Of our union an' strength an' relyin' on God;
An', fact, when I'd gut thru my fust big surprise,
I much ez half b'lieved in my own tallest lies,

An' conveyed the idee thet the whole Southun popper

lace

Wuz Spartans all on the keen jump for Thermopperlies, Thet set on the Lincolnites' bombs till they bust,

An' fight for the priv'lege o' dyin' the fust;

But Roanoke, Bufort, Millspring, an' the rest
Of our recent starn-foremost successes out West,
Hain't left us a foot for our swellin' to stand on, -

-

We've showed too much o' wut Buregard calls abandon, For all our Thermopperlies (an' it's a marcy

We hain't hed no more) hev ben clean vicy-varsy,

An' wut Spartans wuz lef' when the battle wuz done

Wuz them thet wuz too unambitious to run.

Oh, ef we hed on'y jes' gut Reeeognition,

Things now would ha' ben in a different position!
You'd ha' hed all you wanted: the paper blockade
Smashed up into toothpicks, unlimited trade

In the one thing thet 's needfle, till niggers, I swow,

Hed ben thicker 'n provisional shinplasters now,—

Quinine by the ton 'ginst the shakes when they seize

ye,

Nice paper to coin into C. S. A. specie ;

The voice of the driver 'd be heerd in our land,

An' the univarse scringe, ef we lifted our hand: Would n't thet be some like a fulfillin' the prophecies, With all the fus' fem'lies in all the fust offices?

'T wuz a beautiful dream, an' all sorrer is idle,

But ef Lincoln would ha' hanged Mason an' Slidell!

For would n't the Yankees hev found they'd ketched

Tartars,

Ef they'd raised two sech critters as them into martyrs?
Mason wuz F. F. V., though a cheap card to win on,

But tother was jes' New York trash to begin on;
They ain't o' no good in Európean pellices,

But think wut a help they'd ha' ben on their gallowses!
They 'd ha' felt they wuz truly fulfillin' their mission,
An', oh, how dog-cheap we 'd ha' gut Reecognition!

But somehow another, wutever we 've tried,

Though the the'ry 's fust-rate, the facs wun't coincide:

Facs are contrary 'z mules, an' ez hard in the mouth, An' they allus hev showed a mean spite to the South. Sech bein' the case, we hed best look about

For some kin' o' way to slip our necks out: Le''s vote our las' dollar, ef one can be found, (An', at any rate, votin' it hez a good sound,)

Le''s swear thet to arms all our people is flyin',

(The critters can't read, an' wun't know how we're

lyin',)

Thet Toombs is advancin' to sack Cincinnater,

With a rovin' commission to pillage an' slahter,

Thet we've throwed to the winds all regard for wut's

lawfle,

An' gone in for sunthin' promiscu'sly awfle.

Ye see, hitherto, it 's our own knaves an' fools

Thet we 've used, (those for whetstones, an' t' others ez

tools,)

An' now our las' chance is in puttin' to test

The same kin' o' cattle up North an' out West,
Your Belmonts, Vallandighams, Woodses, an' sech,
Poor shotes thet ye could n't persuade us to tech,
Not in ornery times, though we 're willin' to feed 'em

With a nod now an' then, when we happen to need 'em; Why, for my part, I'd ruther shake hands with a nigger Than with cusses that load an' don't darst dror a trigger; They 're the wust wooden nutmegs the Yankees produce, Shaky everywheres else, an' jes' sound on the goose; They ain't wuth a cus, an' I set nothin' by 'em,

But we 're in sech a fix thet I s'pose we mus' try 'em. But, Gennlemen, here's a despatch jes' come in Which shows thet the tide 's begun turnin' agin,

I

Gret Cornfedrit success

C'lumbus eevacooated!

I mus' run down an' hev the thing properly stated,
An' show wut a triumph it is, an' how lucky

To fin❜lly git red o' thet cussed Kentucky,

An' how, sence Fort Donelson, winnin' the day
Consists in triumphantly gittin' away.

No. V.

SPEECH OF HONOURABLE PRESERVED DOE IN SECRET CAUCUS.

TO THE EDITORS OF THE ATLANTIC MONTHLY.

JAALAM, 12th April, 1862.

GENTLEMEN, - As I cannot but hope that the ultimate, if not speedy, success of the national arms is now sufficiently ascertained, sure as I am of the righteousness of our cause and its consequent claim on the blessing of God, (for I would not show a faith inferior to that of the pagan historian with his Facile evenit quod Dis cordi est,) it seems to me a suitable occasion to withdraw our minds a moment from the confusing din of battle to objects of peaceful and permanent interest. Let us not neglect the monuments of preterite history because what shall be history is so diligently making under our eyes. Cras ingens iterabimus æquor; tomorrow will be time enough for that stormy sea; to-day let me engage the attention of your readers