* * * * *

OH, SAUNDERSON, MY COLONEL!

AIR--"_John Anderson, my Jo!_"

Oh, SAUNDERSON, my Colonel,
You're stout and eloquent,
But boding; as the raven.
Knock ninety-nine per cent.
From your Cassandra prophecies,
As bogeyish as eternal,
And you'll be nearer to the truth,
Brave SAUNDERSON, my Colonel!

Oh, SAUNDERSON, my Colonel,
Could you but pull together,
Orange and Green, a truce were seen
To bigotry and blether.
'Tis _they_ that keep the Emerald Isle
In pother so infernal.
Drop hate and fear, try love and trust,
Brave SAUNDERSON, my Colonel!

* * * * *

OBVIOUS.--The _Daily News_ reports the mysterious disappearance from
the Government Saw Mills at Portsmouth, of 2,570 feet of deal. "No one
can say," it is added, "what became of the wood." Why, it walked off
of course, with so many feet the temptation was irresistible.