Who rush to glory or the grave!
Wave, Munich! all thy banners wave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
Few, few shall part where many meet!
The snow shall be their winding-sheet,
And every turf beneath their feet
Shall be a soldier’s sepulcher.
NEW FRIENDS ON OLD PLATES.
The Grist That Now Comes to the Breakfast Mill Indicates That Men Soon Will Be Able to Dine Sumptuously on Cereals Which Have Been Reduced to the Constituency of Mere Mental Suggestion.