Where the silver stars as they come and pass
Leave stars of dew on the tangled grass,
And the rivers sing in the silent hours
Their sweetest songs to the list'ning flowers.

He'd a slender form and a girlish face,
That seemed in the army out of place,
Though he smiled as I told him so that day,—
Aye, smiled and flushed in a girlish way
That 'minded me of a face I knew,

In a distant village, 'neath the blue;

When our army marched, at the meadow bars,
She met and kissed me 'neath the stars.

Before us the river silent ran,

And we'd been placed to guard the ford;
A dangerous place, and we'd jump and start
Whenever a leaf by the wind was stirred.
Behind us the army lay encamped,

Their camp-fires burned into the night,
Like bonfires built upon the hills,
And set by demon hands alight.

Somehow, whenever I looked that way,
I seemed to see her face again,
Kind o' hazy like, as you've seen a star
A peepin' out through a misty rain!
And once, believe, as I thought of her,

I thought aloud, and I called him Bess,
When he started quick, and smiling, said,
"You dream of some one at home, I guess."

"Twas just in the flush of the morning light, We stopped for a chat at the end of our beat, When a rifle flashed at the river's bank,

And bathed in blood he sank at my feet; All of a sudden I knew her then,

And kneeling, I kissed the girlish face;
And raised her head from the tangled grass,
To find on my breast its resting place.

When the corporal came to change the guard,
At six in the morning, he found me there,
With Bessie's dead form clasped in my arms,
And hid in my heart her dying prayer.
They buried her under the moaning pines,
And never a man in the army knew
That Willie Searles and my girl were one.
You're the first I've told-the story's new.

GOD'S ANVIL.-JULIUS STURM.

Pain's furnace-heat within me quivers,
God's breath upon the fire doth blow,
And all my heart in anguish shivers,
And trembles at the fiery glow;
And yet I whisper, "As God will!"
And in His hottest fire hold still.

He comes, and lays my heart, all heated,
On the hard anvil, minded so

Into His own fair shape to beat it,

With his great hammer, blow on blow;
And yet I whisper, "As God will!"
And at His heaviest blows hold still.

He takes my softened heart, and beats it;
The sparks fly off at every blow;
He turns it o'er and o'er, and heats it,
And lets it cool, and makes it glow:
And yet I whisper, "As God will!"
And in His mighty hand hold still.
Why should I murmur? for the sorrow
Thus only longer-lived would be ;
Its end may come, and will, to-morrow,
When God has done His work in me;
So I say, trusting, "As God will!"
And, trusting to the end, hold still.

He kindles, for my profit purely,
Affliction's glowing, fiery brand;
And all His heaviest blows are surely
Inflicted by a master-hand:
So I say, praying, " As God will!"
And hope in Him, and suffer still.

JERE LLOYD ON "PHRENOLOGY."

I remarked, on a former occasion, that I had an abiding faith in phrenology. Well, I'm not so enthusiastic now. I have a kind of vague idea that it doesn't do the right thing by a fellow. I took a little. I had gazed admiringly upon the picture of a subject with his head all laid out in eligible lots, duly numbered and classified, and feeling convinced I had a like number of vacant sites, it occurred to me to have

