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Well knows the fair and friendly moon

The band that Marion leads,
The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb

Across the moonlit plain;
'Tis life to feel the night-wind

That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp-

A moment-and away
Back to the pathless forest,

Before the peep of day.
Grave men there are by broad Santee,

Grave men with hoary hairs;
Their hearts are all with Marion,

For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band

With kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer,

And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,

And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton

Forever from our shore.

SHE MEANT BUSINESS.

There is no reason why the inventor of a remedy to "cure the worst case of catarrh inside of five minutes " shouldn't feel it his duty to place a bottle of the same in every person's hand--"price twenty-five cents; no cure, no pay.” Therefore, the long-legged chap who pulled a door-bell on John R. Street yesterday had none of that timidity in his bearing which characterizes rag-buyers, lightning-rod men, and solicitors for the fire sufferers. He had a good thing, and he knew it, and he wanted other folks to know it. When the door opened and a hard-featured woman about forty years of age confronted him, he pleasantly went to business, and asked:

Madam, is your husband ever troubled with the catarrh?" “Can a man who has been dead seven years be troubled with the catarrh ?” she grimly replied.

“But the children are liable to be attacked at any hour this season,” he remarked.

“Whose children?" “Yours, madam."

“I never had any, sir! What brought you here, anyhow? Why do you come asking those questions ?”

“Madam, I have compounded a remedy for the catarrh. It is a good thing. I'll warrant it to knock any case of catarrh sky-high in less than five minutes." * Well, sir, what's all this to me?"

Why, madam-why-” he stammered. “Do I look as if I needed any catarrh remedies?” she demanded, as she stepped out on the platform.

“Madam, I would not for the world have you think that I thought you had the catarrh, but I suppose the fair and lovely can be attacked, as well as the strong and brave."

“And what have I got to do with all that rigmarole? Who are you, sir, and what do you want ?”

“Madam,” he whispered, backing down one step, “I have compounded a remedy for the catarrh." “Whose catarrh ?"

Madam, I am selling my catarrh_" “Where is your catarrh-where is it?" she interrupted. He got down on the second step and softly began :

"Madam, I have a sure cure for the catarrh, and I am selling lots of it.”

"Well, what do I care! Must you ring my door-bell to tell me that you are selling lots of catarrh medicine ?”

He got down on the walk, clear of the steps, and he tried hard to look beautiful around the mouth as he explained:

Madam, didn't I ask you if your husband was ever troubled with catarrh ?”

“Yes, sir, and didn't I reply that he was dead? Do you want to see his grave, sir ?”

“No, madam, I do not. I am sorry he's dead, but my catarrh remedy can't help him any. Good-by, madam.”

“Here, sir, hold on a minute!" she called,“ what was your business with me?"

“Why, I have a remedy for the catarrh.” "So you said before.” “I asked you if you didn't want to purchase, and—” “You are a falsifier, sir, you never asked me to purchase!" “Do-you-want-a--bottle ?” he slowly asked.

'Yes, sir: give me two of them: here's your money! Next time you want to sell your catarrh remedy, don't begin to talk around about the discovery of America. Here you've bothered me fifteen minutes, and put all my work behind, and it's good for you I didn't bring the broom to the door!"

He retreated backward through the gate, his left eye squinted up and his mouth open. He shut the gate, leaned over it and looked long at the front door. By-and-by he said: “Well, well! You can never tell where to find 'em."

- Detroit Free Press.

TALE OF A TEMPTATION.- ALICE HORTON.

His love was mine no more, mother, I saw it in his eyes;
I did not heed his tender words, I knew that they were lies;
I could not be deceived, mother, my love had made me wise.
You wondered why my cheek was pale; I would not tell a lie;
And yet how could I speak a truth which almost made

me die? So I lay on your heart and cried, mother, an exceeding bit

ter cry.

