• TABLE OF CONTENTS
HIDE
 Front Cover
 Front Matter
 Frontispiece
 Title Page
 List of Illustrations
 Table of Contents
 Dead at thirty
 Since Nellie went away
 Memorial morning
 January - the water bearer
 Examinations
 Another spider and fly
 The little tin cup
 February - the fishes
 The old
 The counts daughter
 His old yellow almanac
 March - the ram
 Asleep at the switch
 When Santa Claus comes
 April - the bull
 Where do you live?
 What we learn at school
 Boys
 May - the twins
 The demon of the fire
 God of nations
 June - the crab
 Women wanted
 The new schoolhouse
 The charge of the rum brigade
 July - the lion
 Only a song
 Hold on, boys - Stay on the...
 A boy's welcome to Spring
 August - the virgin
 'Tis home where'er our flag is
 The black regiment
 The Irishwoman's letter
 September - the balance
 Ulysses
 Time enough
 For the children's sake
 October - the scorpion
 Soliloquy of Arnold
 The stylish church
 November - the archer
 Thanksgiving in ye olden time
 Cover them over with flowers
 December - the sea goat
 Only an emigrant
 "Music hath charms"
 The engineer
 The blue and the gray
 A little boy's thoughts
 They say
 Memory
 The decorating mania
 The rain-wagon
 In memoriam
 What the old man said
 My hen and I
 Abraham Lincoln
 Idyl of a public school
 Maternity
 Launch of the ship
 The tin bucket and the willow basket...
 Baby and I
 Bessie's Christmas Eve lark
 Is it right?
 The flight of the birds - Clear...
 Scott and the veteran
 Discontent
 Good-night and good-morning
 Where the Gypsies go
 What Santa Claus thinks
 My mercies
 Men wanted - The lucky horsesh...
 Disproved
 Father and mother - The power of...
 Unsolved mysteries
 Cracked
 By and by
 Two little hands
 The little black-eyed rebel
 The end of the chapter
 Uncle Nate's funeral
 What try does
 The nineteenth century teacher
 The consecrating influence of the...
 Christmas bells
 The mistletoe bough
 Zekle's courtship
 Ready sympathy
 Squeers' school
 September
 Exercise for New Year's Eve
 The Easter wreath
 The falling leaves
 Nothing like trying - When I'm...
 The children of storyland
 Back Cover
 Spine






Title: Wayside blossoms of prose and poetry
CITATION THUMBNAILS PAGE TURNER PAGE IMAGE ZOOMABLE
Full Citation
STANDARD VIEW MARC VIEW
Permanent Link: http://ufdc.ufl.edu/UF00081199/00001
 Material Information
Title: Wayside blossoms of prose and poetry
Physical Description: 256 p. : ill. (some col.) ; 26 cm.
Language: English
Creator: Fowler, E. E
H.J. Smith & Co ( Publisher )
Publisher: H. J. Smith & Co.
Place of Publication: Philadelphia
Publication Date: 1891
 Subjects
Subject: Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1891   ( lcsh )
Children's poetry -- 1891   ( lcsh )
Dialogues -- 1891   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1891
Genre: Children's stories
Children's poetry
Dialogues   ( rbgenr )
Spatial Coverage: United States -- Pennsylvania -- Philadelphia
United States -- Illinois -- Chicago
United States -- California -- Oakland
 Notes
Statement of Responsibility: selected from the choicest production of every clime, with a view to acquaint older boys and girls with the best in literature ; together with dialogues, character ballads and exercises, for home and school entertainment ; Superbly illustrated with full-page illustrations by the best artists.
General Note: "Copyrighted by E. E. Fowler."
General Note: Text within colored illustrated border.
 Record Information
Bibliographic ID: UF00081199
Volume ID: VID00001
Source Institution: University of Florida
Rights Management: All rights reserved by the source institution and holding location.
Resource Identifier: aleph - 002225101
notis - ALG5373
oclc - 03890861

Table of Contents
    Front Cover
        Front Cover 1
        Front Cover 2
        Front Cover 3
    Front Matter
        Page 1
    Frontispiece
        Page 2
    Title Page
        Page 3
        Page 4
    List of Illustrations
        Page 5
    Table of Contents
        Page 6
        Page 7
        Page 8
    Dead at thirty
        Page 9
    Since Nellie went away
        Page 10
        Page 11
        Page 12
        Page 13
    Memorial morning
        Page 14
        Page 15
    January - the water bearer
        Page 16
        Page 17
        Page 18
    Examinations
        Page 19
    Another spider and fly
        Page 20
        Page 21
    The little tin cup
        Page 22
        Page 23
    February - the fishes
        Page 24
        Page 25
        Page 26
    The old
        Page 27
    The counts daughter
        Page 28
        Page 29
    His old yellow almanac
        Page 30
        Page 31
    March - the ram
        Page 32
        Page 33
        Page 34
    Asleep at the switch
        Page 35
        Page 36
        Page 37
    When Santa Claus comes
        Page 38
        Page 39
    April - the bull
        Page 40
        Page 41
        Page 42
    Where do you live?
        Page 43
        Page 44
    What we learn at school
        Page 45
    Boys
        Page 46
        Page 47
    May - the twins
        Page 48
        Page 49
        Page 50
    The demon of the fire
        Page 51
        Page 52
        Page 53
        Page 54
    God of nations
        Page 55
    June - the crab
        Page 56
        Page 57
        Page 58
    Women wanted
        Page 59
    The new schoolhouse
        Page 60
    The charge of the rum brigade
        Page 61
        Page 62
        Page 63
    July - the lion
        Page 64
        Page 65
        Page 66
        Page 67
    Only a song
        Page 68
    Hold on, boys - Stay on the farm
        Page 69
    A boy's welcome to Spring
        Page 70
        Page 71
    August - the virgin
        Page 72
        Page 73
        Page 74
    'Tis home where'er our flag is
        Page 75
    The black regiment
        Page 76
        Page 77
    The Irishwoman's letter
        Page 78
        Page 79
    September - the balance
        Page 80
        Page 81
        Page 82
    Ulysses
        Page 83
        Page 84
        Page 85
    Time enough
        Page 86
    For the children's sake
        Page 87
    October - the scorpion
        Page 88
        Page 89
        Page 90
    Soliloquy of Arnold
        Page 91
        Page 92
    The stylish church
        Page 93
        Page 94
        Page 95
    November - the archer
        Page 96
        Page 97
        Page 98
    Thanksgiving in ye olden time
        Page 99
        Page 100
    Cover them over with flowers
        Page 101
    December - the sea goat
        Page 102
        Page 103
        Page 104
        Page 105
    Only an emigrant
        Page 106
        Page 107
    "Music hath charms"
        Page 108
        Page 109
        Page 110
    The engineer
        Page 111
    The blue and the gray
        Page 112
        Page 113
    A little boy's thoughts
        Page 114
        Page 115
        Page 116
    They say
        Page 117
    Memory
        Page 118
        Page 119
        Page 120
        Page 121
    The decorating mania
        Page 122
        Page 123
    The rain-wagon
        Page 124
        Page 125
        Page 126
    In memoriam
        Page 127
    What the old man said
        Page 128
        Page 129
        Page 130
        Page 131
        Page 132
    My hen and I
        Page 133
    Abraham Lincoln
        Page 134
        Page 135
        Page 136
    Idyl of a public school
        Page 137
    Maternity
        Page 138
        Page 139
        Page 140
    Launch of the ship
        Page 141
    The tin bucket and the willow basket brigade
        Page 142
        Page 143
    Baby and I
        Page 144
        Page 145
        Page 146
    Bessie's Christmas Eve lark
        Page 147
        Page 148
        Page 149
        Page 150
        Page 151
    Is it right?
        Page 152
        Page 153
        Page 154
        Page 155
    The flight of the birds - Clear the way
        Page 156
    Scott and the veteran
        Page 157
        Page 158
        Page 159
    Discontent
        Page 160
        Page 161
        Page 162
    Good-night and good-morning
        Page 163
    Where the Gypsies go
        Page 164
    What Santa Claus thinks
        Page 165
    My mercies
        Page 166
        Page 167
        Page 168
        Page 169
    Men wanted - The lucky horseshoe
        Page 170
        Page 171
        Page 172
        Page 173
        Page 174
    Disproved
        Page 175
    Father and mother - The power of monosyllables
        Page 176
        Page 177
    Unsolved mysteries
        Page 178
    Cracked
        Page 179
    By and by
        Page 180
        Page 181
        Page 182
    Two little hands
        Page 183
        Page 184
    The little black-eyed rebel
        Page 185
        Page 186
        Page 187
    The end of the chapter
        Page 188
        Page 189
        Page 190
    Uncle Nate's funeral
        Page 191
        Page 192
        Page 193
    What try does
        Page 194
        Page 195
        Page 196
    The nineteenth century teacher
        Page 197
        Page 198
        Page 199
    The consecrating influence of the war for freedom
        Page 200
        Page 201
    Christmas bells
        Page 202
        Page 203
        Page 204
        Page 205
        Page 206
    The mistletoe bough
        Page 207
        Page 208
        Page 209
    Zekle's courtship
        Page 210
        Page 211
        Page 212
        Page 213
        Page 214
        Page 215
    Ready sympathy
        Page 216
        Page 217
        Page 218
    Squeers' school
        Page 219
        Page 220
        Page 221
        Page 222
        Page 223
        Page 224
        Page 225
    September
        Page 226
        Page 227
        Page 228
    Exercise for New Year's Eve
        Page 229
        Page 230
        Page 231
        Page 232
        Page 233
        Page 234
        Page 235
        Page 236
    The Easter wreath
        Page 237
        Page 238
        Page 239
        Page 240
        Page 241
    The falling leaves
        Page 242
        Page 243
        Page 244
    Nothing like trying - When I'm a woman
        Page 245
        Page 246
        Page 247
    The children of storyland
        Page 248
        Page 249
        Page 250
        Page 251
        Page 252
        Page 253
        Page 254
        Page 255
        Page 256
        Page 257
    Back Cover
        Back Cover 1
        Back Cover 2
    Spine
        Spine
Full Text










































SPRING.


:-::I:







Wayside


Blossoms


PROSE AND POETRY


Selected from the Choicest Productions of Every Clime,
with a View to Acquaint Older Boys and
Girls with the Best in Literature.

TOGETHER WITH

Dialogues, Character Ballads and Exercises

FOR HOME AND SCHOOL ENTERTAINMENT.



Superbly Illustrated with Full-Page Illustrations by the Best Artists.


H. J. SMITH & CO.
PHILADELPHIA, CHICAGO, OAKLAND, CAL.
1891


~-~---------


-41,-











































COPYRIGHTED BY E. E. FOWLER
1891









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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.


