Scaring the whip-po-wills among the trees
With rhymes like these:--[Sings.]

"See the Yankees

Leave the hill,

With baggernetts declining,
With lopped-down hats
And rusty guns,

And leather aprons shining.

"See the Yankees-Whoa! Why, what is that?"

Said Abel, staring like a cat,

As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode

Into the middle of the road.

"My conscience! what a suit of clothes!

Some crazy fellow, I suppose.

Hallo! friend, what's your name? by the powers of gin,
That's a strange dress to travel in."

"Be silent, Abel; for I now have come

To read your doom;

Then hearken, while your fate I now declare.

I am a spirit"-"I suppose you are;

But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why:
Here is a fact which you can not deny ;—
All spirits must be either good

Or bad, that's understood,

--

And be you good or evil, I am sure
That I'm secure.

If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil,-
And I don't know but you may be the Devil,-
If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy,
That I am married to your sister Nancy!"

OPPORTUNITY FOR WORK.-Geo. R. Russell.

EXAMPLES of greatness and goodness before us, bid us work, and the changing present offers ample opportunity. Around us, everywhere, the new crowds aside the old. Improvement steps by seeming perfection. Discovery upsets theories and clouds over established systems. The usages of one generation become matters of tradition, for the amusement of the next. Innovation rises on the site of homes reverenced for early associations. Science can scarcely keep pace with the names of publications, qualifying or abrogating the past. Machinery becomes old iron, as its upstart successor usurps its place. The new ship dashes scornfully by the naval prodigy of last year, and the steamer laughs at them both. The railroad engine, as it rushes by the crumbling

banks of the canal, screams out its mockery at the barge rotting piecemeal. The astronomer builds up his hypothesis, and is comforting himself among the nebula, when invention comes to the rescue; the gigantic telescope points upward, and lo! the raw material of which worlds are manufactured becomes the centres of systems blazing in the infinite heavens, and the defeated theorizer retreats into space, with his speculations, to be again routed, when human ingenuity shall admit us one hair-breadth further into creation.

There is no effort of science or art that may not be exceeded; no depth of philosophy that cannot be deeper sounded; no flight of imagination that may not be passed by strong and soaring wing.

All nature is full of unknown things; earth, air, water, the fathomless ocean, the limitless sky, lie almost untouched before us. What has hitherto given prosperity and distinction, has not been more open to others than to us; to no one, past or present, more than to the student going forth from the school-room to-morrow.

Let not, then, the young man sit with folded hands, calling on Hercules. Thine own arm is the demigod. It was given thee to help thyself. Go forth into the world trustful, but fearless. Exalt thine adopted calling or profession. Look on labor as honorable, and dignify the task before thee, whether it be in the study, office, counting-room, work-shop, or furrowed field. There is an equality in all, and the resolute will and pure heart may ennoble either.

THE BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.

To wed; or not to wed; that is the question :—
Whether 'tis nobler in a man to suffer

The slings and sorrows of that blind young archer;
Or fly to arms against a host of troubles,

And, at the altar, end them. To woo-to wed-
No more; and by this step to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand hopes and fears
The single suffer-'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To woo-to wed-
To wed-perchance repent!-aye, there's the rub;
For in that wedded state, what woes may come
When we have launched upon that untried sea
Must give us pause; there's the respect
That makes celibacy of so long life;

For who would bear the quips and jeers of friends,
The husband's pity, and the coquette's scorn,

The vacant hearth, the solitary cell,
The unshared sorrows and the void within,
When he himself might his redemption gain
With a fair damsel. Who would beauty shun
To toil and plod over a barren heath;
But that the dread of something yet beyond-
The undiscovered country, from whose bourne
No bachelor returns-puzzles the will,

And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of!
Thus forethought does make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution

Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And numberless flirtations, long pursued,
With this regard, their currents turn awry
And lose the name of marriage.

COLONEL HALPINE'S POEM, READ AT THE FOUNDING OF THE GETTYSBURG MONUMENT.

