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Thy name shall be forgotten when in endless night 'tis

tossed, As e'en, forever, dying groans in empty air are lost!” The old man thus invoked, and lo! the heavens' dread an

swer falls: The walls are lying low in dust, demolished are the halls; Not one high column witness bears of all that vanished

prideE'en these, once lying shattered, now in deep oblivion hide. Instead of fragrant gardens see a desolate, barren landNo tree dispensing shadow there, no spring bursts through

the sand; No songs nor books of brave exploits that king's name now

rehearse All are vanished and forgotten. Behold the minstrel's

curse!

GOIN' SOMEWHERE.-M. QUAD. He had been to town-meeting, had once voyaged a hun dred miles on a steamboat, and had a brother who had made che overland trip to California.

She had been to quiltings, funerals, and a circus or two; and she knew a woman who thought nothing of setting out on a railroad journey where she had to wait fifteen minutes at a junction, and change cars at a depot.

So I found them,-a cozy-looking old couple, sitting up very straight in their seats, and trying to act like old railroad travelers. A shadow of anxiety suddenly crossed her face: she became uneasy, and directly she asked,

Philetus, I act'lly b'leeve we've went and taken the wrong train!”

“It can't be, nohow,” he replied, seeming a little startled. “Didn't I ask the conductor, and he said we was right?”

“Yaas, he did; but look out the window, and make sure. He might have been lyin' to us."

The old man looked out of the window at the flitting fences, the galloping telegraph-poles, and the unfamiliar fields, as if expecting to catch sight of some landmark, and forgetting for a moment that he was a thousand miles from home.

“I guess we're all right, Mary," he said, as he drew in his head.

"Ask somebody-ask that man there,” she whispered.

“This is the train for Chicago, hain't it?” inquired the old man, of the passenger in the next seat behind.

“This is the train," replied the man.
“There! didn't I say so ?” clucked the old gent.

" It may be-it may be!" she replied, dubiously; " but if we are carried wrong, it won't be my fault. I say that we are wrong, and when we've been led into some pirate's cave, and butchered for our money, ye'll wish ye had heeded my words!”

He looked out of the window again, opened his mouth as if to make some inquiry of a boy sitting on the fence, and then leaned back in his seat, and sighed heavily. She shut her teeth together, as if saying that she could stand it if he could, and the train sped along for several miles. He final ly said,

“Looks like rain, over thar in the west. I hope the boys have got them oats in.”

“That makes me think of the umbereller!” diving her hands among the parcels at their feet.

She hunted around two or three minutes, growing red in the face, and then straightened up and hoarsely whispered,

" It's gone!”
“ W-what?” he gasped.
“That umbereller!”
“No!”

“Gone, hide and hair!” so she went on,“ that sky-blur umbereller, which I've had ever since Martha died !”

He searched around, but it was not to be found.
" Waal, that's queer,” he mused, as he straightenod up.

“Queer! not a bit. I've talked to ye and talked to ye, but it does no good. Ye come from a heedless fam'ly; and ye'd forget to put on yer boots, 'f I didn't tell ye to.”

“None of the Harrisons was ever in the poorhouse," he replied, in a cutting tone.

" Philetus! Philetus H. Harrison!” she continued, laying her hand on his arm, “ don't you dare twit me of that again! I've lived with ye nigh on to forty years, and waited on ye when ye had biles and the toothache and the colic, and

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when ye fell and broke yer leg; but don't push me up to the wall!"

He looked out of the window, feeling that she had the advantage of him, and she wiped her eyes, settled her glasses on her nose, and used up the next fifteen minutes in thinking of the past. Feeling thirsty, she reached down among the bundles, searched around, and her face was as pale as death as she straightened back and whispered, -

"And that's gone, too!”
“What now?” he asked.

“It's been stole!” she exclaimed, looking around the car, as if expecting to see some one with the bottle to his lips.

Fust the umbereller-then the bottle!” she gasped. “I couldn't have left it, could I?

