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About The Sunday Oregonian. (Portland, Ore.) 1881-current | View Entire Issue (Nov. 5, 1916)
TOE SUNDAY OTIEGOAX, TORTLAXD, NOYE3IT3EII 3. 1910. SCRAP-BOOKS PROVE RICH FIELD FOR RARE OLD CLASSICS SINCE the publication of this para was begun in February we have reprinted more than 600 old poems, coma well-known classics, others ob scure contributions from old scrap books, others songs that the contribu tors declared they had never before aeen in print. A large proportion of these poems re printed were sent in by contributors In response to published requests of Other readers, and while we are re ceiving: contributions continually we are also receiving requests for more old poems, in almost equal volume. A. D. Allen, of Corbett, has written asking for the publication of "The Battle of Vickeburg," which begins: "On Vlcksburg's low and muddy grounds a wounded soldier lay. His thoughts were on his happy home a thousand miles away." Li. R. Alderman asks if it is possible to procure a copy of the old childhood favorite: "Tom Twist was a wonderful fellow. No boy was so clever or strong He "turned ten double somersaults backward And stood on his head all day long." Golda Adams, who has contributed everal copies of verse asked by our other readers, requests for herself, "Maryland, My Maryland," and "Mathie Wumble," in which some of the words are: "A mutual life with mutual joy. Two pretty girls and four fine boys. Religion once they did profess And walked in paths of righteousness; Whether this be right or wrong. This shall be answered in the song." Golda Adams also requests "Paul Revere's Ride." which we re-print from a copy furnished by Mrs. E. J. Simp son, of Buxton. This poem by Longfellow, is about an incident which occurred during the Revolutionary War. Paul Revere was born in Boston in 1735. and died there In 1818. He was of French Huguenot descent. He was an engraver and en graved the plates for the Continental money. PAl'L REVERE'S RIDE. Usten, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On. the 18th of April in seventy-five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend. If the British march Bv land or sea from the town tonight. Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch Of the North Church tower, as a signal light One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be. Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm. For the country folk to be up and to arm. Meanwhile his friend, through alley and street. Wanders and watches with eager ears. Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack door. The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet. And the measured tread of the grena diers Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed to the tower of the church, tip the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread. To the belfry chamber overhead. Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride. Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride, On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side. Now gazed on the landscape far and near. Then Impetuous- stamped the earth. And turned and tightened his saddle girth; But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry-tower of the old North Church. As it rose above the graves on the hill. Lonely, and spectral, and somber, and - still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height A glimmer, and then a gleam Of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns. But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns! A hurry of hoofs in a village street. A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the . dark. And beneath from the pebbles. In pass ing, a spark Struck out by a steed that flies fear less and fleet That was all! And yet, "through the gloom and the light. The fate of a Nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight. Kindled the land into flame with its heat. Tt was It by the village clock. When he crossed the bridge into Med- ford town. Tt was one by the village clock, When he rode into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock fiwlm in the moonlight as he passed. And the meeting-house windows, blank and bare, ' Gaze at him with a spectral glare. As If they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. Tou know the rest. In the books you have read How the British regulars fired and fled. How thr farmers gave them ball for ball. From behind each fence and farmyard wall. Chasing the redcoats down the lane. Then crossing the fields to emerge again TTnder the trees at the turn of the road. And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere: