This doctrine will soon be broached in Parliament, and finds great favor in Exeter hall, where a statue will be erected in honor of Jefferson Davis, the man who saved England by destroying America!
If my friend Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe would write a great novel in favor of Slavery, we would make her a Duchess; and if Mr. Kirke, instead of such stories as Among the Pines, would give us the Bible view of Slavery, and reconcile whipping and branding slaves to the doctrine 'do unto others,' &c., he should be made an Earl. We are anxiously awaiting in England the grand movement which that great and good man ex-President Buchanan will soon make in favor of the South. England wishes Peace Commissioners to settle this question, and Mr. Buchanan to be one of them, on the part of the North, and that truly honest man, Gov. Floyd, another, on the part of the South—although my own choice would be Wigfall!
Something must be done to prevent the free acceptance of parole by our troops. Thousands and thousands 'have taken the word' and thereby incapacitated themselves from taking further part in the war. Let the press and the people awake to the infamy which a ready surrender on parole conditions brings, and we shall soon see the last of it. Let us continue by commending to all who have yielded themselves up, save in dire need, the following
SONG OF THE SNEAK.
'Rest sword, cool blushes, and Parolles—live!'
Shakspeare.
I saw the foe advancing,
Says I, 'Boys,' says I.
'This is rather ugly dancing.
Which the general makes us try,
Where the bayonets are glancing,'
Says I, 'boys,' says I.
When the bullets got to dropping,
Says I, 'Boys,'says I,
I wish there were some stopping
These blue beetles as they fly.
And which set a fellow hopping;'
Says I, 'boys,' says I.
And I'd scarcely pulled a trigger,
Says I, 'Boys,' says I,
I 'aint got a mite of vigor,'—
So I skulked and tried to fly,
But was booted by a nigger,
And back I had to shy.
Then the Confed's came before us;
Says I, 'Boys,'says I,
'I guess they're goin' to floor us,
Or to knock us high and dry;'
When they all sang out in chorus—
'Yield or die! yield or die!
'If you yield, we will parole you.'
Then says I, ' Boys,' says I,
'I have no wish to control you;
But, unless you want to die,
The best way to console you,
Is to go parole,' says I;
'When we won't have no more fighting,'
Says I, 'boys,' says I,
'Yet, in our pay delighting,
We can loaf at ease, all day,
And keep clear of guns affrighting
All a feller's nerves,' says I.
Now I blow and bluster bolder,
And at home, 'Boys,' says I,
'I used to be a soldier,
But I was too brave to fly,
And I'm, therefore, a parol-der,
Of the noblest kind,' says I.
Blackwood's Magazine, for September, treated the British public to an article on Mr. Jefferson Davis, in which that character is, of course, exalted to the pinnacle of greatness. Of its fairness and truthfulness, the following is a good specimen:
'Mr. Lincoln issued a proclamation calling for 75,000 troops to put down the rebellion. This was the torch that lit up the South, and rendered subsequent compromise impossible.'
Was it indeed? when there is no fact in history so directly clear and plain as that secession was a foregone conclusion in the South, from the moment that the possibility of Lincoln's election was conjectured. We are told that it was entirely the fault of the North that this diabolical rebellion burst out! It is always the North that is to blame, now, with John Bull. But we have more of it: