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And quietly watched us go.
And says that as grass is man;
That was Alexandrina Ann.
I never could answer pat-
Could mean by a life like that;
When, scaring my mournful dream,
The sound of a manyac scream,
But, Father of death and life!
The voice of my childless wife.
Then down on my bended knee,
Went up for my wife and me.
She sat on the floor, poor soul!
And eyes that were gleeds of coal.
And now she would laugh aloud,
She'd sew-at a little shroud.
Dear Lord! through the endless night,
And I thought it would ne'er be light.
Went up for my girl and me.
Came glimmering cold and pale;
Was carried a feeble wail.
All swaddled and bound in a bundle round,
A sweet little baby lay.
A peart little two-months' child;
And it looked in my face and smiled.
I grajuly growed aware
The answer to wrestling prayer.
With tears that were soft and blest,
I laid it on Mary's breast.
She goes on an artful tack:
And the hangels has sent her back!”
Though spared for a hundred years,-
The rush of her blissful tears.
Grew wonderful sweet and mild,
My own little hangel child!”
Grew happy and strong and well;
Is what I can noways tell.
There's nothing but clouds up there;
And a Father that heareth prayer."
The babe is a child of light,-
And mayn't she be somewheres right?
A friend has come in to town;
But bring us the hangel down.
GRANT.-MELVILLE W. FULLER. General Ulysses S. Grant, the foremost military commander of the age, and twice President of the United States, was born April 27, 1822 and died July 23, 1885. The following beautiful tribute to his memory was written by the present (1889) Chief Justice of the United States.
Let drum to trumpet speak-
Each lowly valley and each lofty peak,
The great commander, when
Depreciation's tongue would whisper then-
Not in his battles won,
But in the wide world's sense of duty done;
And as with him of old,
How the grand soul of true heroic mould
No lamentations here,
Without a care, without a thought of fear,
Earth to its kindred earth;
Of waiting ages yet to have their birth.
THE PILOT'S BRIDE.-GEORGE M. VICKERS.*
Writlen expressly for this Collection.
Handsome of form, and of haughty air. *Author of “Buzzard's Point," “The Cobbler of Lyon," "Tribulations of Biddy Malone," "The Potter's Field," “Little Fritz," and other favorite read. ings in previous Numbers. Also the beautiful Temperance Melodrama, “Two Lives," in No. 8; and the very amusing Farce, "The Public Worrier, in" No. 27.
The young man laughed till his cheeks were red, He held his sides and then gasping said: “Why, father. I've just been watching the race 'Twixt the frowns and smiles on your changing face; And, asking your pardon, I'm forced to say That by odds the dark frowns have won the day!” “Aye, frowns, and too many, and smiles too few, Where all might be smiles, were it not for you." Then old Humphrey continued, more sad than stern "Vivian, my son, try some good to learn; Be manly, and tell me both frank and true, What is Molly, the fisherman's child, to you?" “Well, really, I've thought not the matter o'er, Since Molly's but one of a score or more Of the people I speak to or friendly greet When we pass in the roads or village street." Then old Humphrey took Vivian's proffered arm, And remarked that his question implied no harm, “But,” said he, “this morning I came to know That the young woman's coming quite soon to sew; She will stay for a week to help make and mend, Though aunt Leah will treat her as guest and friend" "I see,” laughed his son. And the sunset bright Flooded Humphrey's grim fort in a golden light. "Tis night, and the yellow May moon looks down On the restless sea and the little town; It shows on its face, in silhouette, Two forms by the headland wall; and yet An observer might easily reckon three, Though the bended form's but a withered tree. 'Tis a lovely scene, and the ocean's roar Blends sweet with the tale that's told once more. "Molly,” plead Vivian," you soon must go; I love you, then answer me yes or no." “ I cannot. I love not,” said Molly, “but when The harvest moon shines, I will tell you then." The trim schooner Nancy at anchor lay, Her white sails furled and her crew away, Away with mothers, with sisters and wives, For pilots and sailors lead risky lives; And though long or short, when the cruise is o'er, Jack drops his anchor and skips ashore.