“Hark! to the shrill trumpet calling,
It pierceth the soft summer air!”—
Officers of Dixie: By a Growler: (Alsb.)
“Let me whisper in your ear, sir,
Something that the South should hear, sir,”—
Oh! Abraham, Resign! By a New Contributor. (R. B. B. 57.)
“The days are growing shorter,
The sun has crossed the line,”—
Oh! Hasten Back, My Soldier Boy! By J. P. H. Charlottesville, Virginia. (Cav.)
“How oft have I sighed for my soldier boy, gone