the divinity of slavery, and said the sermon on the Mount had
been mistranslated. His argument is cogent to prove that monarchy and
aristocracy should favor slavery as the best means of keeping down, the
working classes, now clamoring in England for the right of suffrage.

This doctrine will soon be broached in Parliament, and finds great favor
in Exeter hall, where a statue will be erected in honor of Jefferson
Davis, _the man who saved England by destroying America!_

If my friend Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe would write a great novel in
favor of Slavery, we would make her a Duchess; and if Mr. Kirke, instead
of such stories as _Among the Pines_, would give us the Bible view of
Slavery, and reconcile whipping and branding slaves to the doctrine 'do
unto others,' &e., he should be made an Earl. We are anxiously awaiting
in England the grand movement which that great and good man ex-President
Buchanan will soon make in favor of the South. England wishes Peace
Commissioners to settle this question, and Mr. Buchanan to be one of
them, on the part of the North, and that truly honest man, Gov. Floyd,
another, on the part of the South--although my own choice would be
Wigfall!

* * * * *

Something must be done to prevent the free acceptance of parole by our
troops. Thousands and thousands 'have taken the word' and thereby
incapacitated themselves from taking further part in the war. Let the
press and the people awake to the infamy which a ready surrender on
parole conditions brings, and we shall soon see the last of it. Let us
continue by commending to all who have yielded themselves up, save in
dire need, the following

SONG OF THE SNEAK.

'Rest sword, cool blushes, and PAROLLES--live!'

SHAKSPEARE.

I saw the foe advancing,
Says I, 'Boys,' says I.
'This is rather ugly dancing.
Which the general makes us try,
Where the bayonets are glancing,'
Says I, 'boys,' says I.

When the bullets got to dropping,
Says I, 'Boys,'says I,
I wish there were some stopping
These blue beetles as they fly.
And which set a fellow hopping;'
Says I, 'boys,' says I.

And I'd scarcely pulled a trigger,
Says I, 'Boys,' says I,
I 'aint got a mite of vigor,'--
So I skulked and tried to fly,
But was booted by a nigger,
And back I had to shy.

Then the Confed's came before us;
Says I, 'Boys,'says I