As men beneath some pang of grief,
Or sudden joy will dumbly stand,
Finding no words to give relief

Clear, passion-warm, complete and brief
To thoughts with which their souls expand,
So here to-day, those trophies nigh,
No fitting words our lips can reach;
The hills around, the graves, the sky,
The silent poem of the eye,
Surpasses all the art of speech!

To-day a nation meets to build
A nation's trophy to the dead,

Who, living, formed her sword and shield,
The arms she sadly learned to wield,
When other hope of peace had fled;
And not alone for those who be
In honored graves before us blest,
Shall our proud column broad and high,
Climb upward to the blessing sky,
But be for all a monument.

An emblem of our grief as well
For others, as for these, we raise;
For these beneath our feet who dwell,
And all who in the good cause fell,
On other fields in other frays.
To all the self-same love we bear

Which here for marbled memory strives;
No soldier for a wreath would care,
Which all true comrades might not share,
Brothers in death as in their lives.

On southern hill-sides, parched and brown,
In tangled swamps, on verdant ridge,
Where pines and broadening oaks look down,
And jasmine weaves its yellow crown,
And trumpet creepers clothe the hedge,
Along the shores of endless sand,
Beneath the palms of Southern plains,

Sleep everywhere, hand locked in hand,

The brothers of the gallant band

Who here poured life through throbbing veins.

Around the closing eyes of all,

The same red glories glared and flew;

The hurrying flags, the bugle call,
The whistle of the angry ball,
The elbow-touch of comrade true,
The skirmish fire, a spattering spray,
The long sharp growl of fire by file,
The thick'ning fury of the fray
When opening batteries get in play,
And the lines form o'er many a mile.

The foeman's yell, our answering cheer,
Red flashes through the gathering smoke,
Swift orders, resonant and clear,

Blithe cries from comrades, tried and dear
The shell-scream and the sabre stroke,
The volley fire, from left to right,
From right to left, we hear it swell,
The headlong charges, swift and bright,
The thickening tumult of the fight,
And bursting thunders of the shell.

Now closer, denser, grows the strife,
And here we yield, and there we gain;
The air with hurtling missiles rife,
Volley for volley, life for life;
No time to heed the cries of pain.
Panting, as up the hills we charge,
Or down them as we broken roll,
Life never felt so high, so large,
And never o'er so wide a range
In triumph swept the kindling soul.

New raptures waken in the breast,
Amid this hell of scene and sound,
The barking batteries never rest,
And broken foot, by horsemen pressed,

Still stubbornly contest their ground;
Fresh waves of battle rolling in,
To take the place of shattered waves;
Torn lines that grow more bent and thin,
A blinding cloud, a maddening din,
'Twas then we filled these very graves.

Night falls at length with pitying veil, A moonlit silence, deep and fresh. These upturned faces, stained and pale, Vainly the chill night dews assail; Far colder than the dews their flesh. And flickering far, through brush and wood, Go searching parties, torch in hand. Seize if you can some rest and food, At dawn the fight will be renewed, "Sleep on arms!" the hushed command.

They talk in whispers as they lie

In line, these rough and weary men. "Dead or but wounded?" then a sigh; "No coffin either?" "Guess will try To get those two guns back again." "We've five flags to their one, oho!" "That bridge! 'Twas not there as we passed;" 66 The Colonel dead? It can't be so. Wounded, badly, that I know,

But he kept saddle to the last."

"Be sure to send it if I fall;"

Any tobacco? Bill, have you?"

"A brown-hair'd, blue-eyed, laughing doll;" "Good-night, boys, and God keep you all." What, sound asleep? Guess I'll sleep too." 'Aye, just about this hour they pray

For dad." "Stop talking, pass the word "
And soon as quiet as the clay

Which thousands will but be next day,
The long-drawn sighs of sleep are heard.

Oh! men, to whom this sketch, though rude,
Calls back some scene of pain and pride;
Oh! widow, hugging close your brood,
Oh! wife, with happiness renewed,
Since he again is at your side;
This trophy that to-day we raise
Should be a monument for all,
And on its side no niggard phrase
Confine a generous nation's praise

To those who here have chanced to fall.