A PRIL- TH-i BE LLL ........ ............................ 41
S AULlUST-- THE VIRGIN .................................. 73
.AUT.M N .......... ................................ 227
DECEMIBER:-THE SEA GOAT............................. 103
DOW\-VN IN THE FIELDS .................................. 161
S" FEBRiF.i. THE FISHES .................. ... ......... 25
S C-D CG.1% E M E CHILDREN .................... ......... 139
I'M SI.iraM IN' IUp l\ M ERCIES ........ .................. 167
Ir i. N.:. TI-ING TO I E M ................................... 153
J.ANr.ARY-THE \WATER BE..AER ........................ 17
S JIUL\- THE LION ................ ...................... 65
JI.rNE-THE CiAB ........................................ 57
LEARNING To READ \\AS AWFUL....................... 115
M.AF,.CH--THE RAM ..... .............................. 33
M A ,-- THE TiWINS ..................................... 49
NII.:-ic H A-TH CHARMS .................................. 109
S M l H EN AND I .......... ........ ................... .. 132
.. N E: VEI BER- THE ARCHER ........ .................... 97
0 BARBvr ITH SOFT EVES OF BLUE ...................... 1145
OCT.jI: ER-THE SCIORPION......... .................... 89
R EADr SYM PAT IHY...................................... 17
S SEPTEMRIE R-THE BALANCE............................ 81
SPRIN---FFrNTISPECE............................... ..
SUM MER ........................ ....................... 195
THE BROOK DON'TSEEM To RIPPLE LIKE IT LiSEDTER'. I1
THE FALLING LEAVES......... ........ ............ .....243
T HE R AIN \\AGO)N ........ ........... ..... .......... 125
'TiS BEAUTEOUS NIGHT................................. 119
TO THE END OF THE CHAPTER ......................... 189
\ HAT WILL IT MATTER ? ........................... 181
W'HO SENT THE VALENTINE ? ........................... 175
W'INTER ............... ... ............................ 205


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TABLE OF CONTENTS.



A Boy's WECOME TO SPRING........................... 70
ABRAHAM LINCOLN ....................... Mark Lemon. 134
A LITTLE BOY's THOUGHTS ............................. 114
APRIL-THE BULL ...................Margaret Joknson. 40'
ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH ..................... Chas. Hoey. 35
AUGUST-THE VIRGIN ................ Margaret Johnson. 72
AUTUMN ..............................Grace Courtland. 226
BABY AND I ........................Elizabeth B. Bohan. 114
BESSIE'S CHRISTMAS EVE LARK. ..... Gertrude M. ones. 147
BOYS ............................................ ..... 46
CHARGE OF THE RUM BRIGADE........Mary S. Wheeler. 61
CHRISTMAS BELLS ......................Loula K. Rogers. 202
CLEAR THE WAY ....................................... 156
COVER THEM OVERWITH FLOWERS ..................... 101
CRACKED ............. ...............................179
DEAD AT THIRTY ...................................... 9
DECEMBER-THE SEA GOAT.........Margaret Johnson. 102
DISCONTENT .......................... ......... ... 160
DISPROVED ............................................. 175
EXAMINATIONS ......................... WZ. M. Giffen. 19
FATHER AND MOTHER ................................. 176
FEBRUARY-THE FISHES ...........Margaret Johnson. 24
FOR NEW YEAR'S EVE ................Lizzie M. Hadley. 229
FOR THE CHILDREN' SAKE........Mrs. L. G. McVeagh 87
GOD OF NATIONS ........................Rev. sos. Cook. 55
GOOD-NIGHT AND GOOD-MORNING...... Lord Houghton. 163
His OLD YELLOW ALMANAC...... Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 30
HOLD ON BOYS ........................................ 69
IDYL OF A PUBLIC SCHOOL .............................. 137
6





















IN M EMORIAM .......................................... 127
Is IT RIGHT ? .......................................... 152
JANUARY-THE WATER BEARER ......Margaret .oknson. 16
JULY-THE LION ....................Margaret Johnson. 64
JUNE-THE CRAB .................... Margaret Johnson. 56
LAUNCH OF THE SHIP ......................Longfellow. 141
MARCH-THE RAM ...................Margaret Johnson. 32
MATERNITY ............................E. Harriet Howe. 138
MAY-THE TWINS ....................Margaret Johnson. 48
MEMORY.............. ................... Jas. A. Garfield. 118
MEN W ANTED ......................................... 170
MUSIC HATH CHARMS ................... .............. 108
MY HEN AND I ................................ ... .. 133
MY MERCIES........................... ohn W. Beebe. 166
NOTHING LIKE TRYING................................. 245
NOVEMBER-THE ARCHER ...........Margaret Joknson. 96
OCTOBER-THE SCORPION ........... Margaret 7ohnson. 88
ONLY AN EMIGRANT ................................... 106
ONLY A SONG ........................................ 68
READY SYMPATHY............................. G. Weatherly. 216
SCOTT AND THE VETERAN ................Bayard Taylor. 157
SEPTEMBER-THE BALANCE......... Margaret Johnson. 80
.SINCE NELLIE WENT AWAY ........ Chas. Eugene Banks. 10
SOLILOQUY OF ARNOLD ............... Edward C. Jones. 91
SQUEERS' SCHOOL ....................... Chas. Dickens. 219
STAY ON THE FARM .................................... 69
THANKSGIVING IN YE OLDEN TIME ..................... 99
THE BLACK REGIMENT ............... Geo. Henry Baker. 76
THE BLUE AND THE GRAY............................... 112
THE CHILDREN OF STORY LAND ..................... 248
THC CONSECRATING INFLUENCE OF THE WAR FOR FREE-
DOM .................... ......... as. A. Garfield. 200
THE COUNT'S DAUGHTER ................................. 28
THE DECORATING MANIA ............................... 122
THE DEMON OF THE FIRE ............Edgar Allen Poe. 51
THE EASTER WREATH ................ Clara J. Denton. 237
THE ENGINEER ........... .......... ............ ..... 111
THE FALLING LEAVES .................................. 242













\ .








THE FLI-GHT OF THE BIRD .............. E. C. Stli':han. 156 '
THE IlI-HIWO '.AN'5 LETTER.... ..........1.I r' DiL).'.:': 78
THE LITTLE B.LACK EYED REBEL ...................... 185
I! THE LITTLE TIN C P. .. ................ T*.;.'H,:J F,.'t. 22
STHEr LucKY HOR',E SHOE .................. ;-2i. T. Fi.'d. 170
THE NMI.TLETOE BOU:GH....... ...................... 207
THE NEW\ SCHOOL H.iiE ............................... 60
THE NINETEENTH CENTURY TEACHER.................. 197
T HE O Li D ............... ............................ 27
S THE POWER OF M\IONOISYLLABLE 'r...';'/.' /.' .4,.ta.'r. 176
i THE RAIN W\\ GON....................... C'...7 B :r'S. 124
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY.......... L.II lJr..:,z:i C'r. 20
Ti THE STYLI-H CHURCH .................. ..... .......... 3
THE TIN BUCKET AND THE \\iLL'O BA.RCKET BRIGADE.. 142
S,.,, THEY S .......... .......... .. .... ..... 117 11
TIMEl ENOUGH ................. ........... .. ...... 86
'Tis HOrE \\WHi-E'E R O iOR FL \(- I' .................. 75
To Hi E END OF THE CHAFTER ...... ................ 188
'; i Two LITTLE H iNDS .................................... 183
SLi'-SES ......................... .... ,?,'. /. F .. l:, 83
S UNI LE NATrL.' FUNERAL .... ..........i C 1..:.. 191
L UN-FOL ED MlI'lTEKIE- ........ .. .,. ,:'B.: .e. 178
\ A .i CH i _R oI W OR ...................... .... .... 67
S \\HAT S.ANTA. CLA.U~ THINK_-........................... 165
\VHAT -rTHH OLD lIAN SAID............... ..:..c S..''":s. 128
W- \VHAT TR.. D.OE. ................A ', i'.:... aSu:tr:,.cn. 194
S\'HA \r W E LEAR, N AT ScHOL .... ....... .......... 45
W HAT 'VILL IT M A.rrTTER .......... .................. 180
S \\ HEN I'I' A \\ MAN.......... ........ .......... 24F
\\HEN SANTA CL .XU COMES................ .. ..... 38
\\, HERnE D. O\ ou LIVE ........ ............... .. 43
W EP.E THE (YFSIES CG .. ....... ..i. .S..'. ;':.tt.t. 164
S\'.;:.; EN \\ANTED ....................... ............ 59
'I ZEKLE'- CiRTSHIP. .................... ... ............. 210







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WIYSIOB BLOSSOMS



DEAD AT THIRTY.

Just for the sake of being called a good fellow,
Just for the praise of the sycophant crowd,
That smoked your cigars, quaffed your rich wines
and mellow,
You are sleeping, to-day neathh the sod in your
shroud.

Just for the sake of being called clever-dashing-
By human hogs living outside of a pen,
'he rain on your cold bed is ceaselessly splashing,
While you should be living-a man among men!

Just for the sake of being pointed at-looked at-
By the false, insincere, hypocritical crew,
That grows on the follies of weak brains-like yours
--fat,
You are as dead as the dreams your boyish soul
knew.

You feigned a contempt for the eagles of yellow,
And scattered them broadcast, with boisterous
mirth-
Just for the sake of being called a good fellow!
You are nothing, to-day, but a boxful of earth.

9







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SINCE NELLIE WENT AWAY.

HENRY CHESTER.

The homestead ain't ez bright an' cheerful ez it used
to be,
The leaves ain't growing' half so green upon the maple
tree-
The brook don't seem ter ripple like it used ter, down
the hill-
The bobolinks appear ter hev a some'at sadder thrill;
The waivin' corn hez lost its gold, the sunshine ain't
so bright,
The day is growing' shorter jest ter make a longer
night;
There is something' gnawin' at my heart I guess hez
come to stay;
The world ain't been the same to me since Nellie
went away.

The old piano over there I gave her when a bride-
It ain't been played upon but once since she took sick
and died;
An' then a neighbor's girl come in an' struck up Old
Black Joe,"
An' When the Swallows Homeward Fly," an' some-
how, don't you know,
It almost made me crazy, wild with anguish an' des-
pair-
I saw her sitting' at the keys, but knew she wasn't
there,
I0


























































































THE BROOK DON'T SEEM TO RIPPLE LIKE IT USED TER.



















An' that is why I never want to,hear the old thing
play-
The music don't sound natural since Nellie went
away.

The parson tells me every man hez got ter have his
woe-
His argument is good, perhaps, for he had orter
know-
But then it's hard for everyone ter allers see the
right
In turning' pleasure into pain an' sunshine into night;
I guess it's all included in the Maker's hidden plan-
It takes a heap o' grief an' woe ter temper up a man.
I sympathize with any fellow when I hear him say,
The world don't seem the same to him since some
one went away.

The scripture says that, in His own sweet way, if we
but wait,
The Lord'll take our burdens an' set crooked matters
straight;
An' there's a hope that all the grief an aching heart
can hold,
Will be offset by happiness a hundred million fold,
S When we hev reached the end o' life's eventful
voy'ge at last,
An' all our pain an' misery is buried in the past.
An' so I'm looking' forward to the dawnin' of a day
When mebbe it won't seem so long since Nellie went
away.





