And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm A cry of defiance, and not of fear A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door. And a word that shall echo forever more! For. borne on the night-wind of the past. Through all our history, to the last. In the hour of darkness and peril 'and need. The people will waken and listen to hear The hurrying hoof-beat of that steed. And the midnight message of Paul Revere. LEWIS AXD CLARK. In the lights of Imperial purple. Let their names on the night be flung; These types of sturdy millions Whose deeds remain unsung. Theirs not the shifting glamour. Where fortune's favorites bask; Theirs but the patient doing Of a hard unlovely task. Thlrs not the pomp end splendor Of a Court, where, wined end dined, Pome man of a Steadfast purpose Fees a fateful treaty signed. Theirs but the rigid adherens To a duty set to do Where only their oonsclence might censure. And only their God might view. Theirs not the crimson glory Of the field where banners wave. And the physical courage of thousands Leaves but one remembered grave. But they walked and slept with danger. Like a shadow hovering near, A thousand miles from succor They had steeled their hearts to fear. They clamored o'er untrod mountains. Where the mighty crags lay piled; They threaded their way through can yons. Shadowed, and dark, and wild. They crossed o'er the burning desert. And saw but the blasted plain. Which the mirage, bright, prophetic, Showed as fields of waving grain. They floated on -unknown rivers, . Through valleys bright and gTeen: Through breaks in the waving sky line Were the snow-topped mountains seen. And they watched the shifting land scape, That lay mirrored there In the stream. Till false and true commingled. As shadowy forms of a dream. Set thick In each mountain valley Reflected the farmsteads shone, Telling mute tales of comfort. Where plenty reigned alone. Begirt by gardens and garners And orchards blossoming bright. While a glow from a happy hearthslde Shone out on a gloaming night. They skirted the mighty forest. Which swept onward, swell on swell. The screen of its leafy branches So thick that no sunbeams fell. Awearied, they sunk to slumber By the campflre's flickering ray To be warmed by feverish fancies As bright and as clear as the day. No longer mystic and silent InMts tangle of clambering vine The mighty forest re-echoed The crash of the falling pine. O'er the rush and roar of the river Rose the whistle's shrilling blast. In the quiet harbor beneath them Lay hulks of a shipyard vast. Triumphant through every danger. The toil and privations done. They told of the land of promise Beneath the setting sun. In them we honor the manhood Of the sturdy pioneer. Courageous and self-reliant. Unsullied by false veneer. GEORGE H. NECON. "The Highland Bonnet" is sent by Mrs. R. H. Southit. THE HIGHLAND BOXSET. Come,' rax me doon that bonnet, lads, Wi' bullets riddled through. An' I will don it ance again. Though auld an' fall I'm noo, I wore it, lads, on twenty fields. An' last at Waterloo. They tell me that the Government Has doomed that bonnet braw. But surely Scotland better kens Than let these plumes awa'; Oor name an' fame these latter years Are surely growln' sma'. Noo, look ye on that bonnet, lads. Syne look ye, lads, on me, Nae wonder though I'm frail and white. This day I's ninety-three. An' three-score years an' aucht hae made A wondrous change on me. Then I could walk erect and firm, Wi' martial step and true; Ah! weel I mind the mornin', lads. We marched at Waterloo. I think I see the muddy rye An" "Bonny"s" legions too. I think I see oor Highland lada Stan' like a six-foot wa The gleamin' bayonets In a line. An' feather bonnets a'. An' foremost in the Highland charge The gallant Forty-Twa. I hear the ringing pibroch yet That a' oor pipers blew. While volleys crashed on Ilka side 'Mid Strains o' "Donald Dhu"; An' past us swept the noble "Greys," For Scotland chargin' tod. Auld Britain then had routh o men 'Mang these north hills awa'. An' gladly wad hae gien them kilts An" feather bonnets twa To stan' between her an' her foes, Defyin' nations a". But sheep an' deer seem better gear Than honest, sturdy men; An' see the lads that kenn'd nae fear Hae had to leave the glen. They're owre the seas an' far awa". Ne'er to come back again. I'm wae to think o' Scotland noo. She's naething like the same As when we smote those foreign hordes And daily won her fame. Oor Scottish regiments noo, I fear. Are Scottish but. in name. They'll gladly offer" bonnets, lads. An' guineas, too,. I fear. To plant the men. ere a' be gane. Where noo they've planted deer; Recruitin' will