There is the "Emily Geiger Ride," and "Lill Servosse's Ride," but none more daring than that of Lola Sanchez, the young Floridian of the Southern Confederacy. The U. D. C. should look to it that one chapter at least should be Lola Sanchez Chapter. Lola Sanchez married Emanuel Lopez, a Confederate soldier of the St. Augustine Blues; Eugenia married Albert Rogers, another soldier of the St. Augustine Blues; Panchita is the widow of the late John R. Miot, of Columbia, S. C. Lola Sanchez died about seven years ago. May the memory of this Southern woman never fade. These facts were recently related to me by Mrs. Eugenia Rogers, of St. Augustine. ELIZABETH W. MULLINGS. THE REBEL SOCK A TRUE EPISODE IN SEWARD'S RAIDS ON THE OLD LADIES OF MARYLAND BY TENELLA. [The Gray Jacket, pages 510-513.] In all the pride and pomp of war The Lincolnite was dressed; High beat his patriotic heart Beneath his armoured vest. His maiden sword hung by his side, His pistols both were right, His coat was buttoned tight. His shining spurs were on his heels; A firm resolve sat on his brow, For he to danger went. By Seward's self that day he was On secret service sent. "Mount and away!" he sternly cried Unto the gallant band. Who all equipped from head to heel Awaited his command. "But halt, my boys--before we go These solemn words I'll say, Lincoln expects that every man His duty'll do to-day!" "We will! we will!" the soldiers cried, "The President shall see That we will only run away From Jackson or from Lee!" And now they're off, just four score men, A picked and chosen troop. And like a hawk upon a dove On Maryland they swoop. From right to left, from house to house, The little army rides. In every lady's wardrobe look To see that there she hides; They peep in closets, trunks, and drawers, Examine every box; Not rebel soldiers now they seek, But rebel soldiers' socks! But all in vain--too keen for them Were those dear ladies there, And not a sock or flannel shirt Was taken anywhere. The day wore on to afternoon, That warm and drowsy hour, When Nature's self doth seem to feel A touch of Morpheus' power. A farm-house door stood open wide, The men were all away, The ladies sleeping in their rooms, The children at their play; The house dog lay upon the steps, But never raised his head, Though cracking on the gravel walk He heard a stranger's tread. Old grandma, in her rocking chair, Sat knitting in the hall, When suddenly upon her work A shadow seemed to fall. She raised her eyes and there she saw Our Fed'ral hero stand. His little cap was on his head; His sword was in his hand; While circling round and round the house His gallant soldiers ride To guard the open kitchen door And chicken coop beside. Slowly the dear old lady rose And tottering forward came,