MEMORIAL MORNING.

CHAS. EUGENE BANKS.


"Virginia, open the casement there,
I hear the strains of a martial band
In the street below, let me catch the air.
The doctor? how; shall I not command?
"There, child, forgive me, old age is quick
To anger, in-patience a very snail;
But I'll to the window; life's shriveled wick
Shall blaze once more e'er it utterly fail.
"Ah! so; the curtain a trifle down;
Ho? Halt you there where sunlight plays
So merrily over your locks of brown --
They had just such curls in the dear old days,
"My sweet twin darlings. It can not be -
What's that they are playing? 'The Tender
and True?'
You are like your father as like can be,
And they both came back to me, both in you..

"They are not forgotten! The Nation halts
In its greedful rush for an hour or so
To shrive itself of its baser faults,
Lest it altogether forgetful grow.

"Nay, nay, I am querulous, thoughts like these
Dishonor Love's festal, and surely I
Should honor a custom that strips the trees
For love of the dead who are not to die.

14


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"For yonder where Donelson frowns above
The Cumberland waters, my darlings lie .
In each other's arms, in the clasp of love,
The gray and the blue, and they met to die. ,,

"God sits in judgment. To honor bound
Were both my boys though they walked apart..
But they sleep to-day neathh a single mound, '
Sleep shoulder to shoulder and heart to heart.

"As inone low cradle they used to sleep,
My blush-rose babies. What, tears, my child?'
For the Nation's dead let the Nation weep,
And kneeling above them be reconciled!

"If the palm leaves whispered their lullaby,
Or the North wind shouted their cradle song
What matter? their duty to do and die:
Their deeds, not motives, to us belong..

"What to me, if the flags that my heroes bore
Were barred and spangled or azure thread,
If blue or gray were the coats they \ ore?
They were all my \\ world and my world is dead.

"Where mounds are many go scatter your
flowers
Ye prosperous people: where mounds are fe\\w,
Where the lone loon calls to the lonely hours,
Where the sensitive aspen tree scatters the dew\,
"On plain or mountain, by river or wood.
Wherever a soldier is sleeping to-day,
Let fall the blossoms in fragrant flood. -:
For sons of one mother are the Blue and the
Gray."
15







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JANUARY-THE WATER BEARER.
BY MARGARET JOHNSON.
Lifted he his mighty pitcher, sparkling to its dewy brim;
Quoth the traveler, Clouds are rising on the blue
horizon's rim!"
Dismally the wind went moaning through the with-
ered branches bare,
Whirled the cock upon the steeple, swept the dry
leaves here and there,
And a little damsel, hurrying blithely on her home-
ward way,
Hushed her song, and glanced with anxious forehead
at the gathering gray.
Tilted he the brimming vase till ran the crystal from
its lips,
Letting one by one the big drops through his hollowed
fingers drip:
"Well-a-day, the storm is on us!" quoth the traveler
looking down,
Closer drew his cap, and wrapped him closer in his
cloak of brown,
And a little hurrying maiden with her satchel swifter
sped,
While the thickening drops fell faster on the scarlet-
hooded head.
Half in sport, and half in sudden anger,weary of his care,
With his giant arm he dashed the cracking vase into
the air:
All the landscape, blurred and blotted in the pouring
rain and sleet,
Swam before the drenched and draggled traveler,
toiling through the street.
Rose the wind in moaning gusts, and drove aslant the
pelting rain,

















Bowed the trees before the tempest, writhing as in
mortal pain.
Roared a torrent in the gutters, gurgled every chok-
ing spout,
Scarce was heard the traveler's muttering in the up-
roar and the rout.
And a little dripping damsel, blown and beaten to and
fro,
Through the storm went running till her eyes and
cheeks were all aglow.
Peeping down to view the havoc made by mischief-
working might,
Straight he burst into a giant roar of laughter at the
sight.
"Ho, the sun is shining!" cried the traveler, glanc-
ing where there shone,
Indistinct, his own reflection in the wet and glistening
stone.
Twinkled every dripping tree-top, by the sudden
radiance kissed,
Glittered proud the ancient cock upon the steeple in
the mist.
And a little breathless maiden, looking through a nar-
row pane,
Smiled to see an arch of glory shine athwart the fall-
ing rain.

EXAMINATIONS.
BY W. M. GIFFIN.
The other night I went to bed,
But not to sleep, for my poor head
Was filled with a most awful dread,
Examinations.
I thought of this, and then of that;







-- _,- ~-



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Of set and sit ; which goes with sat?
I fear my brain has run to fat.
Examinations!

Next came the base and rate per cent.,
Of money to an agent sent,
And wirh that word all -of them went,
Examinations

Then iv lessons I try to, spell;
( 1Which words have t\o, and which one L?
Oh, my poor brain! I cannot tell.
Examinations!

Where is Cape Cod. and where Pekin?
-' ,Wh'ere do the rivers all begin?
A high per cent. I cannot win.
Examinations !

Who was John Smith? What did he do?
And all the other fellows, too?
You must tell me, I can't tell you.
Examinations!

Oh, welcome sleep at last it came;
/ But not to rest me, all the same; !
For in my dreams this is my bane-
Examinations! .

ANOTHER SPIDER AND FLY.

; LAURA GARLAND CARR.
"Come try my new swing!"said a cunning old
spider,
SAs she fastened a thread round a columbine stalk,
20







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To a trim little fly that lit down beside her
To brush off the dust while they had a short talk.
See this now I touched with my foot that tall
aster!
Now back-there I jostled that lovely sweet pea!
O such jolly lun! see I go fast and faster!
Hop in, little neighbor, there's room here by me!"

It can't be so nice as to fly," he made answer,
While thoughtfully stroking his fair gauzy wings.
Poh! flies! I've had them! They are nice, but
my land, sir!
You can't till you try, know the pleasure of
swings."
The spider and swing-they went faster and higher;
The blossoms they nodded and all things looked
gay,
And our charmed little fly soon lost all desire
Save just once to swing in that rollicking way.
"He'll come now, I know," said the cunning old
spinner, [of sight.
And her cruel eyes gleamed as she danced out
Then looking back slily she thought of the dinner
That plump fly would make when she had him
all tight.
' She's gone! thought the fly. Now I guess I
will try it."
And all in a flutter he hurried right in.
" Nice, isn't it, dear ? Now don't you deny it 1"
And the spider sprang out with a horrible grin.
Whew! swoop comes a swallow! he seizes the
derider,

















And off to his nest m the barn roof has flown;
So now little silver wings laughs at the spider,
And swings if he pleases, or lets it alone.



THE LITTLE TIN CUP.
THOMAS FROST.
Whoa, Betty! How do, sir? Is this here the 'svlum
for folks as is mad?
It air? Wal, my Lucy's to hum, sir; not ravin'; oh
no-just a fad-
And ef I'd my own way I wouldn't be thinking' o'
fetchin' her here;
But it ain't no use argyin' matters when sister-in laws
interfere.

You see it were this how: last harvest we parted with
baby -little Chick;
The pootiest child in the kentry; the rompinest, 'fore
he got sick;
And his mother, poor gal, took it badly when we
telled her as baby was dead;
For she didn't shed tears like she'd orter, but sot thar
a-shakin' her head.

And when baby was put in the parlor, she crep' sof'ly
up to the box,
And we heerd her say, Go to sleep, darlin'," as she
brushed back his bootiful locks.
But nex' day she was sleeping' herself, sir, when they
come from the taown with the hearse,
So we went to the graveyard without her, and saved
her the 'sterics, or worse.

















Wal, when we got back from the fun'ral, thar was
Lucy a-gettin' the tea;
On the table was three cups and saucers, for her and
the sister and me;
But I can't tell the turn as it give me to see on cloth,
polished up,
Just as bright as it shined on his birthday, our poor
ii Chickey's little tin cup!

Then the sister she starts in a cryin', and says she .:'.' .
with her face very white, -7
"Lucy, dear, don't you know that the baby won't i
want any supper to-night?"
Then, poor gal, she jist lifts up her finger and she /
points it at baby's old place,
And she says, "Don't the tin cup look dirty along o'
that dazzlin' face?"

Ev'ry morning she's up with the daybreak, a-scrubbin'
that poor bit o'tin;
i And she's still at it, scourin' and rubbin' when the
shadders of evening' comes in;
But it's black, sir, as black as the kittle compared
with the child as sits there,
Shinin' bright with the glory o'Heaven;, still as death
in his little high chair!

So I've come, sir, to ask you to take her and larn her
that Chick's gone away
To a place whar no suff'rin' kin enter, no rust, nor
disease, nor decay;
But ef God sent this stroke as a mercy- ef the doc-
tors all gives Lucy up -
She will bring back a heart that ain't broken, and
polish the little tin cup.
23


















FEBRUARY-THE FISHE.-.


"The xaleL-ri. cIurved intro a pool.
The nLiur!n'iu Iret-Leds. abbove it bent:
Benei:th the v iil\-. branchl.-s cool.
A Fisher tl:od. with eves intent.
.-,* Sin-' hey. thet Brook, the 'babbling Broo:k!
The Fi-.hcs fciel the trceadirous h,,ok:
.' The whi-pcring ru'uhe le ean and loo.k:
S Sin 4' the bonnv Brook!
Hit- listening ij. specklh-id spoil i- he c s-t
hInto I a ba -ket., .n_-e bY one.
And do,.\n th, reitdl -sho're lie pai-tcd.
.And left tl.hem iin. in the :un.
SinL, he, the Brooi,k. the nmurrrinu ir,_ r,o:,k,
Th,1-ir little lives- arV almost done:
The sigh-in- ruile li-:-an and look:
Sirg icy. the bonnie. Brook!
The Fi-_icr'-. child, a tiny la-,.
W ith e,' j-s as blue a- is the se. a.
L'.l-- .ct-epin., th oi, ugh the meadol lr.id .t i
I And .tiZ cd upon thlc1m t fnderin lv.l\
1-icr le nder b-:,- rnm hica\,-d '\ith i'r.
She :cd at th m ith piti in. et c
', A- iii -t'.v a le t ni,01friin .kies:
SSi'.- el the b:,ri hro k !