come badly on Where only grouse they rear. Ower late, I doubt, they'll maybe learn That Lords an' forests braw Are puir an' feckless substitutes For them that are awa. When Britain's foes may oraek her croon. An' ower her croosely craw. Then feather bonnets will be rife An temptln bribes be thrown. But kilts an' bonnets a" will lie An nana to put them on; For year by year they disappear The lads will soon be gone. JOHN 8. RAE. AULD LAXG SYXK. Should auld acquaintance be forgot, . And never brought to min'? Should auld acquaintance be forgot And days o auld lang syne? For auld lang syne, my dear. For auld syne, We'll tak' a oup o' kindness yet. For auld lang syne. We twa hae run aboot the braes And pu'd the gowans fine; But we've wander'd many a weary foot Sin auld lang syne. We twa hae,paidl't 1 the burn From morning sun till dine; But Beas between us braid hae roared Sin' auld lang syne. And here's a hand, my trusty flere. And gle's a hand 6' thine. And we'll tak' a right guid . willie- waught. For auld lang syne. And surely ye'll be your pint-atoup And surely I'll be mine; And we'll tak' a Cup o' kindness yet. For auld lang syne. ROBERT BURNS. "The Church and the World," re quested recently. Is furnished ua by ' (The frigate Constitution, whose glorious record Is known to all familiar with our naval history, was saved from destruction by the following beautiful linen of Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes, which caused the peo ple to pause and reconsider their determination of breaking up the Nation's favorite. The copy used here was supplied by Lome Kirk, of St. Paul.) Mrs. W. L. Joynt, of Aberdeen, and Mrs. M. Luke, of Portland: THE CHl'HCH AXD THE WORLD, (From an old scrapbook; author not known.) The church and the world walked far apart On the changing shore of time; The world was singing a giddy song And the church a hymn sublime. "Come, give me your hand," said the merry world, "And walk with me the way": But the good church hid her snowy hand And solemnly answered "Nay." 'I will not give thee my hand at all. And I will not walk with you; Tour way is the way of eternal death And your words are all untrue. Nay, walk with me a little space," Said the world with a kindly air. "The road I walk is a pleasant road And the sun shines always there. 'Tour way is narrow and thorny and rough. While mine Is flowery and smooth; Tour lot is sad with reproach and toil. But in rounds of joy I move. My way, you can see. Is a broad, fair one. And my gate Is high and wide; There is room enough for you and me And we'll travel side by side." Half shyly tfto church approached the world And gave him her hand of snow; And the false world grasped it and walked along And whispered in accents low: Tour dress is too simple to please my taste; I have gold and pearls to wear: Rich velvets and silks for your graceful form And diamonds to deck your hair." The church looked down at her plain white robes And then at the dazzling world. And blushed as she saw his handsome Hp With a smile contemptuous curled. I will change my dress for a costlier one." Said the church with a smile of grace. Then her pure white garment drifted away And the world gave In their place Beautiful satins and fashionable silks And roses and gems and pearls: And over her forehead her bright hair fell. Woven in a thousand curls. Tour house is too plain," said the proud old world. "Let me build you one like mine. With a kitchen for feasting and. parlor for play. And furniture ever so fine." So he built her a costly and beautiful house. Splendid It was to behold; Her sons and her daughters met fre quently there. Shining in purple and gold. And fair and festival frolics untold. Were held in the place of prayer. And maidens bewitching as sirens of old. With world-winning graces rare. Bedecked with fair Jewels and hair all j curis. untrammeiea dv gospel or laws. To beguile and amuse and win from the world Some help for the righteous cause. The angel of mercy rebuked the church And whispered: "I know thy sin;" Then the church looked sad and anxiously longed To gather her children In. But some were away at the midnight ball. And others were at the play. And some were drinking In gay sa loons. And the angel went away. And then said the world In soothing tones: "Tour much-loved ones mean no harm. Merely Indulging In Innocent sports, So she leaned on his proffered arm. And smiled and chatted and gathered flowers. And walked along with the world. While countless millions of precious souls To the horrible pit were hurled! "Tour preachers are all too old and plain." Said the gay world with a sneer; "They frighten my children with dread ful tales Whioh