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When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Mule Brigade,
Long-eared two hundred!

The following plaint in behalf of this veteran quadruped will close this sketch:--

The Army mule in time of peace.

That men are ungrateful can plainly be seen
In the case of that mule standing out on the green.
His features are careworn, bowed down is his head,
His spirit is broken: his hopes have all fled.
He thinks of the time when the battle raged sore,
When he mingled his bray with the cannon's loud roar;
When Uncle Sam's soldiers watched for him to come,
Hauling stores of provisions and powder and rum;
When his coming was greeted with cheers and huzzas,
And the victory turned on the side of the stars.

These thoughts put new life into rickety bones-
He prances just once, then falls over and groans.
A vision comes over his poor mulish mind,
And he sees Uncle Sam, with his agents behind,
Granting pensions by thousands to all who apply,
From the private so low to the officer high;
To the rich and the poor, the wise man and fool,
But, alas! there is none for the “poor army mule.”

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