NOTE.--This was printed before the President's emancipation proclamation, but is not hostile to it, when accompanied by capture or conquest. THE WOLF HUNT. AIR--'Una nina bonita y hermosa.' We will ride to the wolf hunt together, Where thousands must yield up their breath, By the night, by the light--in all weather! Then hurrah, for the wild hunt of death! Where the deep cannon bays for our beagle, Over mountain and valley we come, While the death-fife now screams like an eagle To the roll and the roll and the roll and the roll of the drum. Fatherland!--how the wild beasts are yelling! Blood drips from each ravenous mouth; Blood of brothers, each torn from his dwelling By the wild, hungry wolves of the South. CHORUS--Where the deep cannon bays for our beagle, &c. Let them rave! for our rifles are ready; Let them howl! for our sabres are keen; And the nerve of the hunter is steady When the track of the were-wolf is seen. CHORUS--Where the deep cannon bays for our beagle, &c. Yes, the foul wolves have been o'er the border, But the fields were piled high with their slain, Till we drove them, in frantic disorder, To their dark home of hunger again. CHORUS--Where the deep cannon bays for our beagle, &c. So we'll ride to the wolf hunt together, Where the bullet stops many a breath, By the night, by the light--in all weather, To the wild Northern wolf hunt of death. Where the deep cannon bays for our beagle, Over mountain and valley we come; While the death-fife now screams like an eagle To the roll and the roll and the roll and the roll of the drum. THE POETRY OF NATURE. Among the many marvellous myths of antiquity, I know of none more directly applicable to Man and Art than that of the great struggle between Antaeus the Earth-born and Hercules. Lifted on high by brute force, Antaeus is stifled; but falling and touching Earth, he revives. Man, borne by the irresistible force of circumstance, may become false, frivolous, and weak: his Art may dwindle to mere imitation, his Poetry turn to wailing and convulsions: but let him once fall back to Nature--to the all-cherishing Earth, the Mother of Beauty--and all his Works and Songs become as seas, rivers, green leaves, and the music of birds.