I do not like them to bear. "They talk of Judgment and fire and pain And the doom of endless night; They warn of a place that should not be Thus spoken to ears polite! I will tend you some of a better stamp. More brilliant and gay and fast. Who will show how men may live as they list. And go to heaven at last. "The Father Is .merciful, great and rood. Loving and tender and kind: Do you think he'd take one child to heaven And leave another behind?" So she called for pleasing and gay dl vines- Deemed gifted and great and learned. And the plain old men who preached the cross Were out of her pulpits turned. Then Mammon came In and supported the church And rented a prominent pew; And preaching and singing and floral display Soon proclaimed a gospel new. "You give too much to the poor," said the world, "Far more than you ought to do; Though the poor need shelter, food and olothes. Why thus should It trouble you? "Go, take your money anl buy rich robes And horses and carriages fine. And pearls and jewels and datnty food. The rarest and costliest wine. My children they dote on all such things. And if you their love would win Tou must do as they do and walk In the way. The flowery way they're In." Then the church her purse-strings tightly held' And gravely lowered her head. And simpered: "I've given too much away, I will do, sir, as ynu have said." So the poor were turned from the door in scorn; She heard not the orphans cry; And she drew her beautiful robes aside As the widows went weeping by. And they of the church and they of the world Journeyed closely hand and heart. And none but the master who knoweth all Could discern the two apart. Then the church sat down at her ease and said: "I am rich and in goods Increased: I have need of nothing and naught to do But to laugh and dance and feast." The sly world beard her and laughed within And mockingly said aside: The church has alien the beautiful church. Her shame Is her boast and pride." Thus her witnessing power, alasl was lost And the perilous times came In: The time of the end. so oft foretold Of form and pleasure and sin. Then the angel drew near the mercy seat And whispered in sighs her name. And the saints their anthems of rap ture hushed And covered their heads with shame. A voice came down from the hush of heaven. From him that sits oa the throne, "I know thy works and what thou hast said. But, alas, thou hast not known "That thou art poor and naked and blind. With pride and ruin enthralled; The expected bride of the heavenly Groom Is the harlot of the world! Thou hast ceased to watch for that blessed hope. Hast fallen from zeal and grace." So. now, alas! I must cast thee out And blot thy name from Us place." THE WATER THAT IS PAST." Listen to the water mill, Through the livelong day. How the clanking of the wheels Wears the hours away. Languidly the Autumn wind Stirs the greenwood leaves; From the fields the reapers sing. Binding up the sheaves; And a proverb haunts my mind As a spell Is cast "The mill will never grind With the water that has passed.'' Take the lesson to thyself. Loving heart and true. Golden years are passing by. Youth Is fleeting, too; Learn to, make the most of life. Lose no happy day. Time will never bring thee back Chances swept away. Leave no tender word unsaid. Love while life shall last "The mill will never' grind With the water that bas passed." Work while yet the daylight shines, Man of strength and will; Never does the stresmlet glide Useless by the mill. Walt not till tomorrow's sun Beams upon thy way: All that thou canst call thine own Lies in thy today. Power, Intellect and health May not, cannot last "The mill will never grind With the water that has pasted." , Oh, the wasted hours of life That have drifted by! Oh, the good we might have don Lost without a sigh! Love that we might once have saved By a single word: Thoughts conceived but never penned. Perishing unheard. Take the proverb to thy heart. Take, oh. hold it fast "The mill will never grind With the wter that has passed." (This Is from one of my old screp books, but some way have failed to save the author s name. Clara D. Mitchell. In a collection of clippings sent by Ay, tear her tattered ensign down! Long: has it waved on high, And many an eye has danced to see That banner in the sky; Beneath it rung: the battle shout And burst the cannon's roar: The meteor of the ocean air Shall sweep the clouds no more. Her deck, once red with hero's blood, Where knelt the vanquished foe. When winds were hurrying o'er the flood And waves were white below, No more shall feel the victor's tread. Or know the conquered knee: The harpies of the shore shall pluck The eagle of the