But in fact the atmosphere is only an appendage to the solid earth, existing in that plastic form which is necessary to the creation both of animal and vegetable life. It is her breath, by which, as the minister of God, she breathes life into the nostrils of men and animals, and imparts vitality and growth to all plants. But in this life-giving process, she furnishes also a part, minute though it be, of her own proper substance. Consume with fire the trees of the forest, or the grass of the prairie, and though the greater part of the burning mass will disappear and mingle with the air from which it came, there will yet remain the ashes, which cannot be dissipated, but must return again to the earth which gave them. These solid constituents of plants are the contributions of the soil; and though they seem to be comparatively inconsiderable, yet when taken in connection with the large operations of agriculture continued through a series of years, they become so great as to be of the utmost importance. They perform an interesting part in the economy of vegetable life, for they are to the plant what the bones are to the animal. In the stalks of wheat and Indian corn, as indeed of all the grasses, the flinty surface is constituted largely of silex; as the shells of crustacea and the bones of animals are composed mostly of lime. Without these earthy substances, nothing that grows from the soil can come to perfection. They are equally important to animals and to man himself, who receives them from the vegetable world and assimilates them in his own marvellous organization--building up his bony frame with the lime of the earth; filling his veins with its iron; constructing the very seat and citadel of the soul, and flashing its spiritual mandates through the nerves, by the help of the phosphorus which he derives from the soil through the elaboration of plants and inferior animals. WE'RE NOT TIRED OF FIGHTING YET! Oh, we're not tired of fighting yet! We're not the boys to frighten yet! While drums are drumming we'll be coming, With the ball and bayonet! For we can hit while they can pound, And so let's have another round! Secesh is bound to lick the ground, And we'll be in their pantry yet! Oh, we're not tired of tramping yet-- Of soldier life or camping yet; And rough or level, man or devil, We are game for stamping yet. We've lived through weather wet and dry, Through hail and fire, without a cry; We wouldn't freeze, and couldn't fry, And haven't got through our ramping yet! We haven't broke up the party yet; We're rough, and tough, and hearty yet; Who talks of going pays what's owing, And there's a bill will smart ye yet! So bang the doors, and lock 'em tight! Secesh, you've got to make it right! We'll have a little dance to-night; You can't begin to travel yet!