So tear your traitorous ensigns down, Run up the Stars and Stripes, sirs, Or Uncle Sam will feed you lead, Until you have the gripes, sirs!

The eagle is too wise a fowl

To fool with all your pranks, sirs; Fort Pickens you must leave alone, Or thin your rebel ranks, sirs!

SOUTHWARD, HO!

Southward, ho! 'Twas a stormy chorus
Thundering forth from the years of old,
As down from the crests of the Himalaya
Madly the Scythian war-tide rolled.
Wave on wave, in their strong pulsations,
Hurled from the Northland's bounding veins;
On they poured, like a tide of terror,

Over the teeming Indian plains-
Strewing their path with the fallen altars,
The dusky gold and the starry gems,

The pearl-wrought girdles of Hindoo princes,
And wealth of her priceless diadems.

O'er the shattered throne and the wrecked pagoda
Swelled that pæan of savage joy,

As ever onward the locust legions
Swept to desolate and destroy.

Yet a higher strength and greatness even
To India's twenty millions came,

From the bounding blood of the Northern nations,
Their nerves of steel and their souls of flame!

Southward, ho! 'Twas a grander anthem,
When, from their far-off, frozen home,
The sturdy sons of the Northern war-gods
Poured on the rotting wreck of Rome.
Gone was the might of the ancient empire;
Power and beauty had passed away;
All things foul, and vile, and hateful,
Hovered around her rank decay.
Gone was the grand, heroic daring,

Which had made her younger years sublime; The blood was chilly, and weak, and nerveless, That flowed through the shrunken veins of Time. So a stronger life and a mightier spirit

Forth from the stormy North were hurled, And filled, with the strength of a new creation, The withered limbs of the dead old world. And over the ashes of desolation

Those Vandals sowed in their gory way, The glowing light of the modern ages

Blazed and bloomed like a heavenly day!

Southward, ho! How the mighty chorus

Shook the depths of the Northern seas,
When the countless ships of the stern old Vikings
Spread their wings on the Boreal breeze.
Joyfully, from the barren mountains,

The frozen fiords and the glaciers cold,
They turned their prows to the sunnier oceans,
Which in the unknown Austral rolled.
Down on the lands where the Celt and Saxon
Reaped their fields on a peaceful shore,
They bore the name of the mighty Odin,

And the martial joy of the thunderer Thor.
And up from a thousand fields of battle,

From the Northern giants' glorious graves, Springs the power which has made Britannia Ocean-queen of the Western waves.

Southward, ho! How the grand old war-cry
Thunders over our land to-day;
Rolling down from the Eastern mountains,
Dying into the West away.

The South has fallen from her ancient glory,
Bowed in slavery, crime, and shame;
And forth from his storehouse God is sending
Another tempest of steel and flame!

Southward, ho! Bear on the watchword!
Onward march, as in ancient days,

Till over the traitor's fallen fortress

The Stripes shall stream and the Stars shall blaze!
For the Northern arm is mailed with thunder,
And the Northern heart beats high and warm;
And a stronger life shall spring in glory

In the path of the Southward rushing storm;
The ancient wrongs shall shrink and perish,
The darkness fly from their radiant van;
And a mightier empire rise in grandeur,
For Freedom, Truth, and the Rights of Man.
Ever thus, when, in future ages,

Manhood fails on the tropic plains,

Send, O God, thy Northern giants

To pour fresh blood through their feeble veins! -N. Y. Tribune, July 11.

THE CAVALIER'S SONG.

I'm a dashing young Southerner, gallant and tall;
I am willing to fight, but unwiling to fall;
I am willing to fight, but I think I may say,
That I'm still more in favor of running away:
So forth from my quarters I fearlessly go,
With my feet to the field and my back to the foe!
Just suited to sprigs of the old F. F. V.'s;
The life of a trooper is pleasure and ease,
Should mar our fair skins, and get rust on our arms;
No horrible wounds, and no midnight alarms,
Through the sweet sunny South we will tranquilly go,

With our feet to the field and our backs to the foe!
I own twenty niggers, of various shades,
Who burnish my arms for our fancy parades;
My horse prances sideways, curvetting along,
And lovely eyes single me out from the throng
Of dashing young Southerners, all in a row,
With their feet to the field and their backs to the
foe!

My sword is gold-hilted, my charger is fleet;
I am bullion and spangles from helmet to feet;
I am fierce in my cups, and most savagely bent
On slaying the Yankees . . . when safe in my tent;
In short, if I'm timid, I know how to blow,
With my feet to the field and my back to the foe!

'Tis well for the hireling myrmidon crew
To shed vulgar blood for their Red, White, and Blue,
But when they've attacked us, we always have
beat-..

Don't misunderstand-I mean, beat a retreat!
And the grass, I'll be sworn, has a poor chance to

grow

'Neath our feet on the field, with our backs to the foe!

