of visiting, and others helped in any way they could Even the collection plate lost its gloomy look, it looked brighter; and as for the pastor, he plucked up heart and went ahead, for all the world knows that the leading horse must put on speed when the horses behind are pulling with a will.

As for the parrot it lived to a green old age, and, like the youth in "Excelsior," repeated its motto to the end. With a convulsive croak, and a merry twinkle of the eye, it left it as a legacy to the world :—

"Work, you lubbers, work. Work, you lubbers, work."

PROCRASTINATION.

In the dim conservatory,

In the lamplight's softened glory,
There I sought the old, old story
To confess.

But my secret I'd not let her
Learn too quickly; I'd not better
Importune that I might get her
To say Yes.

For she might think me unruly
If I hasten on unduly,

Though her heart desiring truly
To possess.

Had she quite enjoyed the dancing,
Found the music most entrancing?
Asked I. Slyly at me glancing,
She said Yes.

Then I spoke about the weather;
Did she like it cold, or whether
Cold and warm mixed up together
In a mess.

Cold or warm, or calm or breeze, or
So it really didn't freeze her?
Any kind, I asked, would please her?
She said Yes.

Did she think love out of fashion?
Did she doubt the tender passion?
Thus I gently put the lash on

My address.

Then a point I sought to carry;
As a maiden should she tarry,
Or should she at some time marry?
She said Yes.

Then her eyelids drooped a moment;
I knew not what the action slow meant,
By it she had not a No meant
To express.

Had she ever meditated

O'er her friends already mated,
And the life that her awaited?
She said Yes.

"Darling," said I, "I adore you?
Tell me quickly, I implore you,
As I'm kneeling here before you,
Will you bless-"

Then a sound made me look up, or
I'd have kept right on; 'twas Tupper;
He said, "Will you go to supper?'
She said Yes.

SHERMAN'S MARCH.*-FRED EMERSON BROOKS.

The following poem was recited by the author at the grand camp-fire of the G. A. R., in Mechanic's Hall, Boston, on Wednesday evening, August 13. 1890, to an audience of fifteen thousand people, amid the wildest enthusiasm. The speaker approached General Sherman, who had the seat of honor on the stage and feeling along the lapel of his coat until he found the copper button, addressed him as follows:

Excuse a blind old soldier if too eager in his quest

To feel the copper button on the lapel of your breast.
I've been so blind I haven't seen a comrade since the war,
But know the grip of fellowship found in the G. A. R.
I know you are a hero, though you tell me not your name,
So I shall call you comrade, for the meaning's just the same.
I've come to see the General -he's here, I understand;
Now, comrade, lead me to him, for I'd like to shake his hand.
I know it is an honor,

But you'll tell him this for me,

That I marched down with Sherman

From Atlanta to the sea.

'Twas the march of all the ages,-Shenandoah to the sea, Then back again to Richmond, one long march of victory! *Used by special permission.

Three thousand miles of marching, with a hundred thousand

men,

And a thousand banners flying-there was plenty fighting then;

For 'tis something more than marching, with the elements at play

And the swarthy storm-king flinging his battalions in the

way.

It is something more than marching where every step you go You are forced to fight with nature and a still more stubborn foe.

I could tell you all about it

If you'd listen unto me,

For I marched down with Sherman

From Atlanta to the sea.

I could tell you all about it, and the reason why 'twas done, For ofttimes the greatest battle is with smallest carnage won! Those great chieftains -Grant and Sherman, peerless military twain

Planned to settle the rebellion in a double-fold campaign; While Grant held Lee at Richmond, Sherman, marching through the South,

Cut off hope and all resources save what's in the cannon's mouth.

When your enemy is helpless it is just the same, you know, As when you've thrust a rapier though the vitals of a foe.

Yes, I'm a blind old veteran,

But proud as I can be

That I marched down with Sherman

From Atlanta to the sea.

