Evenings we knew,

Happy as this;

Faces we miss,

Pleasant to see.

Kind hearts and true,

Gentle and just,

Peace to your dust!
We sing round the tree.

Care, like a dun, Lurks at the gate: Let the dog wait; Happy we'll be ! Drink every one; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree!

Drain we the cup.-
Friend, art afraid ?
Spirits are laid

In the Red Sea.

Mantle it up;

Empty it yet;

Let us forget,

Round the old tree.

Sorrows, begone!

Life and its ills,

Duns and their bills,
Bid we to flee.

Come with the dawn,

Blue-devil sprite,

Leave us to night,

Round the old tree.

THE YANKEE VOLUNTEERS.

"A surgeon of the United States army says, that on inquiring of the Captain of his company, he found that nine-tenths of the men had enlisted on account of some female difficulty."-Morning Paper.

And is it so with all

The warriors ranged in line,
With lace bedizen'd fine

And swords gold-hilted

Yon lusty corporal,

Yon colour-man who gripes

The flag of Stars and StripesHas each been jilted?

Come, each man of this line, The privates strong and tall. "The pioneers and all,"

The fifer nimble Lieutenant and Ensign, Captain with epaulets, And Blacky there, who beats The clanging cymbal—

O cymbal-beating black,
Tell us, as thou canst feel,
Was it some Lucy Neal

Who caused thy ruin ?
O nimble fifing Jack,
And drummer making din

So deftly on the skin,

With thy rat-tattooing.

Confess, ye volunteers,
Lieutenant and Ensign,
And Captain of the line,
As bold as Roman-
Confess, ye grenadiers,
However strong and tall,
The Conqueror of you all,
Is Woman, Woman!

No corslet is so proof,

But through it from her bow, The shafts that she can throw Will pierce and rankle. No champion e'er so tough, But's in the struggle thrown, And tripp'd and trodden down By her slim ancle.

Thus, always it was ruled,
And when a woman smiled,

The strong nan was a child,
The sage a noodle.

Alcides was befool'd:

And silly Samson shorn,

Long, long, ere you were born,

Poor Yankee Doodle!

THE PEN AND THE ALBUM.

"I AM Miss Catherine's book" (the Album speaks); "I've lain among your tomes these many weeks; I'm tired of their old coats and yellow cheeks.

Quick, Pen! and write a line with a good grace;
Come! draw me off a funny little face;
And, prithee, send me back to Chesham Place."

PEN.

I am my master's faithful old Gold Pen;

I've served him three long years, and drawn since then Thousands of funny women and droll men.

And thoughts, since I am his, these thousand days.

Lord, how your pretty pages I'd amaze!

ALBUM.

His ways? his thoughts? Just whisper me a few ;

Tell me a curious anecdote or two,

And write 'em quickly off, good Mordan, do!