W\ ri dl:iilt- linll.er--. Inri b one,.
.'ht driiped Tlni'ei ji-t .\ within tlic: hirm,
Anti litchld thir hubbilcs in thle 'Co, e -d.in>.h. t,;, ti) reed riFr.
Sirj; hi:.', tlie Brook, the litiLgin'' -':rk !
Thii' li \ aters c'>ol thl- Lcirclii' i m:
Thi, hispering ru-hlc- lh-an .iuil it...-:
'.i p'" ,.-\'. thlir bo, lv B\ ri-r-,,..k


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THE OLD.
ANO N.
Give me the old songs-those exquisite bursts of
melody which thrilled the lyres of the inspired
poets and minstrels of long ago. Every note has
borne on the air a tale of joy and rapture-of sor-
row and sadness! They tell of days gone b\, and
time hath given to them a voice which speaks to
us of those who once breathed these melodies-of


what they in
1My heart lov
to hear till I
boat upon t
be wafted to
from the scene
Give me the
and culled th
the days of "
dells whose e
whose turi is
whose rills ha
our forms, a
from whom w
in the old no
paths be water
green forever
Give me t



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)w are, and what we soon shall be.
es those melodies; may they be mine
ife shall end, and, as I launch my .
ih sea of eternity, may their echoes
my ear, to cheer me on my passage. .
esot earth and earth-land
e old paths, where we have wandered .
e flowers of love and triendship. in r .
Auld Lang Syne:" s:I'ee/cr, far, the l '
choes have answered to our voices,
not a stranger to our footsteps, and
ive in childhood's days reflected back
nd those of our merry playfellows, .1
e have been parted, and meet no more i
oks we loved so well. May the old
red with heaven's own dew, and be
in my memory !
he old house upon whose stairs we

i27 I



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seem to hear light footsteps, and under whose
porch a merry laugh seems to mingle with the
winds that whistle through old trees, beneath whose
branches lie the graves of those who once trod the
halls and made the chambers ring with glee.
And oh! above all, give me the old friends-
hearts bound to mine in life's sunshiny hours with
a link so strong that all the storms of earth might
not break it asunder-spirits congenial, whose
hearts, through life have throbbed in unison with
our own! Oh, when death shall still this heart, I
would not ask for aught more sacred to hallow my
dust than the tear of an old friend. May my fu-
neral dirge be chanted by the old friends I love so
fondly, who have not yet passed away to the spirit's
bright home.

THE COUNT'S DAUGHTER.
A TALE OF NUREMBURG.
O'er the gray old German city
The shadow of mourning lay:
More tenderly kissed each mother
Her little child that day.
With a deeper prayer each father
Laid his hand on his first-born's head,
For in the castle above them
Lay the Count's little daughter, dead.
Slow moved the great procession
Down from the castle gate,
To where the black-draped cathedral
Blazed in funereal state.
And they laid the little child down,
In her robes of satin and gold,
28


















To sleep with her dead forefathers
In their stone crypt, dark and cold.
At midnight the Countess lay weeping
'Neath her gorgeous canopy,
She heard as it were a rustling,
And little feet come nigh.
She started up in the darkness,
And with yearning gesture wild,
She cried, Has the Father heard me?
Art thou come back, my child ?"
Then a child's voice, soft and pleading,
Said, I've come, O mother dear,
To ask if you will not lay me
Where the little birds I can hear;
"The little birds in their singing,
And the children in their play,
Where the sun shines bright on the flowers
All the long summer day.
" In the stone crypt I lie weeping,
For I cannot choose but fear,
Such wailings dire and ceaseless
From the dead Counts' coffins I hear
"And I'm all alone, dear mother,
No other child is there;
Oh, lay me to sleep in the sunshine,
Where all is bright and fair.
"I cannot stay, dear mother,
I must back to the moans and gloom;
I must lie there, fearing and weeping,
Till you take me from my tomb."








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Then the Countess roused her husband,
Saying, "Give to me, I pray.
That spot of green by the deep fosse,
Where the children love to play.

For our little one lies weeping,
And asks, for Christ's dear sake,
That 'mid song and sunlight and flowers,
Near children her grave we make."

And the green spot was made a garden.
Blessed by priests with book and prayer,
And thev laid the Count's little daughter
'hlid flowers and sunlight there.

And to the children forever
The Count and Countess gave
As a playground, that smiling garden
By their little daughter's grave.
-Mrs. R. S. Grdwnough.
HIS OLD YELLOW ALMANAC.
ELLA \'WHEELER WTILCOX.
I left the farm when mother died, and changed my
place of dwellin'
To daughter Susie's stylish house, ri-ht in the city
street.
And there was them, before I came, that sort of scared
me, tellin'
How I would tind the town folks' wa\s so difficult
to meet.
They said I'd have no comfort in the rustlin', fixed-up
throng.
And I'd have to wear stiff collars every week-day
right along.
I find I take to city waysv just like a cluck to \vater.
I like the racket and the ndie.-, and never tire of


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And thcic's no end of comfort in the nn..inion 'if m N
daughter,
And every thing is right at hand, and nonee. frleel

And hired help i- all about, just listening' for my call,
But I miss the yellow almanac off ir\ old kitchen
xWall.
The house i; full of calendr:i r-, from attic to the cellar.
TheS%''e painted in .ll colors, and are fanc -like t_
see;
But just in this particular. I'm not a modern feller,
And the vello\\-co-vered almanac is g-od enough
for ne.
I'm used to it, I've seen it round from boyhood to old age,
And I rather like the joikin' at the bottom of each page.
I like the \\ .i the S stood out to shou\ the week's
beginning'
IIn these nee\-fangled calendars. the d.at- seemed
sort of mixed),
And the man upon the cover, though hle .\a'n'I -
acti \\ inin',
With luniis and liver ail exposed, still 'howed h. n\
We atre fixed:
Andi the letters and credentials that '.,ere w it t, Mi.
ANer
I'. i .ften1, on a rain davi,, fund re:din' ver\ Lfair.
I tried to find one recently, there w:i'n't !,ne in the
cit\,
They toted (out et rat calendarsii in .e.rl i *rt ,if
style;
I l.,oked at 'em in cold di-dain, and ans- .erk:d 'eini in

SI'd rather :ii. e r. \ alnimanac tlan all that co.i tl[',
pile."
And, thUo.h I tike to city life. I'm lncesiom. after all,
For that old \yello', almanac upon im,, kitchen \.ail.


I,


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MARCH-THE RAM.


BY MARGARET JOHNSON.
"' His golden horns and fleece of gold
Shone dazzling in the sunset light.
With Hells and her brother bold
He skimmed the air in dizzy flight.'"
The raindrops down the window slide,
The hoarse wind moans in muffled rage;
Within, two fair heads, side by side,
Bend low above the enchanted page.
All heedless of the storm, they stray
In sunny fields of ancient Greece,
And with the fabled children play,
And see the Ram with golden fleece.
" Hark, Amy? "" 'Swift they flew and far,
Till "Farewell, Phrixos!" Helle cried;
And falling like a falling star
She sank forever in the tide.' "
"I would have held you, Amy dear!"
Oh, how could Phrixos lose her so?
Please read the rest. I want to hear
What happened to the Ram, you know."
And all unheeded moans the gale,
While still they walk in Fairyland,
And ponder o'er the ancient tale
They can but dimly understand.
'So lived the Ram and so he died
Within the palace-walls at peace;
And people flocked from far and wide
To seek and win the Golden Fleece.' "
A charmed silence fills the room,
The firelight flickers on the floor,




















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The rain sounds softly through the gloom;
A footstep pauses at the door.
"You here, my dear?" a clear voice says.
"I've hunted for you everywhere!"
Then Ralph, in laughing earnest, lays
His hand on Amy's shining hair.
"No wonder that you looked in vain,
Mamma, for we have been to Greece -
We did not mind about the rain -
And I have found the Golden Fleece."

ASLEEP AT THE SWITCH.
CHARLES HOEY.
(Abridged.)
The first thing I remember, was Carlo tuggins
away
With the sleeve of my coat fast in his teeth, ptll-
ing as much as to say,
" Come, master, awake, attend to the switch, lives
now depend upon you,
Think of the souls in the coming train, and the
graves you are sending them to;
Think of the mother and the babe at her breast.
think of the father and son;,,
Think of the lover arid loved one too, think of them
doomed every one,
To fall, as it were by your hand, into yon tathom-
less ditch,
Murdered by one who should guard them trom
harm, who now lies asleep at the switchh"
I sprang up amazed, scarce knew where I stood,
sleep had o'ermastered me so;
35







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1 could hear the wind hollowly howling, and the
deep river dashing below:
I could hear the forest leaves rustling, as the trees
by the tempest were fanned;
But what was that noise in the distance? That, I
could not understand.
I heard it at first indistinctly, like the rolling ,of
some muffled drum,
Then nearer and nearer it came, till it made my
very ears hum ;
What is this light that surrounds me. and seems
to set fire to my brain ?
What whistle's that, yelling so shrilly? Ah! I
know- now it's the train

We often stand facing some danger, and seem to
take root to the place;
So I stood with this demon before me, its heated
breath scorching my lace:
Its headlight made day of the darkness, and glared
like the eyes of some witch;
The train was almost upon me before I remem-
bered the switch.
I sprang to it, seizing it wildly, the train dashing
fast down the track,
The switch resisted my efforts, some demon seemed
holding it back;
On, on came the fiery-eyed monster, and shot by
S my face like a flash
S I swooned to the earth the next moment, and knew
nothing after the crash.

How long I lay unconscious 't was impossible to
Sell, [a hell;
My stupor was almost a heaven, my waking almost
For I then heard the piteous moaning and shriek-
ing of husbands and wives,

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And of the day we all shrink from, when I must
account for their lives.
Mothers rushed by me like maniacs, their eyes glar.
ing madly and wild;
Fathers, losing their courage, gave way to their
grief like a child; .
Child ren searching for parents, I noticed, as by me
they sped;
And lips that could form naught but Mamma,"
were calling for one perhaps dead.

IM mind was made up in a moment, the river
should hide me away;
When, under the still burning rafters, I suddenly
noticed there lay
A little white hand; she who owned it was doubt-
less an object of love
To one whom her loss would drive frantic, though
she guarded him now from above.
I tenderly lifted the rafters and quietly laid them
one side;
How% little she thought of her journey when she
left for this dark, fatdl ride;
I lifted the last log from off her, and while search-
ing for some spark of life,
Turned her little face up in the starlight, and rec-
ognized-Maggie, my wife.

0 Lord! thy scourge is a hard one, at a blow thou
hast shattered my pride!
hIM life will be one endless nightmare, with Mag-
gie away from my side!
How often I'd sat down and pictured that some
day I. p'r'aps, might be rich-
But all of my dreams had been shattered, while I
lay there asleep at the switch.
37


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I fancied I stood on my trial, the jury and judge I
could see,
And every eye in the court room was steadily
fixed upon me;
And fingers were pointed in scorn, till I felt my
face blushing blood-red,
And the next thing I heard were the words,
Hanged by the neck until dead."
Then I felt myself pulled once again, and my hand
caught right hold of a dress,
And I heard, "What's the matter, dear-Jim?
You've had a bad nightmare, I guess!"
And there stood Maggie, my wife, with never a
scar from the ditch,
I'd been taking a nap in my bed, and had not been
"asleep at the switch."

WHEN SANTA CLAUS COMES.
A good time is coming, I wish it were here;
The very best time in the whole of the year.
I'm counting each day on my fingers and thumbs
The hours that must pass before Santa Claus comes.
Good-bye for a while, then, to lessons and school;
We can talk, laugh, and sing, without breaking the
rule.
No troublesome spellers, no writing, nor sums,
There's nothing but playtime, when Santa Claus
comes.
I suppose I shall have a new dolly, of course,
My last one was killed .by a.fall from her horse;
While for Harry and Jack, there.ll be trumpets and
drums,
To deafen us with when Santa Claus comes.
38
















I'll hang up my stocking to hold what he brings;
I hope he will fill it with lots of good things;
He must know how dearly I love sugar plums,
I'd like a big box full, when Santa Claus comes.
And now that the snowflakes begin to come down
And the wind whistles sharp, and the branches are
brown,
I don't mind the cold, though my fingers it numbs,
, 'Cause it brings the time nearer when Santa Claus
comes.


