Then, from the shore I heard a shout, "Fall in," she cried, " and you will see It seems that somewhere up the shore, Well, on we went, with laughter loud, A common echo; but this maid One asked: "Is drinking whisky wrong?" "When you are dry-dry," the quick reply. Came quicker than the one before. "Shall temperance sometime win the day?" "Win the day-day," we heard her say. 'And prohibition by and by?" "By and by," the quick reply. "Then our duty? tell us, pray!" 66 Pray-pray," was all we heard her say, "But there is also work to do!" "Work to do-do," so clear, that you And pray-believing firm and sure HEART VENTURES. I stood and watched my ships go out,→ The first that sailed, her name was Joy; Another sailed, her name was Hope; The next that sailed, her name was Love; A flag as red as blood she showed The last that sailed, her name was Faith; My gallant ships they sailed away Over the shimmering summer sea, For Joy was caught by Pirate Pain, Faith came at last, stormbeat and torn, For as a cargo, safe she bore A crown linked with a cross, NOLA KOZMO.-BAINE. There stood a young form in the mild Was lingering in the eastern sky, Looking its last ere it should set, Like some love-fraught but earth-dim eye: The trees waved stilly in the wind, And wild birds sang in their green homes enshrined Calmly that youthful form stood there, A mantle o'er his shoulders flung, Wrapped in his thoughts of grief or crime; Waved round his face their lustrous prime. A stern voice cried from out the band; An upward trembling of his gaze, A motion of those small round lips, A flutter of those dark eyes' rays, Like stars beneath a cloud's eclipse, That pale sad brow one moment bared, The prisoner bowed his head and stood prepared. There was a pause,-a deathly pause; The still soft wind crept murmuring past, Each heart a fuller breathing draws, The mantle's folds aside are cast, And, as the bosom gleams to view, He sank like flowers at set of sun. They raised him, life's streams gushing warm, 1 "I thank thee, Heaven," her faint lips spake, No father's sigh, no mother's tear." Dabbled in gore, around her swim. And, backward dashed, the crowd retired, "Nola," he cried, "how, how is this? Ah, me! earth drinks her heart's dear rain !" And question those white lips in vain. This arm you knew, and feared it wellCowards"-a bullet winged its way He reeled and by the maiden fell: They laid them both in one red grave, And summer flowers o'er their slumbers wave. ELOQUENCE THAT PERSUADES.-GOETHE. Persuasion, friend, comes not by wit or art, 'Tis the live fountain in the speaker's heart Sends forth the streams that melt the ravished hearer Then work away for life, heap book on book, Line upon line, and precept on example The stupid multitude may gape and look, And fools may think your stock of wisdom ample, But would you touch the heart, the only method known My worthy friend, is first to have one of your own. A PIKE COUNTY WEDDING. An amusing incident related by "Uncle Ira Chrisman" of Blooming Grove, I used to marry a good many folks when I was Justice of the peace. They generally wanted to get spliced on the Fourth of July or Christmas. They'd come in from the woods, the fellow and his girl both riding on a load of hoop-poles or tan bark, and sometimes holding themselves on to a three-foot log that a yoke of oxen was snaking in from a bark peeling. One Fourth of July I took for wedding fees a coonskin, two railroad ties, three dozen hoop-poles, twenty-five cents in pennies, two quarts of low-bush huckleberries, and a promise to vote for me when I was a candidate. But that was an unusually good Fourth for fees. The couples that I'd hitch, taking the average run of 'em, would most likely say: "Well, now, 'squire, we'em much obleeged. When ye come 'long our way, 'squire, drop in and we'll flop an extry slapjack." But I never hankered after slapjacks with salt pork gravy and molasses, so those fees are yet to come in. One day I was sitting in my office, when in walked a big, strapping hoop-pole cutter and bark forager from 'way back 'o the Knob. He had his daughter with him. The girl's name was Mag. Mag was about nineteen, but, stars alive! she was near six feet high, and I'll bet she could lift a barrel of flour over a seven-rail fence. She was pretty good looking for all that. "Busy, 'squire?" asked the old man. "Not particular," I said. "Wall, 'squire, I s'pose you know that Jerry Elwine's got the best groun'-hog dog they is in the hull Knob kentry, don't you?" "I never heard of Jerry Elwine or his ground-hog dog," said I, plaguey mad because Mag had sot down on a straw hat of mine that I wouldn't have taken a dollar note for. |