the hands that did this were those of a loving Southern woman, whose father had fallen on the Confederate side in the battle, I said: "The war indeed is over; let us have peace!" Gentlemen; soldiers; comrades; the silken folds that twine about us here, for all their soft and careless grace. are yet as strong as hooks of steel! They hold together a united people and a great nation; for, realizing the truth at last,--with no wounds to be healed and no stings of defeat to remember, the South says to the North, as simply and as truly as was said three thousand years ago in that far away meadow upon the margin of the mystic sea: Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge; thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God." 66 A GOOD JOKE ON MARIA. The Centennial Celebration of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church was held in Philadelphia, May 17-29, 1888. During the week commencing May 21, the Butchers held their National Convention in the same city and paraded in their peculiar dress on the 24th. The day was a very rainy one. I've got a good joke on Mariar, 'Nd that allers does me proud. "Taint that I'm no ways spiteful, But she's a leetle inclined to crowd. I don't say nothin' agin her, I haint never had no call; But I must say this, ef she is my wife, Well, me an' Mariar is Baptists: So we come in, the twenty-fourth, The Presbyterians had got up For their hundredth centenation. 'Nd we stood there in all that rain To see their grand parade. Ef it hadn't 'a' been to encourage 'em I don't think I'd 'a' stayed. I've got purty liberal idees, So I didn't mind it much To see them preachers a horseback, 'Nd wearin' white gowns, 'nd such I only hunched Mariar, 'nd says: 66 Presbyterians is pretty gay; I didn't hardly expect to see 'em I wish you'd 'a' seen Mariar, She jest looked round an' smiled In sech a high-up superious way That I jest nacher❜ly biled. "You've mistook the denomination; 'Most any man would, ye see; Them haint no Presbyterians; Them's 'Piscopals," sez she. Then a man next to me spoke up, Ez civil ez civil could be: "They're wet enough to be Baptists But they're jest the Butchers," se I gin one look at my pardner; Her face wuz ez red ez fire; So I jest let the matter drop, But I've got a good joke on Mariar. UP HIGHER.-JOSEPH BERT SMILEY. Every time you miss, or fail, Start in on a higher scale. Let each tear, and sigh, and moan, Only be a stepping-stone; Let each dark experience Point you to an eminence Up higher. Every stab that racks your heart Every stunning blow of pain Never pause, and ne'er look back There's a ghost there, grimand gaunt— What's ahead is what you want. Turn, and you will stand aghast. From each crushing blow of pain Though your days fly swiftly past, THE FIREMAN'S PRIZE. These lines were suggested by the brave act of Fireman McAlhattan, in res ming a little child from death, near Dimmock Station, Pa., April 21, 1891. With his hand upon the throttle as the train swept round the bend, The engineer stood ready the signal forth to send ; His eye alert and watchful as he scanned the iron way That between him and the station in the gleaming sunlight lay. All alone he kept his vigil, save for one who, true and tried, With a spirit never failing, shared each danger by his side,→ His fireman, brave and dauntless, with his nerves like tempered steel, But, with heart of gold within him, prompt to act and quick to feel. Like a flash of summer lightning, onward dashed the fiery steed, Never pausing for a moment in its rush of headlong speed. When suddenly the whistle sounded shrill upon the air, And the engineer grew pallid with a look of wild despair; for there, before him standing, not a hundred yards away, Was a tiny blue-eyed baby, from its mother's arms astray,A fairy little figure, with its bright hair floating back, All unconscious of its danger, on the curving railway track From the throttle-valve his fingers in a nerveless tremor fell; But only for an instant-quick as thought he struck the bell, And reversed the flying engine, but, alas, in vain, in vain! For, with terrible momentum, onward sped the rushing train. "You stay! I'll save the baby!" all at once rang in his ear; And, almost before the meaning of his comrade's words was clear, From his cab had leaped the fireman, of the danger thinking naught, Driven onward by an impulse that with generous love was fraught. Like a deer before its hunters, like an arrow through the sky, Sped he on his noble mission, the dread monster to outvie, While from every door and window of the scarcely slackened train Anxious eyes his footsteps followed as he strove the goal to gain. On he dashed, the score of watchers gazing with suspended breath At the contest, so unequal, in the very jaws of death; It could last but little longer, and a breathless silence fell, For the fireman was the victor, and the baby's life his prize! Ah! the smiles and tears and praises showered on him every where As he placed the blue-eyed baby in its mother's tender care; Then, to his post up-springing, as the train again moved on, Mid the sound of cheering voices, in a moment he was gone. -Golden Days. THE CLOSING SCENE. On the liquor vender stern Death had called, His cold corpse lay in its damp bed of clay, To the cold river Styx had come. Oh! the waves of that cruel stream flowed fast, He entered the time-worn and dismal craft That the weird and hideous boatman laughed "Oh, where are we going?" the dealer cried. The ferryman Charon grimly replied: "To the gates of your future home." A fearful voyage was that, in all truth, To the wretched and abject man; His thoughts returned to the days of his youth, The boat touched the strand of a dreary land, On the shore stood Nemesis, pointing where "Spirit," the regal custodian said, "Behold here the home you have won! Here you must live till your victims forgive The numerous wrongs you have done. The growth of seeds sown in your earthly home And here you must learn what you should have known |