“God save our Southern land,
God be our trust,”—
Our Killed in Battle: Sonnet: New Orleans, 1861. (E. V. M., ’69.)
“As swift, glad brooks run towards the mighty sea,
And in its heart are lost forevermore,”—
Our Left: By Francis O. Ticknor, M. D., Georgia. (B. E.)
“From dark to dawn they stood
That long midsummer day”—
Our Marshal Kane: Air, “Roseas’ Dream.” (R. B. B., 51)
“Come and listen to my story