“I love to feel upon my bridle bit
The champ of a thoroughbred,”—
Bugle Note: By A. Lansing Burrows. (Bohemian from the Richmond Dispatch.)
“Tramp! tramp! tramp! steadily on to the foe;
With banners afloat in the stirring breeze,”—
Bull Run—A Parody: (W. G. S.)
“At Bull Run where the sun was low,
Each Southern face grew pale as snow”—
Bull’s Run: Air, “Wait for the Wagon.” (R. B. B. 11.)
“Says Greely, to Scott, to Richmond, why not,