THAT BABY IN TUSCALOO.-BARTLEY T. CAMPBELL. ABRIDGED FOR RECITATION. So! you're all the way from Kansas, Just take that vacant chair. Jack, take the gentleman's beaver What! five whole days on the journey, Good gracious! who'd have thought Jennie Away from the Youghiogheny, The farm, and mountain blue I wouldn't have thought it of her, You say she's not very lonely; Just think-my-Jennie-a-mother, Here, Jack, run off to the kitchen-- She must not strike a lick 'Till she hears the news from Kansas, Perhaps you may think me foolish But you must excuse an old man- Well, well, how the years slip by us Silent and swift and sly, For all the world like the white clouds NUMBER ELEVEN. But only in this they differ- Where each may discharge his burden, And thank his heavenly Master But what's the use in talking, And she calls him for her father: You see she don't forget The old man what used to nurse her There's no use keeping a secret, I'll not soon forget her answer, What I said I don't remember, My anger did the rest, And that night Jennie and Jackson No one can know what I suffered- You ask did I forgive Jennie? Big tears swept away my hate, sir, "Well, old man, I'm that Bill Jackson- What!-just flip me your fin, my youngster! You'll surely forgive my prattle; The hard, hard words I said When you and Jennie were courting, And after you were wed. That baby 'way out in Kansas, That boy in Tuscaloo, Has made me love its big father; Now what can't babies do? SAVE THE OTHER MAN.-MARGARET J. PRESTON. The storm had spent its rage: The sea Still moaned with sullen roar, Against the shelving shore; And wide and far, With plank and spar The beach was splintered o'er. A league from land a wreck was seen, Whose shrieking cry Rose clear and high Above the tempest's lull. "Hoy!-To the rescue!-Launch the boat! I see a drifting speck : Some struggler may be still afloat,— Some sailor on the deck: Quick! ply the oar, Put from the shore, And board the foundered wreck!" Right through the churning plunge of spray, The hardy life-boat warped its way, As billows rose and fell; And boldly cast Its grapnel fast Above the reefy swell. Around the bows the breakers sobbed When instant, every bosom throbbed, Held by one sound alone; Somewhere-somewhere- There thrilled a human groan. One moment-and they clomb the wreck, The shout of cheer That mocked the dying storm. But as they lowered him from the ship Befit rough hands, across his lip Oh! ye who once on gulfing waves Ye who are safe through Him who saves Will ye who yet Can rescue, let The other man be lost? THE WEARY SOUL. I came, but they had passed away, Where all are strange, and none are kind; Kind to a worn and wearied soul, That pants, that struggles for repose: Some relic of a former age; Alone, and in a stranger clime, Where stranger voices mock mine ear,- Yet I had hopes-but they have fled; I may not, dare not, cast away, As they, the loveliest of their race, With none to smile, to hear, to see;- On one whom death disdains to free. I leave a world that knows me not, Where fancy's earliest dreams were shed. I hear each spirit's melting sigh; I turn to clasp those forms of light, But soon the last dim morn shall rise- No stone, nor monumental cross, Tell where his mouldering ashes lie, Who sought for gold, and found it dross. LOVE IN A BALLOON.-LITCHFIELD MOSELEY. Some time ago I was staying with Sir George Flasher, with a great number of people there-all kinds of amusements going on. Driving, riding, fishing, shooting, everything, in fact. Sir George's daughter, Fanny, was often my companion in these expeditions, and I was considerably |