I






















APRIL-THE BULL.


L r. M.-R6A.\R FLT J':H N-ON.

- Huzza!" From box and: l-.icony
Rang out the loud exultant cr,,:
" Huzza! the Matador!"

From floor to rioof a glittering maze
Of gorgeous, robes anid faces fair,
With lustrous laces gleaming rare,
And veils of luttterini go.ssaimer,
And fans that set the air astir.
And flo\\ers that bloom and gems that blaze
Filled all the amphitheatre.

Below them in the sunlit space
Ben.eathl the tranquil April skies,
T\\o cinombatants stood face to face:
A milk-v Ihite bull, I\ith ry eyes,
Hug.e, frantic, minad w ith ra&- and pain,
His- .igtrat head bowed to clhar',e the foe,
And. poising w\lth a co0ol disdain
Hi-, iveapon for the fatal hloi
A youth decked out in gorgeous wise.

A murmul-1ro11us hush. a breathless pause-
Tlhi ladies leaned far out tio -ee.

A rflah of scarlet dr:iper\ -
A plunge -a bTllo:vnim iroar-a cloud
Of living dust! Then burm' the applause,
Wit! (icch-r i:n cheer of \ ild di-light
That rolled the cihoing circle round.
And while, I:o- fLllen upln the ground,
Hik victim .trug.led hard vw ith death,
The her., of th- no:ble i-;t,


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Rained on w ith flowe-rs from in,-,'rs \S hit--
'Mid ringing Bravo,. mild and bowed.

A child sobbld sonftl in the crowd.
S'Alas, poor bull!" below her breath
She wept. -"Ala,. p:or pretty bull!"
With sad Cres a'ic vd e ndtd pitiful.
And d._,\n be"idle him in the sand.
One blsIom., wet with tearful d-e.
()ne little crimson rose she thlre w.
And hii hier s\\ eet ee:\-c with her ha.nd.

A\rid -till :ll t on:nzu s the victor : r ',n-,
Huzz:i'" the thundcrin pl::iaudits-r rin.,
Hu .i! the MIltador!"






WHERE DO VOLU LIVE?

I knew a man, and his name was Horner,
Who used to live on Grumble Corner-
Grumble Corner in Cross-Patch town-
And he never was seen without a frown.
He grumbled at this, he grumbled at that;
He growled at the dog. he growled at the cat;
He grumbled at morning, he grumbled at
night:
And to grumble and growl was his chief
delight.

He grumbled so much at his wife that she
Began to grumble as well as he;
And all the children, wherever they went,
Reflected their parents' discontent.

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If the sky was dark and betokened rain,
Then Mr. Horner was sure to complain;
And if there was not a cloud about,
He'd grumble because of a threatened
drought.
His meals were never to suit his taste;
He grumbled at having to eat in haste;
The bread was poor, or the meat was tough,
Or else he hadn't had half enough.
No matter how hard his wife might try
To please her husband, with scornful eye
He'd look around, and then, with a scowl
At something or other, begin to growl.
One day as I loitered along the street,
My old acquaintance I chanced to meet,
Whose face was without the look of care,
And the ugly frown that he used to wear.
I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said,
As, after saluting, I turned my head,
But it is, and it isn't, Mr. Horner,
Who lived so long on Grumble Corner!"
I met him the next day; and I met him again,
In melting weather, in pouring rain,
When stocks were up and stocks were down,
But a smile, somehow, had replaced the
frown.
It puzzled me much; and so, one day,
I seized his hand in a friendly way,
And said: Mr. Horner, I'd like to know
What can have happened to change you so?"
He laughed a laugh that was good to hear,
For it told of a conscience calm and clear,
And he said, with none of the old time drawl:















"Why, I've changed my residence, that is
all!" [Horner,
"Changed your residence ?" "Yes," said
"It wasn't healthy on Grumble Corner,
And so I moved; 'twas a change complete;
And you'll find me now on Thanksgiving
Street!"
Now, every day, as I move along
I The streets so filled with the busy throng,
I watch each face, and can always tell
Where men and women and children dwell;
And many a discontented mourner
Is spending his days on Grumble Corner,
Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat
To take a house on Thanksgiving Street.
S- -Independent.



WHAT WE LEARN AT SCHOOL.
S(For five little children.)
(All.) Fathers, mothers, see us now,
As we make a pretty bow.
Next we'll tell you, each in turn,
What it is we here do learn.
(Ist.) First we're taught in kindly way,
We our teacher should obey:
When we strive to do the right
We are happy morn and night.
(2d.) And we try to keep in mind,
We to others should be kind;
45









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Fo'r '\*e know that all through life
We must shun dispute and strike.

Ev'ry one learns ho-\\ to read.
As you all can see at once
; N|) one means to be a dunce.
S4th Now \ve sp'll,and ni \v we write,
'Till I\ e kinow each word] at sight;
S Thus ou see how \ \\liwe learn
Each new thrinr to which we turn.
t th. Neow tie add and take awav,
rhis w e learn froi t da v to da\ : ;
"Hec, toi b ou r State we know;
East or south, the way we lgo.

(All.) But e have -no tine to tell
All the tliin-s %we've learned so well,
5o wce ask nyou. on:e and all,
At our school l a2ain to call.



BOYS.

Sturdy little farmer boys, tell me how you know
When 'tis time to plo the fields, and to reap
'id mow-. l .
"Do the hens w-ith yellow legs
Scold ye eiou when you look leor eggs ?
Do you drive the ducks to drink, waddling in a
row ?
Do the pigs in concert squeal,
\When you brinw their evening meal?
Tell me, little arnner boy, for I'd like to know.
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Nimble little sailor boy, tell me how vou know
How to navigate your ship when the tempests
blow.
"Do you find it pretty ha:trd
SClingi n to the top-sail ar-d ?
S Don't you tear some stormy day overboard you'll

- Do tlie let y ot take a light
When you o aloft It at nihtr ?
S Te. me little'sailor boy, l,:r I'd like to know.

S Little boys. of every kind, tell me how you know
"'That 'tis time ere school begin-, rather ill to grow,
I Does til pain increase so last
It is terrible at last ?
S Don t you quickly convalesce, when too late to

Do vyou think I am a dunce?
Wa-n't I a school boy once c
e' : me all vyo little boys, for I'd like to know.


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MAY-THE TWINS.
BY MARGARET JOHNSON..
All the world was white with blossom,
Sweet the fields with breath of May,
Silver-throated larks were singing,
Silver-clear the bells were ringing
In the village far away;
"Tell us whom you love!" they cried,
Pressing eager to my side.
"Whom you love the best of any!"
Eyes alight with boyish glee,
Ankle deep in daisies standing,
Thus my secret heart demanding,
Came my bonny lads to me,
Weary growing of their play,
At the closing of the day.
What his name is," grave I answered,
"'Twere not fair for me to tell.
But, though I must not confess it,
You, perhaps, may chance to guess it,
For you know my dear Love well;
He is straight and tall and slim,
Stout of heart and lithe of limb.
"Brown his hair is-rumpled, curly,
S Blue his eyes-dear honest eyes!
Sunburned face with dimple merry,
Fond of fun and frolic, very!
Fearless, frank-not overwise,
And his age--just ten to-day!"
Pealed their merry ringing laughter;
S" Ah," they cried, but we are two!"
Looked askance at one another,

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Recognizing each his brother,
In the picture that I drew:-
"You have only half confessed;
Can yon love us both the best?" ,
"Nay," I said, my blue-eyed tyrants,
I have answered. Be content!" '
And with happy jest and laughter,
Long our shadows following after,
Homeward through the dew we went,
And the bells rang far away,
For the closing of the day.



THE DEMON OF THE FIRE.
BY EDGAR ALLEN POE.
In the deepest death of midnight,
While the sad and solemn swell
Still was floating, faintly echoed
From the forest's chapel bell; iiu
Faintly, faltering, floating,
O'er the sable waves of air
That were through the midnight rolling,
Chafed and billowy with the tolling.
In my chamber, I lay dreaming,
And my dreams were dreams foreshadowed
Of a heart foredoomed to care.
As the last long lingering echo
Of the midnight's mystic chime,
Lisping through the sable billow
Of the thither shore of time,
Leaving on the starless silence .
Not a shadow or a trace,



























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In a quivering sign departed
From my couch, in fear, I started-
Started to my feet in terror
For my dream's phantasmal error
Painted in the fitful fire
A frightful, fiendish, flaming face.
On the red hearth's reddest center,
From a blazing knot of oak,
Seemed to grin and gibe the phanto
, As in terror, I awoke.
And my slumbering evelids straining.
As I struggled to the floor-
Still in that dread vision seeming.
Turned my'gaze toward the gleamil
'Hearth, and then, oh, God! I sa\\ it.
And from its flaming jaws it
Spat a ceaseless, seething, hissing.
Bubbling, gurgling stream of gonr
Speechless, struck wi:h stony silence
Frozen to the floor, I stood.
Till my very brain seemed hissing
With that hissing, bubbling blood
Till I felt my life-stream oozing,
Oozing from those lambent lips.
Till the demon seemed to name me.
Then a wondrous calm overcame mi
And I fell back on my pillow.
In apparent soul eclipse.
Thus, as in death's seeming shadow
In the icy pall of fear
I lay stricken, came a hoarse and
Hideous murmur to myi ear.
Came a murmur, like the murmur
Of assassins in their sleep.


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Muttering. -- Hilie-'c. I-J. l-her, higher,
I am demon of the fire
I am arch fiend of the fire.
And each blazing iro:f's mn p.re,
And my s\\ete.tct incense i'
The blood andi tears m- victims \%. c.

" Hos I rev'l on the prairie,
How I roar aniMdst the pines.
H,:,\ I laugh as from tle village
O'er the sn:',.v the red flanme -hines.
Ho\\ I he-ar the shriek of terror,
With a life in ever,' breath.
HIrI' I scream with lambent laughter
As I hurl c.th ciacklin4 rafter
D.,i.\ n the fell abvyss of Fire,
Until hi-her, hi-lghcr, higher,
Leap the high priest- of mn; iltar,
In their merry dance of de.th.

I :im monarchh of th,-- fire,
I am rv-al kin- of d-arli.
\ 'rId encircling- w\ith thle shadow.
i)f its I- o-in l upon my breath,
With the s-vmbol -f h'rriafter
(;IleanFin'g trlIn m\I taIal face,
I colmmand.il the eternal fire.
Hilghr, higher, hiclher, higher
Leap m, minii-seriri'n demonn-
Like phlantasrnai.-,iric I lveman.,
IHugtzin' uniiver-al nialltre
In tlieir hid-cil'us emibracc."