Lee well knew those marching thousands meart his final overthrow,

And to yield far greater courage than cause useless blood to flow.

Had those concentrated armies-veteran blue and veteran

gray

Sought to settle the rebellion in one final, fatal fray,
Fate's red history of battle would have held another page
With recital of a carnage never known in any age;

And the sunset of rebellion would have made the earth

more red

With the blood of many thousands than the sunset overhead.

When I am dead, my comrade,

"Tis enough to say of me:

That I marched down with Sherman
From Atlanta to the sea.

Some gained their fame at Gettysburg, when fame was nearly lost.

At Fredericksburg, Antietam, too, 'twas learned what fame may cost.

One climbed to fame on Lookout, fighting far above the clouds. At New Orleans one sailed to fame, lashed to the flagship shrouds.

One rode to fame at Winchester! At Appomattox town,
Upon a modest soldier glory laid a modest crown.

And howe'er so many battles owe success to Sherman's name
As the mighty man of marches he'll be always known to
fame.
What? You were down through Georgia ?

Then you must have marched with me
When I marched down with Sherman,
From Atlanta to the sea.

Let's give three cheers for Sherman: Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

Why are you silent, comrade? Is there something in your

craw?

What! profess to be a comrade, and yet refuse to cheer
The grandest of all generals? What motive brings you here?
Why come to these reunions if you haven't any soul?
There's a home for crippled soldiers who are neither sound
nor whole;

Why, you're more deserving pity, sir, and pension, too, I

swan,

Than these poor shattered veterans with arms and legs all gone!

If you wont cheer Uncle Billy—

Well, you can't shake hands with me;
For I marched down with Sherman
From Atlanta to the sea.

Why, there's not another being in this nation, I dare say,
Not even yon confederate-brave enemy in gray-
On such a grand occasion would refuse to cheer, when bid,
The man who saved the Union, or led the men who did.
Uncle Billy loved the soldiers, for he had a heart within-
I heard him down in Georgia shout above the battle din,
We were rather busy fighting, but this sentence I recall:
"You brave boys who do the fighting, you're the heroes after

all!"

What? You are General Sherman?
Then you'll have to cheer for me!
For I marched down behind you,

From Atlanta to the sea.

1

CHRIST CALMING THE TEMPEST.-HORACE B. DURANT.

[By permission of the Author.]

'Twas morning over Galilee. In safe

Repose its placid waters lay, as though

They dreamed of vine-clad hills, that sweetly smiled,
Reflected from their crystal depths.

Calm as

The measured pulse of happy sleeper, rose

And fell its slumbering bosom, fanned by breath
That stole with soft perfume across its tide,
And whispered tranquil scenes of beauty from
Judea's gorgeous land.

Such was the scene
On Galilee, when Jesus with his band
Of faithful followers embarked unto
Its furthest shore. Day memorable with
Its deeds of miracles and mercies shown
Unto the multitudes who watched the fast
Receding ship that bore him from their view;
Day in its very stillness full of deep

And hidden import,-one which was, methinks,
Designed to show to man his mighty power,
And prove His own divinity. They sped

Them onward; yet the evening found them still
Amid the deep.

But, lo! a sudden change
Comes stealing like a mantle o'er the face
Of nature. There's a threat'ning scowl upon
The distant mountain's brow. There is a deep
Bass voice that calls from rocking forest depths,
And it is answered by the murmurs hoarse
Of angry Galilee. The ebon clouds

Uprising in the lurid skies, spread wide

Their black wings o'er the ghastly billows, and
Send rolling thunders through the rocky heights
And o'er the shudd'ring hills.

The tempest comes!
It bends the groaning spars, and ocean seems
Commingled with the skies. Vain is thy strength,
O feeble man! The yawning caverns ope
Beneath thy struggling vessel. Shrieking blasts
O'erwhelm thy supplicating voice for aid.
No mortal ear can hear; no friendly eye
Can see thy lone distress. There is no hope;
The baffled sailor sinks him helpless down