them appraised. I called upon a professor and stated my business, whereupon he invited me to an inner apartment and bade me be seated, remarking, as he prepared for the examination, that we should soon understand each other. I smiled benignly and awaited operations. He passed both hands through my hair in a manner that would have done redit to a first-class barber, then went over and locked the safe and put the key in his pocket. He continued his survey, explaining as he went along. "You'll marry early and often. Will experience the parental feeling with great intensity, and exhibit it by feeling around your children with a stick, when occasion requires. Are warm, cordial, and ardent in friendship; will cheerfully borrow all the money your friends will lend. Inhabitativeness, large; are liable to home-sickness when away from home and dead broke. Continuity, moderate; love variety and change, especially the kind known as 'small change.' Have a good share of energy, yet no more than is necessary to grapple with an eating-house steak. Vitativeness, very large; will struggle resoutely through sickness, and will not give up to die while the 'lamp of life holds out to burn.' Combativeness is large, though it doesn't appear to be the kind that hurts anybody. Destructiveness is a strong point, experience powerful indignation, and with large combativeness, would make a dangerous onslaught on hash. Alimentiveness is a remarkable development; you'd ruin the prospects of a cheap boarding-house. Have a natural antipathy to water, but enjoy corn in the juice. Very large acquisitiveness; are eager to be rich, and your creditors hope for the best. Secretiveness is good; you'll keep a secret, or anything else you lay your hands on. Cautiousness is not your trump card. Approbativeness and self-esteem are curiosities; would advise you to paint them with iodine. Firmness, above the average; hold on long and hard, especially at meal time. Have conscientiousness full; feel sorry when you do wrong, and always repent it, and you are kept pretty busy repenting. Hope, very large; have 'great expectations,' which are good things to have in the absence of anything more tangible. You have the kind of veneration that's common at this daydevout on the Sabbath, but fly the track through the week.

There's a place for benevolence, but it doesn't appear to be built up. Have considerable mechanical skill, with large imitation and form, and are adapted for drawing, especially a salary, though you are not bad on a cork. Mirthfulness, very rge; would make a cheerful funeral. Have an insatiate tesire to see and know all about things, and peculiar methIs of finding them out. Large order; order freely on elit. Possess good calculating powers; with practice, can lculate the number of beers for a dollar, and the amount of gratuitous 'Sweitzer' that should accompany each. Eventuality, very large; have a retentive memory of facts and incidents, particularly of the fact that anybody owes you anything. If you ever undertake to learn music, there's a piece of woods up in the country, seven miles from any house, where you ought to go." Now I submit this is not a fair deal.

BROTHERHOOD.-J. G. HOLLAND.

EXTRACT FROM "THE MISTRESS OF THE MANSE."

"My Philip, bred in Northern climes,
Preached the great Word I strive to sing;
And in the grand and golden times-
Aflame with love-he went to bring
His Mildred-subject of my rhymes—

From her far home on Southern plains;
And what they shared of bale and bliss,
And what their losses, what their gains,
The loving eye that readeth this
May gather, if it take the pains."

FROM THE PRELUDE.

The day of Gettysburg had set;

The smoke had drifted from the scene,
And burnished sword and bayonet

Lay rusting where, but yestere'en,

They dropped with life-blood red and wet!

The swift invader had retraced

His march, and left his fallen braves,
Covered at night in voiceless haste,
To sleep in memorable graves,
But knew that all his loss was waste.
The nation's legions, stretching wide,
Too sore to chase, too weak to cheer,

Gave sepulture to those who died,
And saw their foemen disappear
Without the loss of power or pride.

And then, swift-sweeping like a gale,
Through all the land, from end to end,
Grief poured its wild, untempered wail,
And father, mother, wife, and friend
Forgot their country in their bale.

And Philip, with his fatal wound,
Was borne beyond the battle's blaze,
Across the torn and quaking ground,—
His ear too dull to heed the praise,
That spoke him hero, robed and crowned.

They bent above his blackened face,
And questioned of his last desire;
And with his old, familiar grace,
And smiling mouth, and eye of fire,

He answered them: "My wife's embrace!"

They wiped his forehead of its stain,
They bore him tenderly away,

Through teeming mart and wide champaign,
Till on a twilight, cool and gray,

And wet with weeping of the rain,

They gave him to a silent crowd
That waited at the river's marge,

Of men with age and sorrow bowed,

Who raised and bore their precious charge, Through groups that watched and wailed aloud.

The hounds of power were at her gate;
And at their heels, a yelping pack

Of graceless mongrels stood in wait,
To mark the issue of attack,

With lips that slavered with their hate.

*

With window raised and portal barred,
The mistress scanned the darkening space,
And with a visage hot and hard-

At bay before the cruel chase

She held them in her fierce regard.

"What would ye-spies and hirelings-what?" She asked with accent, stern and brave;

"Why come ye to this sacred spot,

Led by the counsel of a knave,

And flanked by slanderer and sot?