Then a sombre -ilence shut me
In lher s.'-lermn -hri:uded sleep,
And I -lumbered like anl infant
aI the cradle ,of the deep,

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Till the belfry from the forest
Trembled with the matin stroke;
And the martins from the edge
Of their lichen hidden ledge
Shimmered through the russet arches,
While the light in torn files, marches,
Like a routed army struggling
Through the serried ranks of oak.
Through my open fretted casement
Filtered in a tremulous note,
From the tall and shady linden,
SWhere the robin swelled his throat,
Tiny wooer, brave breasted robin,
Quaintly calling for his mate
From my slumber, nightmare ridden,
With the memory of that dire
Demon, in my central fire,
In my eyes' interior mirror
Like the shadows of a fate.
But the fiendish fire had smoldered
To a white and formless heap,
And no knot of oak was blazing
As it blazed upon my sleep.
But on the red hearth's reddest center,
Where that demon's face had shown,
The shadowy lightning seemed to linger,
And to point with spectral finger
To a Bible, massive, golden -
On a table, carved and olden,
And I bowed and said "All power
Is of God and God alone."



















GOD OF NATIONS.
REV. JOSEPH COOK.
God of the nations, rise,
Fix on Thyself our eyes,
Wisdom, Love, Might:
Draw Thou as noontide nigh,
Flood Thou the earth and sky;
Keen, white, pure, vast and high,
Let there be light.
God of our fathers' day,
Make us as wise as they,
Thy truth our guide:
Ours be Thy bugle call,
One plan Thou hast in all,
As the new ages fall,
In us abide.
God make our eye-sight clear,
Duty as freedom dear;
Right all our wrongs:
Strong in Truth gladly heard,
Loyal to all Thy word,
Nations with hope deferred,
Fill Thou with songs.
God in all faces shine,
So make Thou all men Thine,
Under one dome;
Face to face, soul to soul,
East to West, pole to pole,
As the great ages roll,
Be Thou our home.





















JUNE-THE CRAB.
BY MARGARET JOHNSON.
The waves ran laughing from the land,
And whispered to the sea.
A Baby la1 on the siler sand,
With a roseleaf shell in his roseleal hand,
And a dainty thing \vas he.
From the crown of his silken head, I ween.
To his bare white foot, there never was seen
A daintier thing than he.
0, soft he cooed in his baby speech,
And laughed in his baby glee.
And put out a dimpled hand to reach
For something ling upon the beach
C'(i,.,e do'.\ n beside the sea -
A curious, crooked thin;., I w\teen.
With _prcading_ claws and a body grreen -
A King of Crab- wa\\; he.
0 sweet the Bab\ called and cooed.
And beckoned tenderi.
And still the Crab, in 'leepv mood,
Would not, b- daint arts be \\ ooed -
A sullen thing \\ as he.
Then came a sound :of fyiin-.. feet-
The baby smiled \wilh \ivondr sweet.
His mother's face to see.
She caught him, friwning, from the sand,
And iced across the lea.
But still he reached a roscileaf hand
To something crawl\in.g d:owvn the strand
Sidelong into the sea.
And all the waves at play,
With \\ hispered laughter, ran away
And told it to the sea.


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Women are wanted. Ah, yes! Women who
-_. .>I know their own business better than their neigh-
''. -, bors'. Women who are true and pure. \XWomen
who will not weary in well-doing, who will
neither flag nor flinch. \Women who know their
S mission. Women who \will daily do loving ser-
,, vices, gentle little kindnesses-and do them tunt sten-
tatioutsly. \Women wh wh ill see that bare pantries
are supplied, and that the shelterless find home.
S"-" Womnen are greatly wanted. Women who will
n.ot d rift with the tide, but will courageously stem
the current. Women who live to please God, not
themselves. Women with noble, generous souls,
'whose hearts will utter "Godspeed," as \workers
grow faint and hands grow wvearv. Women who
: .-. will not allow their noble impulses to be crushed
-:" by the customs o)f society Womn w ho will be
thie stepping-stones to lift people up-n-.t stumb.
j '.- ling-blocks to hinder and cause them to fall. Wo.
men w :ho listen to the still. small voice and heed its
a" admnitions. W\\omen with cicar brains and ready
hands and willing hearts, who know their life
workk" and do it.
: Yes. women are wanted. Women who know
I'\ how much power there is in a gentle, encouraging
word, holw imuch l,.rce thcr,- is in a hopeful proph.
ecy. \omen wlh will s,,w their I:'ving acts
S broadcast, believing that kind words never die.
p' eWomen who extend :t helping hand all along life's
pathway. \'Women with clear understanding, quick
Perception, and good judgment. \\'Women of
.I, patience. \\'Jmen of freth, u ht, ol discrimina-
S' tion, and great generosity. Women who will brave
the scorn of this world to be crowned of God.
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THE NEW SCHOOLHOUSE.
Things aint now as they used to be
A hundred years ago,
When schools were kept in private rooms
'-.' 'i Above stairs or below;
When sturdy boys and rosy girls
SRomped through the drifted snow,
And spelled their duty and their "abs,"
S: A hundred years ago.
Those old schoolrooms were dark and cold
When winter's sun ran low ;
;:':. ... But darker was the master's frown
A hundred years ago;
I ;And high hung up the birchen rod,
That all the school might see,
Which taught the boys obedience,
As well as Rule of Three.
Though 'twas but little that they learned, :-
A hundred years ago,
-- Yet what they got they ne'er let slip,-
'Twas well whipped in, you know.
But now the times are greatly changed,
The rod has had its day,
The boys are won by gentle words,
The girls by love obey.
The schoolhouse now a palace is,
And scholars kings and queens;
















They master algebra and Greek
Before they reach their teens.
Where once was crying, music sweet
Her soothing influence sheds;
Ferrules are used for beating time,
And not for beating heads.
Yes, learning was a ragged boy,
A hundred years ago;
With six weeks' schooling in a year,
What could an urchin know
But now he is a full-grown man,
And boasts attainments rare,
He's got his silver slippers on,
And running everywhere.

THE CHARGE OF THE RUM BRIGADE.
MARY S. WHEELER.
All in league, all in league,
All in league onward,
All in the Valley of Death,
Walked the Six Hundred.
Forward the Rum Brigade!
Cheers for the Whisky Raid "
Into the Valley of Death
Walked the Six Hundred.
Forward the Rum Brigade!"
Were all their friends dismayed?
Yes; and the soldiers knew
Each one had blundered.
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to drink and die.
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Into. the Valle of Death
Walked the Six Hundred.

Drunkards to right of them.
Drunkards to left of them.
Drtunkards in fr,.nt of them,
One million numbered.
Oaths fell like shot and shell,
Rum did its work so well
Into the jaw-s of Death,
Into the mouth ol Hell
Walked the Six Hundred.

Garments to.)rn-cupboards bare-
Childiren with naught to wear;
Sleeping in gutters their
Falthers are l\ ing, while
All the wirld wondered.
Plunged into w.-int and woe,
On ).ard th,-v rmadly go.
\\'Veepi 'lg in an, guish.
\W ives ;it, lor w-,ell three know,
5lhattered and sundeed,
Nonlr wi\ll come b.ick who go
Ot the Six Hundred.

Curses to: right of them.
Curse'S t,- I-tt ol them.
Curses l.bhind them
V\olle--ed and thundered.
Stormei, at bv those whil sell.
They, who had paid so well.
W-ell had b[-:en plundered.
Clernch-ld: teeth and livid brow,
D l''ti' f 'l: iciS rs o\w,
Thus 'oung anid lid men fell
Into the ia\iws ol Death.


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Int.i thi, mn.-uth ol HeII.
N, t ne .%as ,: ft ot them,
Lett of ihe Six Hun.Ired.

H.''v did i heir glory fde !
0, the \ I i:ch i re thr,: made!
All thi': .Ird u\- ndr reld.
\Veeelp .lr ti-e haru'c thr\ madle'
Weerp t'r th- Ruri- Bnigrd. '
Fallen Si: Hundred.


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JULY-THE LION.
BY MARGARET JOHNSON.
0, many, many years ago -
Or ever fell the winter's snow -
(Thus have the poets sung)
When summer ruled the happy year.
And no man knew the name of Fear,
When nights were fair and days were long,
And Hope was new, and Love was strong,
;i When this old world was young--
There roamed through field and forest wild
A Lion and a little child.
0 many years ago!
Wherever shown the boy's bright head,
Wherever danced his airy tread,
There huge and stately, gaunt and grim,
His mighty playmate followed him
i From dawn to sunset glow.
When weary grew the little feet,
The Lion's back became his seat,
And high he rode in glee;
He slept his rosy sleep beside
The gentle monster's shaggy hide,
Or, waking, with his great ears played,
And on their tawny velvet laid
His warm cheek lovingly.
So rolled the happy moons away,
Until the child grew tired one day
Ere yet the sun was low,
And, sinking down upon the ground,
He slept, his dimpled hands yet wound
Within the Lion's tangled mane,
Slept sound, nor ever woke again-
O many years ago!
64
























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Then broke a brave and gentle heart.
Vain all the Lion's loving art,
His dumb and wondering woe;
One cry he gave of mortal pain
Till all the forest roared again
And at his playmate's side
Stretched out his mighty limbs and died -
O many years ago!
Ah me! So tender were the Strong,
When nights were fair and days were long!
(So have the poets sung).
So mighty Innocence to woo
The fiercest nature and subdue
So brave was Truth, so simple Faith,
So strong the Love that feared not Death,
When this old world was young.




























ONLY A SONG.
It was only a simple ballad
Sung to a careless throng;
There were none who knew the singer,
And few that heard the song.
Yet the singer's voice was tender
And sweet, as with love untold,
Surely those hearts were hardened
That it left, so proud and cold.
But one, in a distant corner,
A woman worn with strife,
Heard in that song a message
From the springtime of her life
Fair forms rose up before her,
From the midst of vanished years
She sat in happy blindness,
Her eyes were filled with tears.
Then when the song was ended,
And hushed the last sweet tone,
That listener rose up slowly,
And went her way alone.


















Once more to her life of labor
She passed; but her heart was strong,
And she prayed: Heaven bless the singer,
And oh, thank God for the song."

HOLD ON, BOYS.
Hold on to your tongue, when about to swear,
lie, speak harshly, or use an improper word. Hold
on to your hand, when it is about to pinch, or
strike some one, and take what is not your own.
Hold on to your feet if they want to kick a liv-
ing thing, or run away from study or work, into
mischief or crime. Hold on to your temper when
you are angry, excited, or imposed upon, or when
all are angry with you. Hold on to your temper
-you will feel sorry to lose it. Hold on to your
heart when evil associates seek your company,
and invite you to join in their games and revelry.
Hold on to your good name at all times; for it is
of more value than gold, high position, or fine
clothes.. Hold on to truth, for it will serve you
well, and do through all time.
Hold on to virtue; it is above all price to you,
under all circumstances. Hold on to your good
character, for, that is, and ever will be, your best
wealth.
STAY ON THE FARM.
Come boys, I have something to tell you,
Come near, I would whisper it low ;
You are thinking of leaving the homestead,
Don't be in a hurry to go.
The city has many attractions,
But think of the vices and sins;
When once in the vortex of fashion,
How soon the course downward begins.
69

















'Y;u'talk of the mines of Australia,
They've wealth in red gold, no doubt,
,But ah, there is gold on the farm, boys,
If only you'll shovel rt ou't.
The mercantile life is a hazard,
The goods are first high and then low;
Better risk the old farm a while longer,
Don't be in a hurry to go.
The fa'ri'is the safest and surest,
The orchards are loaded to-day,
You are free as the air in the mountains,
And monarch of all you survey.
IBetter stay on the farm a while longer.
Though profit comes in rather slow;
lRemember you have nothing to risk. boys}
Don't be in a. hurry to go.

