Bomb . we 11 wield our swords instead. Chorus. —Wm. M. G., 99. 3 Ba lITftcg Mt$s 3Kc at Do they miss me at rev., do they miss me? T would be an assurance most dear,To know that the orderly sergeant Thought: Damn it; I know he is here ;To know that a good-hearted fellow Had answered my name loud and , yes ; it would be most provoking To know that they miss me down there. I must set me a chair b\ the table, And write out the truth or a lie ;For I have just heard that they missed me. Though I 11 swear that I do not see when the lights out is repeated, And all lay them down o
Bomb . we 11 wield our swords instead. Chorus. —Wm. M. G., 99. 3 Ba lITftcg Mt$s 3Kc at Do they miss me at rev., do they miss me? T would be an assurance most dear,To know that the orderly sergeant Thought: Damn it; I know he is here ;To know that a good-hearted fellow Had answered my name loud and , yes ; it would be most provoking To know that they miss me down there. I must set me a chair b\ the table, And write out the truth or a lie ;For I have just heard that they missed me. Though I 11 swear that I do not see when the lights out is repeated, And all lay them down on the floor,I 11 think of the falsehood I ve written, And resolve to be absent no more. Do they miss me at rev., do they miss me? Do they miss me at tattoo at night ?If they do, I will go to the doctor And swear that my shoes are too will tell him that rev. is too soon. That they ought to postpone it till night,And, if he 11 excuse me this time, I will never again run a late. E. A. R., 60. 114. Vv^HO S«io CHit Ke tvs •? ®fic Ca&cts IJIea. U! Major Houston, pit\ take!Try to stop this awful fake !Try to soften our beefsteak !This mess-liall sure is hell 1 [OUURUS.] Meats bad, Breads bad,Butter bad. Molasses bad and Pies bad— And fifty cents per day. M. E. L., f 115 Wf\^ CChavgc M Bcto Market. At Waterloo and Balaklava, Were deeds of valor done,But vain as grass before the blade, Or snow neath summer sun. They come ! They come ! the cry arose,From all the batterys side; My men ! My men ! Those are but boys,The officer replied. Pour in your shot, pour in your shell,And soon the sun will seeThem halted, broken, fled—The Southern chivalry. They halt! They halt! the colonel cried You soon will see them flee; They come! They come! the men replied, This Southern chivalry. No boys are these, nor men for war,But giants in our eyes ;T is not in man to stem this tide—A tide of sacrifice. The battle lulled—two armies gazed Upon that red artillery,Upon those he
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