Come what, come will! Whilst centuried age
And youth in Spring strike hands before me,
Let foemen band, let battle rage,
You'll keep my Flag still flying o'er me!
* * * * *
[Illustration: "GENERAL IDEA"
HITTING ON A NOVEL PLAN FOR OUR COAST DEFENCES.]
* * * * *
The Yankee Oracle on the Three-Volume Novel.
Our people will not stand it--no!
Of Fiction, limp or strong,
Yanks want but little here below,
Nor want that little _long_!
(But oh! our (Saxon) stars one thanks,
Romance is _not_ (yet) ruled by Yanks!)
* * * * *
SONGS OF THE UN-SENTIMENTALIST.
THE TAX-COLLECTOR'S HEART.
I know his step, his ring, his knock,
I hear him, too, explain,
With emphasis my nerves that shock,
That he "won't call again!"
I know that bodes a coming storm--
A summons looms a-head!
I follow his retreating form,
And note his stealthy tread!
Some grace to beg, implore, beseech,
'Twere vain! Let him depart!
I know no human cry can reach
That Tax-Collector's heart!
He kept his word.
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