Then bring me my horse! let me ride in the van,—
For the enemy hardly can hit me, I find,
A position I always secure, if I can;
While running away with an army behind,
As over the ground like a whirlwind I go,
With my feet to the field and my back to the foe!
Sometimes I put Sambo, and Cuffee, and Clem.,
"Twixt me and the Yankees, who shoot into them;
But when at close quarters, with pistol and knife,
I find it much safer to run for my life;
So the dust from my horse-shoes I haughtily throw,
As I dash from the field with my back to the foe!

The Northmen, to catch me, will have to ride fast,
Though I have a misgiving they'll do it at last;
And it cannot be other than awkward, I fear,
To find a great knot underneath my left ear,
As up through the air like a rocket I go,
With a beam overhead and a scaffold below!
-Vanity Fair.

WATCHING AND WAITING.
BY "ALF."

Here, a watchman on the railroad,
Sit I in my palace great,
With my gun against my shoulder,
Learning here to watch and wait.

Watching for some daring rebel, 'Gainst the bridge to vent his spite; Waiting, with a studied patience,

For the coming of the night.

From the forest trees about me,

Come the dead leaves drifting down, While the streamlet bears them onward Floating clouds of golden brown.

So, through all the passing autumn, All the long and lonesome day, Watch I, while my spirit wanders

To another far away.

One, whose purpose high and noble,
Woke ambition in my breast,
For the good and right to struggle,
Till my soul should sink to rest.

Sure my palace is a shanty

Sure the cracks are gaping wide; And my hands are rough and rusty From the musket by my side.

But my soul is full of ardor

For the triumph of the Right, As I wait and watch here calmly For the coming of the night.

I am waiting for the battle

I must wage throughout my life;

I am waiting for the spirit

That shall guide me through its strife. Cincinnati Times, Oct. 30.

WHAT OF THE NIGHT?

Watchman, what of the night?

Are there signs in the East that augur the day,
Or still doth the blackness of darkness there lay?
We list to the trumpings that herald the storm,
To the roll of the drum, and the order to form!

Whither the eagle's flight?

Does she bear in her beak the Stripes and the Stars, The device which was won by a thousand scars? Then shout, as it floats through the cloud in the breeze!

'Tis the ægis of Hope on the land and the seas.

Blackness and night I see!

Ho, rally! ho, rally! our banner is rent,
And the hiss of the viper now sounds in our tent;
Black Treason grows rampant, and vaunts that she
drives

The flag-bearing Eagle away from her skies!

Freedom or Slavery,

Is the watchword that booms from Sumter's black

walls; And Freedom or Death, answer back Northern Halls! To Freedom or Death! is the shout and the cry; By the Banner of Freedom 'tis glory to die!

Blackness and night I see! And the trumpings that break 'mid the cloud and the

storm,

And the marshalling feet of the hosts as they form, Like a hurricane bred on the tempest's red track,

Now warn of the wreck and the woe in their track.

WEEP O'ER THE HEROES AS THEY FALL.

BY CHARLES WILLIAM BUTLER.

Dedicated to our Armies.

Weep o'er the heroes as they fall
In conflict for the right;

And vow to Heaven our lives, our all,
Shall give our country might.
We will not let our banner fair
Be trailed by foes in dust,
But it shall be our dearest care-
The nation's hope and trust.

Weep o'er the heroes as they fall,
Who die in glory's prime;

Who give their nation's earnest call

A life and death sublime.

We call them dead; and yet their hearts

Throb on in memory's shrineFor them the patriot's noblest part, In Freedom's cause divine.

III.

Hurrah for the soldier and sailor!
A nation shall now intercede
To give them proud share of its plaudit,
Wherever the Stars and Stripes lead!
Aye! enrol them a legion of honor;

Not grudgingly theirs be fame's meed ! Place! place for the sailor and soldier Who spurned the base cry of SECEDE!

CATHOLIC CATHEDRAL.
BY T. HULBERT UNDERWOOD.

See! o'er yon proud cathedral, like a star,
The signal-cross is beaming bright and far.

One year ago it gleamed along the sky
A light malignant like an evil eye.

With scornful lip the men of purpose said: "Portent of evil! lo, the Christ has fled."

But now, thank God! it stands a beacon-light; The Christ is there, encouraging the Right.

The solemn organ grandly pealing thereA hymn to Freedom sweetens all the air.

One year ago that deep-toned organ smote The ear with horror; for each mocking note

Came down upon us with the monstrous cry, That "Slavery is truth, and God a lie;"

But now the nation listens while it ringsFor lo! a song of Freedom upward springs.

Thank God for this! We turn again to thee, Great Mother Church, and bow the willing knee

Before thine altar. Now the Christ is there, And Liberty beside Him breathes her prayer.

Within thy precincts men of holy vow
And earnest purpose are assembled now.

Thy prayer is Union-gather for the fight,
For God, for Country, Liberty, and Right.
And first among them boldly Brownson stands
His lips are eloquent, his pleading hands
Are upward raised, imploring Heaven to aid
In sending Treason to its native shade;
With scathing words rebukes the tardy will
Of nerveless rulers, vacillating still:

"O ye whom we have called upon to lead!
What are ye weak in purpose and in deed?

"And dare ye shrink from acting now your part, While all the nation waits with throbbing heart?

