MEIN VAMILY. Dimpled sheeks, mit eyes of blue, Und leedle teeth shust peekin' droo— Curly hed und full of glee, Drowsers all oudt at der knee He vas peen playin' horse you see→→ Von hundred seexty in der shade, Bare-footed hed, und pooty stoudt, Von schmall young baby, full of fun, YAWCOB STRAUS THE LABORER. [This piece, so full of true manliness and noble sentiment, should be delivered in a voice above the ordinary conversational style of speaking, though avoiding too loud a tone. The speaker is supposed to be reasoning with his auditor, hence should use somewhat of an appealing tone.] Stand up, erect! Thou hast the form And likeness of thy God!-who more? Of daily life, a heart as warm What then?—Thou art as true a man Who is thine enemy? the high If true unto thyself thou wast, What were the proud one's scorn to thee A feather, which thou mightest cast Aside, as idly as the blast The light leaf from the tree. No!-uncurbed passions, low desires, Death, in the breast's consuming fires, These are thine enemies-thy worst; O stand erect! and from them burst! Thou art thyself thine enemy! The great!-what better they than thou? As theirs, is not thy will as free? Has God with equal favors thee Neglected to endow? True, wealth thou hast not!-'tis but dust! Nor place, uncertain as the wind! But that thou hast, which, with thy crust And water may despise the lust Of both a noble mind! With this, and passions under ban, WILLIAM D. GALLAGHER. WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE. [These exquisite lines were suggested by the following incident: Mr. Morris accompanied a young man to his former home, which had been an earthly paradise; but, owing to the father's indorsement for others, this home had been swept away and the family scattered,-all its members had died except this son, who having gained a fortune, returned to the scenes of his youth. Approaching his old home, he saw a woodman standing by the "aged oak" near the old cottage, sharpening his axe. Putting spurs to his horse, he rode swiftly up and accosted him thus: "What are you going to do?" "I intend to cut down this tree," replied the woodman. "What for?" "I want it for fire wood." "If you want fire wood," said the stranger, "why did you not go to yonder forest, and let this old oak stand?" "You see I am an old man," replied the woodman, "and I have not strength to bring my wood so far." "If I will give you enough money to hire as much wood brought to your door, as this tree will make, will you forever let it stand?" The woodman replied, "Yes." They executed a bond that the tree should remain; and the stranger turned to Col. Morris, and said, with a generous tear sparkling in his eye, "In youth it sheltered me, and I'll protect it now." It affected the poet deeply, and on his return to New York, he wrote this beautiful and affecting poem. When we become familiar with the circumstances under which it was written, it breathes a charm over the cold realities of life.] Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! Thy axe shall harm it not! That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown And wouldst thou hew it down? Cut not its earth-bound ties; O spare that aged oak, Now towering to the skies! When but an idle boy I sought its grateful shade; Here, too, my sisters played. My father pressed my hand- But let that old oak stand! My heart-strings round thee cling, And still thy branches bend. Old tree! the storm still brave! And woodman, leave the spot; Thy axe shall harm it not. GEORGE P. MORRIS. THE VETERAN SOLDIERS. [In 1876 Col. Ingersoll was a delegate to the National Republican Convention in Cincinnati, and electrified the members of the whole country by his eloquent and masterly address in nominating Blaine. Subsequently he attended a grand Soldiers' and Sailors' Reunion at Indianapolis, and delivered an address, the closing paragraphs of which are here given. This address touched the hearts of millions throughout the land who had lost loved ones in the war for the nation's honor.] The past, as it were, rises before me like a dream. Again we are in the great struggle for national life. We hear the sound of preparation-the music of the boisterous drums-the silver voices of heroic bugles. We see thousands of assemblages, and hear the appeals of orators; we see the pale cheeks of women and the flushed faces of men; and in those assemblages we see all the dead whose dust we have covered with flowers. We lose sight of them no more. We are with them when they enlist in the great army of freedom. We see them part with those they love. Some are walking for the last time in quiet woody places with the maidens they adore. We hear the whisperings and the sweet vows of eternal love, as they lin geringly part forever. Others are bending over cradles, kissing babes that are asleep. Some are receiving the blessings of old men. Some are parting with mothers who hold them and press them to their hearts again and again, and say nothing; and some are talking with wives, and endeavoring with brave words spoken in the old tones to drive away the awful fear. We see them part. We see the wife standing in the door with the babe in her arms-standing in the sunlight sobbing-at the turn of the road a hand waves-she answers by holding high in her loving hands the child. He is gone, and forever! We see them all as they march proudly away under the flaunting flags, keeping time to the wild, grand music of war-marching down the streets of the great cities-through the towns and across the prairies-down to the fields of glory, to do and to die for the eternal right. We go with them, one and all. We are by their side on all the gory fields, in all the hospitals of pain, on all the weary marches. We stand guard with them in the wild storm, and under the quiet stars. We are with them in ravines running with blood—in the furrows of old fields. We are with them between contending hosts, unable to move, wild with thirst, the life ebbing slowly away among the withered leaves. We see them pierc d by balls and torn with shells in the trenches of forts, and in the whirlwind of the charge, where men become iron with nerves of steel. We are with them in the prisons of hatred and famine, but human speech can never tell what they endured. We are at home when the news comes that they are dead. We see the maiden in the shadow of her sorrow. We see the silvered head of the old man bowed with the last grief The past rises before us, and we see four millions of human beings governed by the lash-we see them bound hand and foot - we hear the strokes of cruel whips-we see the hounds tracking women through tangled swamps. We see babes sold from the breasts of mothers. Cruelty unspeakable! Outrage infinite! Four million bodies in chains-four million souls in fetters. All the sacred relations of wife, mother, father and child, trampled beneath the brutal feet of might. And all this was done under our own beautiful banner of the free. The past rises before us. We hear the roar and shriek of the bursting shell. The broken fetters fall. There heroes died. We look. Instead of slaves we see men, and women, and children. The wand of progress touches the auction-block, the slave-pen, and the whipping-post, and we see homes and firesides, and schoolhouses |