THE COUNTRY DANCE.—Joe Jot, Jr.

"Take your places." Goodness gracious,
Don't go like a flock of geese!
"Honors all." Keziah Muggins,
Take your hat off, if you please.

"Forward four and back again."
Jerry, round the other way!
"Balance all." Jake, how you topple,
Have you lost your balance, say?
"Lemonade all." Bless me, Hiram,
Don't kick up your heels so high!
"Swing your partners." Jolin and Sally,
Stop your kissin' on the sly.

"Right and left all round." Not that way,
You are getting mixed up there.

Sashay all." Your cornfield gaiters
Make more noise than I can bear.

"Forward two and back again."

Jim, don't throw yourself away! "Dos-a-dos." Don't get excited: Keep your coats on, boys, I pray.

"Gentlemen balance to the right." There, you all are jumping wrong! "Half lemonade." Uriah Williams,

Don't you think you're going it strong?

"Hands all round." Now mind your eye there,

Jake, you have never danced before.

"Ladies change." Oh, Polly Simmons,

There you go upon the floor!

"Forward four and back again,”—
Stop, until I rosin my bow.
"Ladies balance to the right."

Caleb Short, don't stub your toe.

"Gentlemen balance to the left."
Snap, there goes my little string.
"Balance to your partners." So,―
Hez, quit pinching Polly King.

"Lemonade all." It's getting hot here.
Cale, you dance like climbing up-stairs.
"Ladies-" There, my E string's busted,-
"Swing your partners to their chairs."

.

THE PRIDE OF BATTERY B.-F. H. GASSAWAY.

South Mountain towered upon our right, far off the river lay,
And over on the wooded height we held their lines at bay.
At last the muttering guns were still; the day died slow
and wan;

At last the gunners' pipes did fill, the sergeant's yarns began.
When, as the wind a moment blew aside the fragrant flood
Our brierwoods raised, within our view a little maiden stood.
A tiny tot of six or seven, from fireside fresh she seemed.
(Of such a little one in heaven one soldier often dreamed.)
And as we stared, her little hand went to her curly head
In grave salute. And who are you?" at length the ser-

geant said.

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"And where's your home?" he growled again. She lisped out, "Who is me?

Why, don't you know? I'm little Jane, the Pride of Battery B.

My home? Why, that was burned away, and pa and ma are dead;

And so I ride the guns all day along with Sergeant Ned. And I've a drum that's not a toy, a cap with feathers, too; And I march beside the drummer boy on Sundays at review. But now our 'bacca's all give out, the men can't have their smoke,

And so they're cross-why, even Ned won't play with me and joke.

And the big colonel said to-day-I hate to hear him swearHe'd give a leg for a good pipe like the Yank had over there. And so I thought when beat the drum, and the big guns were still,

I'd creep beneath the tent and come out here across the hill And beg, good Mister Yankee men, you'd give me some " Lone Jack.'

Please do when we get some again, I'll surely bring it back.
Indeed I will, for Ned-says he,-if I do what I say,
I'll be a general yet, maybe, and ride a prancing bay.".

We brimmed her tiny apron o'er; you should have heard her laugh

As each man from his scanty store shook out a generous half. To kiss the little mouth stooped down a score of grimy men, Until the sergeant's husky voice said, ""Tention squad!

and then

We gave her escort, till good-night the pretty waif we bid, And watched her toddle out of sight-or else 'twas tears

that hid

Her tiny form-nor turned about a man, nor spoke a word, Till after awhile a far, hoarse shout upon the wind we heard!

We sent it back, then cast sad eyes upon the scene around; A baby's hand had touched the ties that brothers once had bound.

That's all-save when the dawn awoke again the work of hell,

And through the sullen clouds of smoke the screaming missiles fell,

Our general often rubbed his glass, and marveled much to see Not a single shell that whole day fell in the camp of Battery B.

I'M WITH YOU ONCE AGAIN.-GEO. P. MORRIS.

I'm with you once again, my friends,
No more my footsteps roam;
Where it began my journey ends,
Amid the scenes of home.