A maiden's heart is lightly won-he won mine in a day;
How could I know he wanted it to break and cast away?
He had such a noble face, mother, and yet he could betray.
My world had never seemed so fair-he was the world to me;
I feared no future day, because my only future he;
I Aed to him as to my rest, and loved him utterly.
There are who pray, “From sudden death deliver us, good

Lord.”
I dare not pray that prayer, lest God should take me at my

word, And send me awful lingering, with pains of death deferred. I saw the rosy dawn, mother, cloud over gradually; I saw the shadows deepen, and the last sunbeam fly; And then I said, “It is enough; would God that I could die!" He came at last to blame himself for having long delayed; I must not think he loved me less—“No, surely no,” he said; He kissed me with a Judas-kiss; I felt myself betrayed.

went by,

I would be strong, I would live on, and in the end forget; But sometimes, in the night, I woke and found my pillow wet, And knew that all the years to come would be a long regret. Soon tidings came that turned my love to gall and wounded

pride; He who had knelt, and sworn to love me only, none beside, Had pledged his perjured word again, and won another bride. I hated him, I bated her; I hugged my misery; I writhed against God, earth, and heaven; I cursed my sun

less skv. * They shall not build their bliss,” I cried,“ upon my agony." Then came a day, from weariness I slept till after dawn, And started at the clang of bells—it was his bridal-morn; The whole world seemed to keep a feast, and I was so forlorn. I watched the clock, I told each beat, and as the hours I knew I must have cherished hope, for some hope seemed

to die; They to be building up their bliss upon my misery. I would go gliding up the church, right to the altar-stair, And steal a spectre to the feast, and break upon the prayer, And throw him back his ring, in sight of all the people there. Small pity had he had for me, that I should spare his bride; Nay, I would laugh to see the girl grow pallid at his side. No mercy had been shown to me, I would show none, I cried. Then quick as thought, my cruel thought, I rushed into the

street, And plucked my shawl about my face, and never turned to

greet, But passed, like vengeance, through the crowd, with evil

wingéd feet. The solemn, solemn church, it soothed and healed me un

aware; The holy light came flooding in, like balm on my despair: How could I harbor evil thoughts when Jesus Christ was there? And then I heard the organ peal-no gorgeous burst of sound, But a low, pleading, human voice, scul-thrilling, passion

bound, That seemed to say, “My child is dead; behold the lost is

found!” I looked upon her face, poor bride! so young. so true. so fair, And blushing, half with love and half to see the peonle stare; I sank my shafts, I hid my face, and clasped my hands in I heard their vows, I heard his voice, I heard the priest who

prayer.

prayed. I suffered still, but, Christ be praised! the thunder-storin

was laid: God had said, “ Peace, be still," and lo! the stormy heart

obeyed. Through tears I looked upon my love, in sadness, not in hate; It was not he that worked my woe-not he, but only fate: Sorrowing, not sinful, bruised, not lost, I left the church's gate.

DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD.

His form was fair, his cheek was health:
His word a bond, his purse was wealth;
With wheat his field was covered o'er,
Plenty sat smiling at his door.
His wife, the fount of ceaseless joy;
Now laughed his daughter, played his boy:
His library, though large, was read
Till half its contents decked his head.
At morn, 'twas health, wealth, pure delight;
'Twas health, wealth, peace, and bliss at night.
I wished not to disturb his bliss:
'Tis gone! but all the fault is his.
The social glass I saw him seize,
The more with festive wit to please,
And to increase his love of cheer:
Ah, little thought he I was near!
Gradual indulgence on him stole,
Frequent became the midnight bowl.
I, in that bowl, the headache placed,
Which, with the juice, his lips embraced.
Shame next I mingled with the draught:
Indignantly he drank, and laughed.
In the bowl's bottom, bankruptcy
I placed: he drank with tears and glee.
Remorse did I into it pour:
He only sought the bowl the more.

mingled, neyt, joint torturing pain:
Little the more did he refrain.
The dropsy in the cup I mixed:
Still to his mouth the cup was fixed.
My emissaries thus in vain
I sent, the mad wretch to restrain.
On the bowl's bottom, then, myself
I threw: the most abhorrent elf

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