A BOY'S WELCOME TO SPRING.
Hurrah for the jolly old Spring time!
I know it's coming for sure,
By the mud I cover my boots with,
And forget to wipe off at the door.
And this is the week of vacation
That comes with the spring-time, you know,
Oh, dear, how the days fly like minutes,
But mother thinks they are slow.
I know that we make the house muddy,
And nearly distract her with noise;
But this is the spring time vacation,
And we must enjoy it like boys.
We know it is spring when the hooples,
And tops, balls, and marbles, are out;
















When boys that have moped all the winter,
Begin to stir lively and shout.
We are now all ready for marbles,
New patches adorn all our knees';
Our fingers are nimble and limber,
Don't have to wear mittens, or freeze.
There's leap-frog, we've played at all winter
It's good for the muscles and blood,
We take to it fresh in the spring time,
What's softer to sit in than mud ?
The girls are all talking of flowers,
And blue birds, and breezes, and brooks,
And are hunting up all the sweet verses
About "lovely spring," in their books.
It comes pretty hard on a fellow,
When he don't hear the first robin sing,
Or find the first flower, to tell him
He don't care a bit about spring."
Don't every glad shout give it welcome?
Don't every glad leap tell our joy ?
Yes! Hurrah for the jolly old Spring time,
What more could you ask from a boy ?















AUGUST-THE VIRGIN.
BY MARGARET JOHNSON.
Heigho! how loud the robins red are singing,
The buttercups shine bravely in the sun;
World, you are fair with all your blossoms springing,
I wish the summer late had just begun!
Beginnings always are the best and sweetest;
Night lies too close behind the sunset pink;
And of my books, the happiest and completest
Ends sorrowfully, after all, I think.
Heart, we are young! What do we know of sorrow?
The world is very full of it, they say,
And life and love their truest meaning borrow
From Grief, whose wet eyes turn to Heaven always.
Yet when I pause, regretful, backward turning
To sunny childhood's April smiles and tears,
I feel my heart leap with a swift yearning
To know the secrets of the coming years.
I dream-O happy dream!-of joy and blessing.
Hope is so sweet-what can fulfillment be?
If grief must come-ah well! no need of guessing;
The future secrets are not yet for me.
I only know how joyous is the present,
How glad the summers answer to the spring;
I only know the past was fair and pleasant,
I only know the song the robins sing.
And very tender are the hearts that love me,
And very dear the hopes of womanhood,
And very blue the sweet skies are above me,
And the earth is beautiful-and God is good.




















How can I be but glad in very living?
Heart, we are young! Life you are very fair!
My hand is yours, your many faults forgiving,
Walk with you, dear Life, I know not where!
Sing, robin, all your blithest carols sing me!
Shine, blossoms, bravely in the August sun!
Come loitering years, I fear not what you bring me,
My own glad summer now is just begun! i



'TIS HOME WHERE'ER OUR FLAG IS.

'Tis home where'er flag is,'
Dear hearts, remember that!
You may be at Pekin, Paris,
Madrid, or Ararat;
But wheresoe'er waves that fair,
That bonnie banner blue,
With stars bedight, with stripes so bright,
There's home, sweet home, for you!
Sweet home where'er our flag is,
Honor neathh its stars,
If waved from foreign crag 'tis,
That foreign crag is ours!
Columbia's dower gives peerless power
To guard her children true;
And wheresoe'er our colors flare,
There's home for me and you!



7 q:::,,
























THE BLACK REGIMENT.
GEORGE HENRY BOKER.
Dark as the clouds of even,
Banked in the western heaven,
Waiting the breath that lifts
All the dead mass, and drifts
Tempest and falling brand
Over a ruined land-
So still and orderly,
Arm to arm, knee to knee,
Waiting the great event,
Stands the black regiment.
Down the long dusky line
Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine;
And the bright bayonet,
Bristling and firmly set,
Flashed with a purpose grand,
Long ere the sharp command
Of the fierce rolling drum
Told them their time had come,
Told them what work was sent
For the black regiment.
Now," the flag-sergeant cried,
"Though death and hell betide,
Let the whole nation see

















If we are fit to be
Free in this land; or bound
Down, like the whining hound-
Bound with red stripes of pain
In our cold chains again!"
O, what a shout there went
From the black regiment!
"Charge!" Trump and drum awoke;
Onward the bondmen broke;
Bayonet and saber-stroke
Vainly opposed their rush.
Through the wild battle's crush,
With but one thought aflish,
Driving their lords like chaff,
In the guns' mouths they laugh,
Or at the slippery brands
Leaping with open hands,
Down they tear man and horse,
Down in their awful course;
Trampling with bloody heel
Over the crashing steel-
All their eyes forward bent,
Rushed the black regiment.
"Freedom !" their battle-cry-
" Freedom !" or "leave to die!"
Ah! and they meant the word,
Not as with us 'tis heard,
Not a mere party shout;
They gave their spirits out,
Trusted the end to God,
And on the gory sod
Rolled in triumphant blood.
Glad to strike one free blow,
Whether for weal or woe;
Glad to breathe one free breath,
















Though on the lips of death;
Praying alas! in vain!
So they could once more see
That burst of liberty !
This was what "freedom" lent
To the black regiment!
Hundreds on hundreds fell;
But they are resting well;
Scourges and shackles strong
Never shall do them wrong.
O, to the living few,
Soldiers, be just and true!
Hail them as comrades tried;
Fight with them side by side;
,Never, in field or tent,
Scorn the black regiment!


THE IRISHWOMAN'S LETTER.
M. A. DENISON.
An' sure I was told to come in till your honor,
To see would ye write a few lines to Pat.
He's gone for a soger is Misther O'Connor,
Wid a stripe on his arm, and a band on his hat.
And what'll ye tell him ? shure it must be aisy
For the likes of yer honor to spake with a pen,
Tell him I m well, and mavourneen Daisy
(The baby yer honor) is better again.
For whin he wint off so sick was the crayther,
She niver hilt up her blue eyes to his face:
















And when I'd be crying he'd look at me wild like,
And ax Would I wish for the country's dis-
grace?"
So he left her in danger, and me sorely gravin,
And followed the flag wid an Irishman's joy;
And it's often I drame of the big drums a batin
And a bullet gone straight through the heart of
my boy.
Tell him to send us a bit of his money,
For the rint and the docther's bill, due in a wake,
And sure there's a tear on your eyelashes, honey,
I' faith had no right with such fradom to spake.
I'm over such trifling, I'll not give ye trouble,
I'll find some one willing, oh what can it be?
What's that in the newspaper folded up double?
Yer honor don't hide it, but rade it to me.
Dead! Patrick O'Connor! oh, God it's some either,
Shot dead shure 'tis a wake scarce gone by,
And the kiss on the chake of his sorrowin' mother,
It hasn't hed time, yer honor, to dry.
Dead! dead! 0 God, am I crazy?
Shure it's breaking my heart ye are telling me so,
And what in the world will I do wid poor Daisy ?
O what can I do? where can I go ?
This room is so dark,-I'm not seeing' yer honor,
I think I'll go home,-and a sob hard and dry,
Rose up from the bosom of Mary O'Connor,
But never a tear welled up to her eye.





















SEPTEMBER. THE BALANCE.
BY MARGARET JONNSON,
He counted out the clinking coin.
And heaped it shining in the scale,
"A very goodly pile! said he,
"These figures tell a pleasant tale,"
And smiled to see the evening sun
Burn redly on the coin he spun.

"You are not covetous, good dame,
Else had you never seen my gold,
And yet I trow you scarce would scorn
This gleaming heap, if truth were told."
She laughed and shook her proud young head.
"A goodly pile, indeed!" she said.

"You love your yellow treasure too,
I know, for -hark!" her fair cheek glowed.
"I too have weighed my growing wealth -
The scale these selfsame numbers showed.
Yours is a pretty sum and round,
Yet I can match it pound for pound."

"Forsooth! he cried in merry scorn,
"Come, prithee bring the riches out,
That we may weigh them pound for pound,'
And prove your word beyond a doubt.
Unless so locked away they be
That you yourself have not the key."












w~~~

















Nay, friend," she laughed with happy eyes,
I keep my treasure safely hid,
But not within the moldy ground
Or underneath an iron lid.
I count it secretly apart,
And wear it always next my heart."

She caught her baby from the floor,
SA creeping, cooing, dimpled thing,
That struggled in its mother's arms
To reach the gold, with lusty spring,
And babbled at the dazzling sight,
A wordless language of delight.

She pressed the velvet cheek to hers,
And kissed the silken, sunny head,
"Come, are you ready? shall we weigh
The treasure, pound for pound?" she said,
And then with tender triumph smiled,
And in the balance laid her child.

ULYSSES.
[The following eloquent tribute to General Grant is from the pen
of Robert Buchanan, and was written a few weeks previous to the
hero's death.]
One sunset I beheld an Eagle flying
'Mong the lone mountains of the Hebrides-
Faintly he falter'd on, half spent and dying,
Between the kindled crags, the darkening seas.
Before the wind he sail'd on feeble pinions,
From chasm to chasm, from lonely peak to peak ;
King had he been for years of those dominions,
And kingly seem'd he still, tho' worn and weak,


I __ ~_~

















Piteous it was to see that bird imperial,
Whose flight had known no bounds, whose
,strength no chain,
Drifting in desolation to his burial
Somewhere in those cold regions of the rain.
Yet have I lived to see a sight more sorry,
Here in the mighty land where men are free-
The eagle-warrior, lone with all his glory,
Floating thro' clouds, close to a sunless sea!
The shape that on the wind of tribulation
Hover'd, and ruled the tempest like its lord,
The soldier-hero who redeemed a nation,
And cut man's chains asunder with his sword.
The silent leader, who arose victorious
Out of a flood of hate, a sea of death,
Now, fallen on darkness and a time inglorious,
Flutters so near the ground, with failing breath!
Oh, God it seems but only yester even
The trumpet of Euroclydon was blown,
The storm-cloud gathered, and the fiery levin
Lighted the world, and flashed from zone to
zone
'Mid sounds of lamentation and of weeping,
Cries of the waking who had slept so long,
Upcircling swiftly thro' the tempest sweeping,
The eagle rose, with flight supreme and strong.
His voice was in the storm, above the thunder,
His war-cry thrill'd the land from shore to shore
Not till the battle cloud was cloven asunder,
He sought his eyrie, and looked down once
more!

