No other clime has skies so blue,

Or streams so broad and clear,
And where are hearts so warm and true
As those that meet me here?

Since last, with spirits wild and free,
I pressed my native strand,

I've wandered many miles at sea,
And many miles on land:

I've seen fair regions of the earth

With rude commotion torn,

Which taught me how to prize the worth
Of that where I was born.

In other countries when I heard
The language of my own,

How fondly each familiar word

Awoke an answering tone!

But when our woodland songs were sung

Upon a foreign mart

The vows that faltered on the tongue

With rapture thrilled my heart!

My native land! I turn to you,

With blessing and with prayer,

Where man is brave and woman true,
And free as mountain air.

Long may our flag in triumph wave,
Against the world combined,

And friends a welcome-foes a grave,
Within our borders find.

THE TRUE TEMPLE.

Not where high towers rear
Their lofty heads above some costly fane,
Doth God our Heavenly Father only deign
Our humble prayers to hear,-

Not where the lapsing hours

The cankering footprints of the spoiler, time,
Are idly noted with a sounding chime,
From proud cathedral towers;

Not where the chiseled stone,

And shadowy niche, and shaft and architrave,
The dim old chancel, or the solemn nave
Seem vast and chill and lone;

Not 'neath the vaulted dome,
Or fretted roof, magnificently flung,

O'er cushioned seats, or curtained desks o'erhung With rare work of the loom;

Not where the sunlight falls

From the stained oriel with a chastened shade, O'er sculptured tombs where mighty ones are laid, Till the last trumpet calls;

Not where rich music floats

Through the hushed air until the soul is stirred As 'twere a chord from that bright land as heard When angels swell the notes.

Perchance 'tis well to raise

These palace temples, thus rich wrought, to Him Who 'midst His thousand thousand cherubims Can stoop to list our praise.

Yet when our spirits bow

And sue for mercy at His sacred shrine,
Can all the trappings of the teeming mine
Light up the darkened brow?

O no!-God may be there-
His smile may on such costly altars rest;
Yet are His humbler sanctuaries blest
With equal love and care.

Aye, wheresoe'er on earth
Or on the shore or on the far blue sea
His children, offspring of the true, may be,
There hath his spirit birth.

Our sins may be forgiven,

As, weak and few, our prayers go up to God;
E'en though our temple floor be earth's green sod,
Its roof the vault of heaven.

A KER CHEW DUET.

They had been keeping company a year. He told her Friday afternoon that he would be up early Sunday evening, as he had something of great importance to tell her, and a present to give her. With a woman's keen intuition she knew what that something of importance would be, and she looked forward to the hour with sweet expectations.

He was there on time, but hardly in the condition he desired. A heavy cold had tackled him the night before, and his eyes were red and inflamed, and his nose was nearly twice its usual size, and shone with a lustre that would have appeared to much better advantage on a doorplate. Singularly enough, the young lady was similarly conditioned. She ushered him into the parlor, and without any preliminary ceremony they were seated on the same sofa together. He took out his handkerchief and finding a dry section, wiped his nose. This reminded her of a duty she owed herself, and she attended to it at once. He held one of her hands in his, and his handkerchief in the other. Then he spoke:

"Susad, I cub to dide to dalk to you of subthig dearer-ah ah-ooh (a prompt application of the handkerchief cut off the eneeze in its bud) dearer to be thad libe-ah ah-thad id-00ooh-ker chew, ker chew, ker chew." A moment's pause. "I've god ad awful code," he explains, with due solemnity. "Sobe I," she replies.

A moment is devoted to the silent use of the handkerchiefs, and then he continues:

"Darlig, you bust have seed all the tibe how fudge-oohoon-ker (the handkerchief again saves him) how mudge I have thought ob you. Every hour ob the day or dide-ahah-ooh-ooh, ker chew, ker chew."

She wiped her eyes-and then her nose, and made an honest endeavor to look languishingly, but owing to the watery condition of the former, and the fiery glow of the latter, she appeared to an unhappy advantage. But he did not notice it.

"Susad," he began again, grasping her hand with fervor, and clutching his handkerchief with equal earnestness, “what

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