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That was inflicted on that town

By Quantrell's band therebel foe!

Men, women, children, all alike,

Sought refuge from that rebel band, Who, with the power of Bonaparte,

Would lay in ashes all our land.

The frightful flames were bursting loud,

And leaping wildly through the air, As if to add to the piteous shrieks

That rose and fell in sore despair.

The father, with his darling sons,

The mother, with her child, Cried, "burn my house, but spare my life!

Those shrieks were loud and wild!

And helpless children did behold

Those fiends in human form
Shoot down their fathers in the street,

With unrelenting scorn'

The butchering done by Quantrell's band,

Upon that Autumn day,

Will, like a dagger, pierce my heart-
So they who saw it say.

Killing men had made him brave;

Bnt there his ire grew wild
When Younger said, "you made a vow;-

You've missed part of your game!"
And then he gnashed his teeth in rage,

, And said, “I'll shoot Jim Lane!"

Ah! sad was the fate of Lawrence that day,

As the panting steed bore his rider in gray, As their curses, shrieks and deafening cries

Were wafted upward to the skies.

When that awful day had past,

Smoldering ruins marked the spot Where love and friendship reigned supreme,

Ere Quantrell planned his bloody plot.

But a mark of infamy is set

On the men who plotted treason; Who thought to rend our land in twain,

Without just cause or reason.

And now o'er the graves of New England's

sons, O'er the martyrs who fell that day, Year following year, the tear-drops will fall On the ground that has mixed with their



Go the

Memory of the Hon. D. G. Haskell.

O-DAY the nation mourns a son,

In early life he was cut down.
Our friend, our guide, when noon had

No words can speak a woe so vast!

His years were few, but well-improved;

He gained a coveted renown,
And stamped upon the nation's mind

That he has gained a heavenly crown.

Long had sickness on him preyed;

Anxious friends had watched each mail,

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