I can see him; not as when strong and light
Of foot he played with the children here,
But radiant with heavenly life and joy,
For the loving eyes of my angel boy

Can never grow dim with pain or tear.

I shall meet him again on that heavenly height,
For his light shall lead me along the way;
When the task that is given to me is done,
When the strife is ended, the battle won,
I shall greet him there in the perfect day.

"Margaret Holland."

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

Up from the meadows, rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,

The clustering spires of Frederick stand,
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.

Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,

Fair as a garden of the Lord

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall,
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall-

Over the mountains, winding down,

Horse and foot into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,

Flapped in the morning wind; the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with four-score years and ten;

Bravest of all in Fredericktown,

She took up the flag the men hauled down;

In her attic window the flag she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet,

Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat, left and right,
He glanced-the old flag met his sight;

"Halt !"-the dust-brown ranks stood fast. "Fire!" out-blazed the rifle blast;

It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.

Quick as it fell from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched at the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window sill
And shook it forth with a royal will;

"Shoot, if you must, this old, gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;

The noble nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word:

"Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.

All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet;

All day long that free flag tossed
Over the heads of the rebel host.

Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well;

And through the hill-gaps, sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.

Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,

And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Frietchie's grave,

Flag of freedom and union, wave!

Peace, and order, and beauty, draw
Round thy symbols of light and law;

And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town.

John G. Whittier.

A FEARFUL OPERATION.

Dr. Wagner put on a doleful look as he said there would be a serious operation at his house that afternoon.

"I do not suppose you will perform it," said the hardware man. "No," said Wagner, "it is too difficult for me,”—an admission that he rarely made in public. "What is the nature of it?" said the hardware man. "Well, sir," said the doctor, "my wife is going to have her kimona cut out." "What is that?" said the hardware man. “Why it is something that covers no part of the body, and touches nowhere."

B. W. Payne.

AULD LANG SYNE.

Favorite selection of Joel Chandler Harris (Uncle Remus) and by him contributed

Chorus:

Chorus.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to min'?
Should suld acquaintance be forgot
And days o' auld lang syne?

For auld lang syne, my dear,

For auld lang syne,

We'll tak a cup 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' suld lang syne.

Chorus.

Chorus.

We twa hae paidl't i̇' the burn
From morning sun till dine;

But seas between us braid hae roared
Sin' auld lang syne.

And here's a hand my trusty fiere,
And gie's a hand o' thine,

And we'll tak a right guid willie-waught,
For auld lang syne.

And surely ye'll be your pint-stoup,
And surely I'll be mine;

And we'll tak a cup o' kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Chorus.

Robert Burns.

MAY IT BE EVER THUS.

The following lines may not be of use to you, but express in simple language a sentiment worth remembering, one which any citizen would do well to think of when patriotic thoughts enter his mind, hoping that "May it be ever thus":

No North, no South, no East, no West,

But One great nation Heaven blest.

Respectfully yours,

Chas. B. Thompson, Rutland, Vt.