"Oh, give us, God, the men of purpose high, And give the people one brave battle-cry—

"Be this our watchword-let the nations hearSlaves nevermore shall breathe our atmosphere !

"And let our boast (the boast of England) beThe slaves that touch Columbia's soil are free.

"Man must be man in all that makes the manThe crowning work of God's creative plan;

"No thing debased, no slave of monstrous birth, A blighted manhood and a shame to earth. "Strike Treason down, annihilate the wrong, Make Justice bold, and Truth and Freedom strong.

"Ho, impious men! ye fight at fearful odds, Who war on Freedom; for her curse is God's."

sick and wounded comrades-so shall my heart be a canteen full of love and sympathy for each and all of you. Comrades, Thank you thank you—thank you."

"The Daughter" delivered the speech in a very clear and distinct manner, and at its conclusion the regiment gave her three cheers and a "tiger," and escorted her to head-quarters.—Boston Post.

THE FOURTH OF JULY, SOUTH.-As particularly noticed in yesterday's Picayune, there bids fair to be a very spirited celebration of the Fourth of July. Besides the military doings which we have mentioned, there will be an entire suspension of business, and the holiday will be universally kept, as it is right and proper it should be.

Camp Lewis will be the centre of attraction, beyond doubt. The facilities for going thither and re

And earnest ears are quick to catch the song,
And every heart-pulse at the sound grows strong.
The Mother Church, with all a mother's bliss,
Takes Freedom to her bosom with a kiss.

The great Cathedral, as in days gone by,
Leads on the battle with the startling cry,
"E spiritus de Santus! Truth and Right!
Let rebels flee, for Gou is in the fight!"

THE DAUGHTER OF THE SIXTH.-Miss Lizzie C. Jones, the Daughter of the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment, is said to look charmingly in her new costume 28 "the child," and will undoubtedly be an object of extraordinary interest when that regiment returns to Boston. A correspondent says:-"She is but ten years old, and since she has been in camp, she has been a great comfort to the soldiers in the hospital, visiting them daily, and dispensing among the unfortunate little delicacies, as well as going frequently through the streets of the camp with strawberries, cherries, &c. Sometimes she has distributed as many as sixteen boxes to a company-the market-man, of course, driving his cart to each tent."

The presentation speech accompanying the gift of the uniform, was made by Sergeant Crowley, of Lowell, and of the closing ceremonies the following is an account.

The "Daughter" took the box containing the dress, and, with canteen upon her person, she tripped lightly into the "hospital" that was close at hand, and in a few moments appeared in her new and beautiful costume. Standing upon the green, with the beautiful silk banners on each side, she addressed the regiment as follows:

"Comrades-when you took me, a stranger, and adopted me as your daughter, I had but little idea of what you were doing, and of what my duties were; but having been in camp with you two months, and learned to know you all, I have learned to love you all, and I feel that you all love me, because there are none of you when we meet but have a kind word and a pleasant smile for me. And now that you have put me in uniform, I feel still more that I belong to you, and I will try never to forget it. But you do not expect me to talk, but, like this splendid treasure, which I shall prize as a remembrance to the last day of my life-which is full to relieve the parched lips of my

Carrollton Railroad, will make it a popular resort. There will be the usual parades, evolutions, and reviews, that will be well worth witnessing. The target firing and cannon practice of the Washington artillery, at the Lake, will also attract many spectators undoubtedly.

The Picayune will observe the anniversary of American Independence as a holiday, as it ever has done from the beginning of its career. There will be no issue thereof after that of this morning, until the afternoon of Friday, thus enabling all connected with the office an opportunity of enjoying the day without stint.-N. O. Picayune, July 4.

THE 85th anniversary of the Battle of Fort Moultrie was handsomely celebrated in Charleston on the 28th of June. Business was almost entirely suspended, military companies paraded, the streets were crowded, and there were all the observances of a gala day.— Idem.

NEW ORLEANS, LA., July 6.-The editor of the Evening News at Hannibal, Mo., was lately arrested by a Federal officer there, taken to the Abolition camp, and subjected to ignominious treatment, and compelled to perform painful labor for the gratification of the mercenaries and Republican civilians who had repaired to the camp to "witness the perform ance." Among other things, he was made to "mark time" while extracts were being read from his paper, and to dig, under the powerful rays of a meridian sun, a deep hole in the earth. His only offence was the State Rights tone of his paper. The press from all parts of Missouri, not disposed to conceal from the public the outrages committed by the Lincolnites, bring us accounts of arrests, domiciliary visits, and insults to families, by the mercenaries who have invaded the State. One good service they are perform ing is to weaken the Union party every day they remain in the State.-N. O. Delta, July 6.

GUERRILLA WAR IN VIRGINIA.-An old trapper of high respectability, who has resided in Hampton for many years, named Benjamin Phillips, was coming up the road near Hampton in the afternoon, armed with a double-barrelled gun. Seeing a buggs some distance ahead of him, he slipped into the woods and waited its approach. He soon discovered two officers seated in the buggy, and saw from their distressed appearance that they were in no condition to do him much damage. They hailed him as they passed, asking who he was. He replied by telling