“Don't ask me! That bottle has been in our family twenty years, ever since mother died; and now it's gone! Land only knows what I'll do for a camfire bottle when we git home, if we ever do!”

“I'll buy one.”

“Yes, I know ye are always ready to buy; and if it wasn't for me to restrain ye, the money'd fly like feathers in the wind.”

Waal, I didn't have to mortgage my farm,” he replied, giving her a knowing look.

“Twitting agin? It isn't enough that you've lost a good nmbereller and a camfire bottle; but you must twit me o' this and that."

Her nose grew red and tears came to her eyes; but, as he was looking out of the window, she said nothing further. Ten or fifteen minutes passed; and, growing restless, he called out to a man across the aisle,

“What's the sile around here?

“Philetus! Philetus H. Harrison! stop your noise!” she whispered, poking him with her elbow.

“I just asked a question,” he replied, resuming his old position.

“What'd your brother Joab tell ye, the last thing afore we left hum?” she asked. “ Didn't he say somebody'd swindle ye on the string game, the confidence game, or some other game? Didn't he warn ye agin rascals ?

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* I hain't seen no rascals."

"Of course ye havn't, 'cause yer blind! I know that that man is a villun; and if they don't arrest him for murder afore we leave this train, I'll miss my guess. I can read human natur' like a book.”

There was another period of silence, broken by her saying, “I wish I knew that this was the train for Chicago." “ 'Course it is." “How do you know?” “'Cause it is."

Waal, I know it hain't; but if you are contented to rush along to destruction, I shan't say a word. Only when yer throat is being cut, don't call out that I didn't warn ye!”

The peanut boy came along, and the old man reached down for his wallet.

" Philetus, ye shan't squander that money after peanuts!” she exclaimed, using the one hand to catch his arm, and the other to wave the boy on.

“ Didn't I earn it?

“Yaas, you sold two cows to get money to go on this visit; but it's half gone now, and the land only knows how we'll get home!”

The boy passed on and the flag of truce was hung out for another brief time. She recommenced hostilities by remarking,

“I wish I hadn't cum."
He looked up, and ther out of the window.

“I know what ye want to say,” she hissed; "but it's a blessed good thing for you that I did come! If ye'd come alone, ye'd have been murdered and gashed and scalped, and sunk into the river afore now !”

“ Pooh!” “ Yes, pooh, 'f ye want to, but I know!" He leaned back; she settled herself anew; and by and by, He noddedShe nodded

And, in sleep, their gray heads touched; and his arm found its way along the back of the seat, and his hand rested on her shoulder. It was only their way.

- Hearth and Ilome.

SCATTER THE GERMS OF THE BEAUTIFUL.

Scatter the germs of the beautiful,

By the wayside let them fall,
That the rose may spring by the cottage gate,

And the vine on the garden wall;
Cover the rough and the rude of earth

With a veil of leaves and flowers,
And mark with the opening bud and cup

The march of summer hours !
Scatter the germs of the beautiful

In the holy shrine of home; Let the pure, and the fair, and the graceful there

In the loveliest lustre come;
Leave not a trace of deformity

In the temple of the heart,
But gather about its hearth the gems

Of nature and of art!
Scatter the germs of the beautiful

In the temples of our God-
The God who starred the uplifted sky,

And flowered the trampled sod!
When he built a temple for himself,

And a home for his priestly race, He reared each arm in symmetry,

And covered each line in grace.
Scatter the germs of the beautiful

In the depths of the human soul!
They shall bud, and blossom, and bear the fruit,

While the endless ages roll;
Plant with the flowers of charity

The portals of the tomb,
And the fair and pure about thy path

In Paradise shall bloom.

THE BALLAD OF BABIE BELL.-T. B. ALDRICH.

Have you not heard the poets tell
How came the dainty Babie Bell

Into this world of ours?
The gates of heaven were left ajar;
With folded hands and dreamy eyes,
Wandering out of Paradise,
She saw this planet, like a star,

Hing in the glistening depths of even

GGAG

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