sea! Oh, better that her shattered hulk Should sink beneath the wave Her thunders shook the mighty deep, And there should be her grave. Nail to the mast her holy f leg. Set every threadbare sail, And give her to the god of storms, v The lightning, and the gale! Mrs. R. H. Louttlt. the following Is Included: Dl'TT, He was a fair and noble youth. An earnest pleader for the truth; And one walked with him earnest-eyed. v ho d look into his face with pride. And he was strong In strength of will And she was weak and question'd still; And thus on all the wrongs they saw, One only will'd the sword to draw. "O, It is grand no doubt." said be, "To fashion dreams of liberty; But thought Is but a flag unfurl'd. Which action bears throughout the world." "And love, it is not well to frown When I must throw the gauntlet down; And so they parted there, and he Went onward to his destiny. "O, woe Is me." the maiden said, "I sure will find him 'mong the dead;" And kneeling low. disconsolate. She wept beside the palace gate. On grim war fields hv form was seen And slow her step, and sad her mien "He is not where the vanquish'd lie And I must see him ere I die." She followed where the victors led, "He Is the foremost sure," she said. And stayed her feet where drum-beats roll. Within the ancient capltoL Rich men and maidens throng the door. v uence issues the proud Emperor; But In the lists of high renown She hears not his name echoed down. O, woe Is me," the maiden said. And down the olden city sped; "I may not see my, love again. And famine stalks in street and lane. And heart. It Is not meet for thee To list the shouts of victory. And there are duties nobler far Where fever and where famine are." In the first streak of dappled morn. Prone In the dust, and weak and worn And dying, she and one was there. Who kneel'd beside her form In prayer. He was a fair and noble youth. An earnest pleader for the truch; And she who lay there at his side Smiled up into his face and died. DAVID MITCHELL SMITH. A familiar old classic Is the following sent In by Mrs. H. IL Smith: MOTHER'S FOOL. "Tl. plain enough to see," said the farmer's wife. "These boys will make their mark In life; They were never made to handle a hoe, And at Once to college ought to go. There's Fred, he's little better than a fool. But John and Henry must go to school.' "Well really, wife," quoth Farmer Brown. As he sat his mug of cider down. "Fred does more work In a day for me Than both his brothers do in three. Book learnln' will never plant one's com. Nor hoe potatoes, sure's you're born; Nor mend a rod of broken fence For my part, give me common sense." But his wife was bound the roost to ' rule. So John and Henry were sent to school. While Fred, of course, was left behind. Because . his mother said be had no mind. Five years at school the students spent; Then into business ech one went. John learned to play the flute and fiddle. And parted his hair, of course, in the middle: While Ms brother looked rather higher than he. And hung out a sign. "H. Brown, M. D." Meanwhile at home their brother Fred Had taken a notion into his head; But he quietly trimmed his apple trees. And weeded onions and planted peas. While somehow, by hook and erook. He managed to read full many a book. Until at last his father said. He was getting "book-iearnin Into his head; "But for all that." added Farmer Brown. "He's the smartest boy In town I" The war. broke out and Captain Fred A hundred men to battle led. And when the rebel flag came down. He went marching home as "General Brown." But he went to work on the farm again. And planted corn and sowed his grain. And shingled the barn and mended the fence. Till the people declared he -had com mon sense. Now common sense was very rare. And the state-house needed a portion there: So the "family dunoe" moved Into town. And the people called him "Governor Brown"; And the brothers who went to the city school. Came home to live with "mother's fool." Mrs. T. G. Haven, of Koieburg. sends the following copy of "Grand-! mother's Chest." GRANDMOTHER'S CUEST. There's a chest In the dim old garret That Is hid 'neath a pal of dust, Aud curtained by dainty cobwebs That cover the sisjis of rust. 'Tis Grandmother's ancient heirloom And there untouched it stands. Since over her peaceful bosom They folded her snow-white hands. 