The general eyed the speaker with much severity of countenance, my boy, and says he:
"If you have any sons, my friend, they are probably fast young men, and take after their father—at the approach of the enemy."
The general is rather proud of his sons, my boy, one of whom wrote the following, which he keeps pinned against the wall of his room:—
POOR PUSSY.
We count mankind and keep our census still,
We count the stars that populate the night;
But who, with all his computation, can
Con catty nations right?
In all the lands, in zones of all degrees,
No spot im-puss-able is known to be;