Old Abe and the "Gen'ral" soon got at "out," Which caused the "Old Gen'ral" to complain of gout; So he told Marse Abe that he would resign, And he laid all the blame to the very hard times, O, it was hard times. McClellan was the next man put in the field, With brass-hilted sword and a sole-leather shield; He boasted quite loudly the Rebels he'd whip-- But you see, my dear friends, he's not done it yet, For it's hard times. Yet there was another, Gen. Buell, the great, That followed our Beauregard clean thro' one State, But at Tennessee River he got all his fill-- I'm certain he remembered the Shiloh Hill! There were Banks, Shields and Fremont, big generals all, While skirmishing 'round ran afoul of "Stonewall!" With Longstreet and Hill, very near by his side, Who said: "Wo-ee, Yankees, let's all have a ride!" Old Jackson he then got around to their rear, So the day was ours you can see very clear; Then he sent a dispatch to brave General Lee, "Drive all the Yankees into eternity?" But at Gainesville station they made a bold stand, Where they collected a formidable band, And swore to their fill that the Rebels they'd whip, But the Texans made them everlastingly "git!" Now the last I've heard of McClellan, the third; He was down on James River bogg'd up in the mud, In a bend of the river, near a big pond, The want of more news puts an end to my song. AUGUST 13, 1862. THE FLAG OF THE SOUTHLAND By MAJOR E. W. CAVE, of Houston. _Air--"I'm Afloat."_ Flag of the Southland! Flag of the free! 'Ere thy sons will be slaves, they will perish with thee! Thy new-risen star shall light Liberty on, 'Till the hosts of the tyrant are scatter'd and gone! Whether victory sits on the Southern plumes, Or disaster doth come in some hour of gloom, Freedom's hosts will still rally where'er thou shalt be, O flag of the Southland! flag of the free! Flag of the Southland! thy glory has been To be baptized in blood 'midst the great battle's din, From Manassas' red plains, o'er the mountains steep, Thy stars kept their vigils, where Washington sleeps, And the breezes of Vernon have borne on the shout Of thy triumphant sons as the foes took the rout; Valor's trio of genius--Beauregard, Johnston and Lee! Guards the flag of the Southland--flag of the free! The foe is upon us, but our flag it is there! We have borne it in triumph--its defeat we can share; Tho' our cities be burned, tho' our thousands be slain, 'Mid the flames of our altars we'll fight him again; And while there's a spot where a patriot band May show to the foe a desperate stand, Southern hearts will defy him, their flag will still be The flag of the Southland--the flag of the free!