Feeble and weary, yet thro' all disaster,
Silent and self-contain'd, serene and proud,
Master of men, and of his own soul master,
Behold him drifting now, from cloud to cloud!
So wearily his slow, sad flight he urges,
Unrestful, fearless-eyed, as heretofore,
Then pauses, calmly hst'ning to the surges
Thund'ring so near, on some eternal shore.
The people raise their pitying eyes to view him,
Weary he is and weak, yet will not rest,
Tho' Washington is brightly beck'ning to him
From the yet widening blue of yonder West!
But lo! a Form, with radiant robes around her,
Uprises, followed by a shadowy train,
Crowns him with love who once with glory crown'd
her,
Blesses the hands that broke her last strong
chain!
Smile then, Ulysses! Tho' thy Troy hath ended,
Tho' all thy life's long Odyssey is done,
By Lincoln and the martyr-hosts attended,
Columbia kneels before her soldier-son!
What tho' a little space, when homeward sailing,
Thou saw'st the treacherous isles where sirens
dwell?
The sweetest songs they sang were unavailing
To keep God's warrior underneath their spell.
Thou wast not made to herd with things polluted,
Grasp dust of gold, and fawn at Circe's knee;
Thy flight was sunward, not thro' chasms rooted
With leaves that fall. from Mammon's upas-tree
















Rest, wanderer, in the sun, Columbia kisses
Her soldier's honor'd brow, and clears its,
gloom-
And this white lily of love she brings, Ulysses,
Was plucked upon thy brother Lincoln's tomb!





TIME ENOUGH.
Two little squirrels, out in the sun,-
One gathered nuts; the other had none;
"Time enough yet," his constant refrain,
" Summer is still just on the wane."
Listen, my child, while I tell you his fate:
He roused him at last, but he roused him too,
late;
Down fell the snow from a pitiless cloud,
And gave little squirrel a spotless white shroud.
Two little boys in a schoolroom were placed:
One always perfect, the other disgraced;
" Time enough yet for learning," he said,
"I will climb by and by, from the foot to the-
head."
Listen, my friends; their locks are turned gray;
One, as a governor, sitteth to-day,
The other, a pauper, looks out at the door
Of the almshouse, and idles his days, as of yore.
Two kinds of people we meet every day;
One is at work, the other at play.
Living, uncared for, dying unknown,
The busiest hive hath ever a drone.
86

















FOR THE CHILDREN'S SAKE.
MRS. L. G. MCVEAGH.
Look at the children clustered there,
Busy with books, or wild with play,
Which of our darlings can we spare
To keep the sidewalk in good repair
Or to pave, with stone, the public way?
Shall it be yours, with the forehead fair,
And blue eyes lifted fond and sweet?
Shall it be mine, whose dark brown hair
Must be laid low, that our dainty feet
May not be soiled by the muddy street?
Somebody's girls and somebody's boys,
Rum is crushing there, every day,
First it murders their infant joys,
And steals a father's care away.
Snatches food from lips that pale,
Strips the shoes from the tiny feet,
Blackens with blows the shoulders frail,
But-it brings in money to mend the street.
Oh men! Oh brothers! with ballots to cast,
Ye are come to the kingdom, for such an hour,
The hour has struck, and we stand at last
Where God has granted to you the power.
After all of our helpless years,
When full to the brim was our cup of woe,
The answer comes, to our prayers and tears,
And it rests with you. Will you strike the blow?
Now, by the love that you bear your own,
For the sake of each little child you meet,
Vote "yes "-vote "yes," if never a stone
Is laid to better the village street,
Where safe from peril, and gay and sweet
The children come with their dancing feet.

















OCTOBER.- THE SCORPION.
-BY MARGARET JOHNSON.
A very little weight sometimes will turn
A mighty balance, even of Life and Death,
What pains and perils, we may never learn,
Have passed us in the drawing of a breath.
; *
Within an Eastern forest, far away,
Where heavy odors filled the languid air,
And giant boughs with mossy draperies gray
Shut greenly out the burning noonday glare.
Beneath the silent, overhanging trees,
Where motionless the shadows lay and deep,
His fair limbs pillowed on the moss at ease,
A drowsy boy had thrown himself to sleep.
His gathered store of ferns and blossoms pied
Lay dropped beside his rosy open palm.
The song upon his lips had scarcely died
When slumber hushed them into smiling calm.
So slept he softly while an hour went by,
Nor guessed that danger lurked within the wild,
But dreamed of dew and rain and clouded sky
And freshly breathing winds, and dreaming, smiled.
The silent yellow sunshine sifted down
And touched the quiet face with wavering sheen.
A single knot of ferns and grasses brown
The glad young life and eager Death between.
A noise that sharply broke the silent deep -
A nut jarred down by squirrels in their play -
The boy sprang, bright-eyed, from his happy sleep,
Took up his song, and singing, went his way.
And through the tangled grass, where he had slept
With sting upraised, a deadly Scorpion crept.


























. II


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SOLILOQUY OF ARNOLD.
EDWARD C. JONES.
The plan is fixed; I fluctuate no more
Betwixt despair and hope. As leaves the
shore
The hardy mariner, though adverse fate
May merge his bark, or cast him desolate
Upon a savage coast, so, wrought at last
Up to a frenzied purpose, I have passed
The Rubicon. Farewell, my old renown!
Here I breathe mildew on my warrior crown;
Here honor parts from me, and base deceit
Steps to the usurper's throne; I cannot meet
The withering censure of the rebel band,
And therefore to the strong I yield this heart
and hand.
What else befits me? I have misapplied
The nation's funds, and ever gratified
Each vaulting wish, though justice wept the
deed;
And here, beneath the load of pressing need,
I must have gold. How else the clamorous
cry
Of creditors appease, and satisfy
Demands which haunt me more than dreams
of blood,
And claims which chill more than Canadian
flood?
Stay? My accounts betray the swindler's
mark.
Go? And my path, though smooth, like Tar-
tarus is dark.
These rocky ridges, how they shelve on
high,
Each a stern sentinel in majesty.
















Yes, 'tis your own Gibraltar, Washington !
And must the stronghold of his hope be won ?
Won? Twenty thousand scarcely could
invest
That sure defence, which o'er the river's
breast
Casts a gigantic shadow; but my plan
Dispenses with the formidable van,
And Clinton may my garrison surprise,
With few sulphurous clouds to blot these
azure skies.
And yet a pang comes over me-I see
Myself at Saratoga; full and free
Goes up the peal of noble-hearted men;
Among the wounded am I numbered then,
And my outgushing feelings cling to those
Who periled all to face their country's foes.
Ah! when that wound a soldier's pride in.
creased,
And gratulation scarce its paean ceased,
I thought not then, oh, God! the stamp of
shame
Would stand imprinted thus upon my hard.
earned fame.
Avaunt, compunction! Conscience to the
wind !
Gold, gold I need-gold must Sir Henry find!
A rankling grudge is mine, for why not I
Commander of their forces? To the sky
Ever goes up the peal for Washington.
Is he a god, Virginia's favored son?
Why should the incense fume forevermore?
Must he my skill, my prowess shadow o'er?
Ere this autumnal moon has filled his horn,
His honors must be nipped, his rising glories
shorn.
92

















Ah! he securely rests upon my faith-
Securely, when the specter dims his path!
How unsuspecting has he ever been;
Above the false, the sinister, the mean !
But hold such eulogy-I will not praise;
Mine is the task to tarnish all his bays.
West Point, thy rocky ridges seem to say,
Be firm as granite, crown the work to-day,
Blot Saratoga, hearth and home abjure,
Andre I meet again-the gold I must secure.





THE STYLISH CHURCH.
Well, wife, I've been to church to-day, been to a
stylish one;
And seeing' you can't go from home, I'll tell you
what was done.
You would have been surprised to see what I saw
there to-day,
The sisters were fixed up so fine, they hardly
bowed to pray.
I had on these coarse clothes of mine,
Not much the worse for wear;
But then they knew I wasn't one they call a
millionaire, [the door,
So they led the old man to a seat, away back by
'Twas bookless and uncushioned, reserved there
for the poor!
Pretty soon in-came a stranger with gold ring
and clothing fine,

















They led him to a cushioned seat, far in advance of
mine;
I thought that wan't exactly right, to set him up so
near,
When he was young and I was old, and very hard
to hear!
I couldn't hear the sermon, I sat so far away,
So through the hour of service, I could only
watch and pray."
Watch the Idoin's of the Christians, sitting near
me round about,
Pray tnat God would make them pure within, as
they were pure without.
S While I sat there looking all around upon the rich
and great,
I kept thinking of the rich man, and the beggar at
the gate;
How by all but dogs forsaken, the poor beggar's
form grew cold,
And the angels bore his spirit to the mansions
built of gold.
How at last the rich man perished, and his spirit
took its flight
From the purple and fine linen to the home of
endless night.
There he learned as he stood gazing at the beggar
in the sky,
"It isn't all of life to live, or all of death to die."
I doubt not there were wealthy sires, in that
religious fold,
Who went up from their dwellings like the Pharisee
of old.
Then returned home from their worship, with their
heads uplifted high,
To spurn the hungry from their door, with naught
to satisfy.


















Out, out, with such professions! they are doing
more to-day
To stop the weary sinner from the gospel's shining
way
Than all the books of infidels, than all that has been
tried
Since Christ was born in Bethlehem, since Christ
was crucified.
I'm old, I may be childish, but I love simplicity;
I love to see it shinin' in a Christian piety ;
Jesus told us in his sermons, on Judea's mountain
wild,
He that wants to go to heaven, must be as a little
child.
Our heads are growing gray, dear wife, our hearts
are beating low;
In a little while the Master will call for us to go;
When we reach the pearly gateways, and look in
with joyful eyes
We'll see no stylish worship, in the temple in the
skies.














95

















NOVEMBER. -THE ARCHER.


B Y MARGARET JOHNSON.
'0 O, blithely over the hills he came,
His yellow locks they shone like flame,
Upon the north wind streaming.
Across his stalwart shoulders slung,
His bow and quiver lightly swung,
SWith frost of jewels gleaming.
He stepped into the circle green,
The Archers shot with arrows keen,
Their skill and valor trying.
The slender youths with sparkling eyes,
Strained nerve and will to gain the prize,
Each with the other vying.
Then sprang the Archer from his place,
A smile upon his glowing face,
His bright locks backward flinging.
SHe bent his flexile bow with care,
His arrows cleft the dazzled air,
With shrill, incessant singing.
They smote the leaves from off the trees,
Their rushing raised a mighty breeze,
That drove the clouds a-flying;
Their feathers floated white and dun,
And made a mist before the sun
In windy splendor dying.
His bow-string snapped. In mute amaze,
The Archers followed with their gaze,
As, in a bright derision,
His ringing laughter echoing shrill,
He bounded backward toward the hill,
SAnd vanished from their vision.
















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