3ut now they are going to search It. Myrtle and beautiful May, n quest of some quaint old garments J 1 ' r u i m r In mfmln vtlnv So they shatter the dainty cobwebs. And .scatter the piles of dust And turn the key in the ancient lock xnat creaas with the grains or dust. But thoughts of throatlcals vanished As they lifted the heavy lid And gazed on the wonderful treasures That through the long years have been hid. And the mirth of "the girlish voices Vas changed to a smothered sigh. As memory wreathed each relic With a halo of years gone by. They found a package of letters Worn and faded and old And among them softly nestled A curl of shining gold. And the dainty ribbon which bound them Was a lover's knot of blue That meekly whispered the story Bo old yet ever new. And here was the crape and illusion. Lying side by side This for the sorrowing widow And that for tho blooming bride. One kissed the golden tresses. One clung to the silvered hair. Each tells its own sad story Lying in silence there. And they found a golden circlet - Lying close to the veil of snow. That was given with love's pure kisses In the misty long ago. But the hand that wore it Is silent. And the passionate heart is still That throbbed "neath orange blossoms, At tho whispered words. "I will." And they found a baby's slipper Worn at its dainty toe. Embalmed with the tears and kisses Rained on it long ago. There were toys and tiny garments. And one little silken curl. With a cross of pure-white lilies. And the name of the biby girl. Then they found two old-time paintings That each heart knew full well Were grandmother's fair twin daugh ters. Bertha and beautiful Belle. Alike, yet. ah. how different Are the faces fair they view. For each has a story written In the beautiful eyes of blue. Belle was a fair queen lily In her drapings of satin and lace. The pearls at her throat were no whiter Than the hue of her beautiful face. The fair hands were laden with Jewels, And gems in the golden hair. But the blue eyes! ah. there was the story Of anguish and utter despair.i But the picture of dear little Bertha Had roses Instead' of the pearls; Her dimpled cheeks vied with the flowers. And sunshine seemed caught In ber curls. The blue eyes were peaceful and ten-, der. And sweet Is the story they tell. For true love was given to Bertha. And title and homage to Belle. I Then there was a letter from Willie, The darling first-born son. Written beside the campflre After the battle was done. 'Twaj a letter of hope to mother And a prayer for the cause of the right. For Willie would lead the battle In tomorrow's desperate fight. That letter tells half the story And here is the other part. This hard-earned badge dyed crimson By the blood of his loyal heart. He wore It but once in battle, When bravely he fell at hla post. And the badge was brought home by a comrade To her who loved him most. They found a quaint gold locket Tha grandmother used to wear. With its tresses of raven and silver That were clipped from grandpa's hair. But the quaint old-fashioned treasures Were far too ecred for play. For a Joy or a grief seemed blended With all that was laid away. And so, as In sober silence They searched the old chest through. Grief came to the haughty dark eyes And tears to the eyes of blue. With a sob and a stifled murmur They closed the heavy chest And the treasures, like her who prized them. Were left in peace to rest. THE NAME OF OLD GLORY. Old glory, say. who Bv the ships and the crew And the long, blended ranks of the" gray and the blue. Who gave you. old glory, the name that you bear With such pride everywhere. As you cast yourself free to the rap turous air And leap out full length, as we're want ing you to? Who gave you that name, with the ring of the same. And the honor and fame so becoming to youT Who gave you the name of Old Glory? Say. who Who gave you the name of Old Glory? Old Glory, the story we're wanting to hear Is what the plain facts of your christ ening were. For your name Just to hear It. Repeat it and cheer it. is a tang to the spirit. As salt as a tear; And seeing you fly, and the boys marching by. There's a shout In the throat and a blur In the eye And an aching to live for y.ou always or die. If dying, we still keep you waving on high. And so. by our love For you. floating above. And the scar of all wars and the sor rows thereof. Who gave you the name of Old Glory, and why Are we thrilled at the name of Old Glory? Then the old banner leaped, like a sail In the blast. And fluttered an audible answer at last. And It spake, with a shake of the voice, and It said: By the driven snow-white and the living blood-red Of my bars, and their heaven of stars overhead By the symbol conjoined of them all, skyward cast. As I float from the steeple, or flap at the mast. . Or droop o'er the sod where the long grasses nod My name Is as old as the glory of God. So I came hv the name of Old Glory. JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY. K. A, Ellis, of Nswberg, furnishes a copy of "The Bright