There's some old 'scores,' on tar-and-feather martyrs, We've now the 'devil to pay,' the 'pitch all hot;' In every Jack-tar, Jeff now finds a Tar-tar, Bound to 'pitch in,' and bound to 'pay the shot.' So, onward, mudsills! fanatics! vandals! vipers! Wipe out this treason _now_, nor leave one blot; When Dixie dances, Dixie must 'pay the piper;' Enough for 'U. S.' that we must 'pay the shot.' * * * * * War stories and war songs are in vogue--for instance: MY JOHNNY IS GONE FOR A SOLDIER. The accomplished, fascinating, talented, and beautiful Miss H----, as Jinkings calls her in his last Saratoga letter, has engaged her affections to Mr. John G----, and they are to be married some time. In the mean time, she has done all in her power to induce her lover to go and fight the battles of his country; so far unsuccessfully, since Mr. John G---- deems it his duty to stay at home and keep things steady, especially billiards, which, as we all know, is an erratic game, requiring great watching. The other evening, Miss H----, while assisting at a sociable at Madame V----'s, was asked to sing. Seated at the piano, to the horror of expectant hearers of classic music, she began, with loudest voice, to sing: 'I'll trace these gardins o'er and o'er, A med-i-tating on atche swate flowir, A thinking on each bewcheous hour; Oh! Johnny is gone for a sol-di-er.' She then put her handkerchief to her eyes, pretended to sob bitterly, arose from the piano-stool, and sought an arm-chair. Solicited by her confidential friend, Miss Belrose, to confide her affliction, she only answered: 'Oh! my Johnny G----'s gone for a soldier--to play billiards with him! And--and I know that that fast Lieutenant Gamble will keep him there for hours and hours.' * * * * * Young gentlemen, this is the time for bullets and not for balls; for cannons and not caroms; for rifle-pits to hole yourselves in, and not for 'pockets' wherein to hole your adversary. _Apropos_ of which, listen to THE WRONG KIND OF A BAND. Colonel X---- raised a regiment in the Ri-too-lal Rural districts of New-Jersey, including a by no means bad brass band. Arrived in Washington with his force, he was unfortunate enough to meet with a wag, who at once told him he was afraid that he, the Colonel, would meet or rather come to grief shortly. 'How so?' asked Colonel X---- excitedly. 'H'm!' answered the wag, 'don't you see that those rural musicians of yours will be regarded as country-band of war?' The Colonel saw it! * * * * * Do our readers remember a beautiful poem on Gottschalk's playing--_Los ojos Criollos_--which appeared some time since in the _Home Journal_? They will not regret to see a lyric in our pages by the writer of the first referred to: THE OLD SURGEON'S STORY. BY ELEANOR C. DONELLY.