belts and sashes,
Where are your shoulder-straps, sweet little man?

Bring him the buttonless garment of woman!
Cover his face lest it freckle and tan;

Muster the Apron-string Guards on the Common,
That is the corps for the sweet little man!

THE SWEET LITTLE MAN.

Give him for escort a file of young misses,

Each of them armed with a deadly rattan ; They shall defend him from laughter and hisses, Aimed by low boys at the sweet little man!

All the fair maidens about him shall cluster,
Pluck the white feathers from bonnet and fan,
Make him a plume like a turkey-wing duster,
That is the crest for the sweet little man!

93

O, but the Apron-string Guards are the fellows!
Drilling each day since our troubles began,
"Handle your walking-sticks!"

"Shoulder umbrellas!"

That is the style for the sweet little man.

Have we a nation to save ? In the first place

Saving ourselves is the sensible plan,

Surely the spot where there's shooting 's the worst place Where I can stand, says the sweet little man.

Catch me confiding my person with strangers!
Think how the cowardly Bull-Runners ran!
In the brigade of the Stay-at-home Rangers
Marches my corps, says the sweet little man.

Such was the stuff of the Malakoff-takers,

Such were the soldiers that scaled the Redan; Truculent housemaids and bloodthirsty Quakers, Brave not the wrath of the sweet little man!

Yield him the sidewalk, ye nursery maidens !
Sauve qui peut! Bridget, and right about! Ann;
Fierce as a shark in a school of menhadens,
See him advancing, the sweet little man!

When the red flails of the battle-field's threshers
Beat out the continent's wheat from its bran,

While the wind scatters the chaffy seceshers,
What will become of our sweet little man?

When the brown soldiers come back from the borders, How will he look while his features they scan? How will he feel when he gets marching orders, Signed by his lady love? sweet little man!

OUR OLDEST FRIEND.

Fear not for him, though the rebels expect him,
Life is too precious to shorten its span ;
Woman her broomstick shall raise to protect him,
Will she not fight for the sweet little man!

Now then, nine cheers for the Stay-at-home Ranger!
Blow the great fish-horn and beat the big pan!
First in the field that is farthest from danger,

Take your white-feather plume, sweet little man !

OUR OLDEST FRIEND.

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READ TO THE BOYS OF '29," JAN. 5, 1865.

I

GIVE you the health of the oldest friend

That, short of eternity, earth can lend,

A friend so faithful and tried and true

That nothing can wean him from me and you.

When first we screeched in the sudden blaze
Of the daylight's blinding and blasting rays,
And gulped at the gaseous, groggy air,
This old, old friend stood waiting there.

And when, with a kind of mortal strife,
We had gasped and choked into breathing life,
He watched by the cradle, day and night,
And held our hands till we stood upright.

· 95

From gristle and pulp our frames have grown
To stringy muscle and solid bone;

While we were changing, he altered not;
We might forget, but he never forgot.

He came with us to the college class,
Little cared he for the steward's pass!
All the rest must pay their fee,
But the grim old dead-head entered free.

He stayed with us while we counted o'er
Four times each of the seasons four;

And with every season, from year to year,
The dear name Classmate he made more dear.

He never leaves us, he never will,

Till our hands are cold and our hearts are still; On birthdays, and Christmas, and New-Year's too, He always remembers both me and you.

Every year this faithful friend

His little present is sure to send;
Every year, wheresoc'er we be,

He wants a keepsake from you and me.

How he loves us! he pats our heads,

And, lo! they are gleaming with silver threads;
And he's always begging one lock of hair,
Till our shining crowns have nothing to wear.

At length he will tell us, one by one,

My child, your labor on earth is done; And now you must journey afar to see My elder brother, ― Eternity!"

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