Sunny South." for w hich one of our readers asked. TUB IIKIGHT Sl'.NSY SOUTII. The bright Sunny South was In peace) and content, Tho years of my childhood were carelessly spent. From a broad spreading plain to a deep rolling stream. Ever dear to my mem'ry, ever seen la my dream. From sister and parents I once bad to part, Tho my wife and my children wert dearest to my heart; I never shall forget when I shook them by the haud And started in defense of my owti native land. My father looked sad when be bad me depart. My mother embraced ma with anguish of heart, Tet she kissed me and blessed me and told me to go. My tlful sister stood pale In her Oh, father, dear father, for me do not " weep, " Tho my body In some foreign country 1 may sleep. As for danger of war I expect for to snare. And for sickness and death I Intend to prepare. Oh. mother, dear mother, for me do not " weerv For a mother's kind advice I forever shall keep; Tou have tauaht me to be brave from childhood to a man. Now I'm going In defense of my own native land. Oh, sister, dear sister, I cannot hear your woo. Tour tears and your sorrow they trouble Ine so. And now I must be going, for here I cannot stay. I'm going In defense of my own country, I left a dear companion, my heart's rol.ir Star, She's more beautiful than others, more precious by far. She embraced mo when we parted and cnargeu me not to stay. At the call of my country i hastened away. The time Will Soon come oh bAW aaam' snail tt be. When from rebels and traitors our country will be free. When the war is all o'er and ur country shall ba free. And will hasten to our loved ones still grieving to see. Til 1-2 ROYS. By Oliver Wendell Holmes. Has there any old fellow got mixed wun the boys? If there has. taka him out without making a noise. Hang th? almanac's cheat and the cata logue's spite! Old Time Is a liar! We're twenty to- nifrnt. We're twenty! we're twenty! Who says we are more? He's tipsy Voting Jackanapes! Show him the door! Gray temples at twenty? Tes! white If you please. Where the snowflakes fall thickest there s nothing can freezel Was It snowin? I spoke of? Excuse tha mistakel Look close you will see not a sign of a llaKel We want some new garlands for those we have shed. And these aro white roses in place of uue rco. We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have told. Of talking (in public) as if we were old! That boy we call "Doctor" and thla we csll "Judge." It's a neat little fiction of course It's all fudge. That fellow's the "Speaker," the one on the right; Mr. Mayor." my young one, how are you tonight? That's our "Member of Congress," we say ween we chafr: There's the "Reverend" what's hla name? don t make me laugh. That boy with the grave, mathematical look Made believe he had written a wonder ful book And the Royal Society thought It w-aa true! So they chose him right In a good joke it was, too! There's a boy, we pretend, with a three decker brain That could harness a team with a logical chain; When he spoke of our manhood In syllabled fire We called him "The Justice." but now he's "The 6nuire." And there's a nice youngster of excel lent pith; Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith! But ho ; homed a song for the brave and the free Just read on his medal, "My Country . VI U1UDI Tou hear that boy laughing? Tou think he's all fun. But the an cel. laugh, toj, at the good he has done. The children laugh loud as they troop to his call. And the poor man that knows laughs loudest of all! Tes. we're boys, always playing with tongue or with pen. And I sometimes have asked, shall we ever be men? Shall we always be youthful and laughing and gay. Till the Inst dear companion drops smiling away? Then here's to our boyhood. Its gold and its gray I The stars of lis Winter, the dews of its May! And when we have done with our life-lasting toys. iear ratner, tane care or iny children, the boys. Contributed by Clara D. (Mitchell. The following Is from a collection of clippings sent in by Mrs. W. L. Joynt. of Aberdeen: QUARRELS. There's a knowing little proverb From the sunny land of Spain: But in Northland as in Southland Is its meaning clear and plain. Lock it up within your heart. Neither lose nor lend it Two it takes to make a quarrel; One can ulwtyt end it. Try it well In every way. Still you'll find It true: In a fight without a foe Pray whet could you do? If the wrath l yours alone Soon you will expend It Two it takes to make a quarrel. One can always end It. Let's suppos that both are wroth. And the strife begun; If one shall cry for "peace," Soon it will he done. If but one shall span the breach. no Mill iiuittvi j menu 11 One can always end it.