LOGAN, HOC!Poetical.THE LADV PKENIDKNT’N K VI l,.BV ELEANOR C. l)ON\EU.V.“ Phe lights in the President’s mansion,'I lie gas lights cheerv and red,I see them glowing and glancing As I tos on inv wearisome led ;I see them Hooding the windows,And, star like gemming the hull,\N here the tide of fashion flow s inward To the Ladv President’s Ball !“ My temples are throbbing with fever, i Vi v limbs are palsied with pain,And the crash oi that festal music Burns into my aching brain ;; I ill I rave with deiiiious fancies,And coffin, and bier, and pall M i \ed up with the Howers and laces Of my Lady-Ptesident’s Ball !I “ W hat matter that I, poor private,1 ,ie here on mv nanow bed,U ith fever gri| ing inv vitals,And da/ling m\ hapless head *\N hat matters that nurses are callous And rations meagre and small, j So long as the hrau mondr revel At the Lady President’s Ball!“Who pities inv poor old mother—\S lut comfort' inv sweet voung wife—| AI one in the distant citv,With sorrow capping 11 it ir life !1 have no innnev m etid them,They cannot come at my call ;No luonev ! yet hundreds are wasting I At my Lady President’s Ball!“ Hundreds, av ! hundreds of thousandsIn satins, jewels, and wine,1’ reneh dishes tor da int v stomachst Inle the blaek broth sickens mine !)And jellies, and fruits, and cold ires.And fountains that Hash as thev fall,I () («od ! tor a cup of c dd waterFiom the La ly Pre.-iden’L Ball !“ Nurse! bring me inv uniform rigged — lla ! whv did von blow out the light ’Help me it; —though I’m selling and giddv,1 must go to in\ ieir ones to night !Wife ! mother! gtowu wearv with waiting, I’m coming! I’ll comfort ye ail !*’1 And the private s.tnh dead uli le thev reveled At my La lv l’resi ietit’s Bali !