NUMBER TWELVE.

"Her love," he said, "could change for me
The winter's cold to spring;'
Ah, trust in fickle maiden's love,
Thou art a bitter thing!

For when these valleys, bright in May,

Once more with blossoms wave,

The northern violets shall blow
Above his humble grave.

Your dole of scanty words had been
But one more pang to bear,
For him who kissed unto the last
Your tress of golden hair;

I did not put it where he said,
For when the angels come,

I would not have them find the sign
Of falsehood in his tomb.

I've read your letter, and I know
The wiles that you had wrought
To win that noble heart of his,
And gained it-cruel thought!

What lavish wealth men sometimes give
For what is worthless all;

What manly bosoms beat for truth

In folly's falsest thrall!

You shall not pity him, for now

His sorrow has an end;

Yet would that you could stand with me

Beside my fallen friend;

And I forgive you for his sake,

As he-if it be given

May e'en be pleading grace for you
Before the court of heaven.

To-night the cold winds whistle by,
As I my vigil keep

Within the prison dead-house, where
Few mourners come to weep.
A rude plank coffin holds his form;
Yet death exalts his face,

And I would rather see him thus
Than clasped in your embrace.

To-night your home may shine with light,
And ring with merry song,

And you be smiling, as your soul

Had done no deadly wrong;

Your hand so fair that none would think

It penned these words of pain;

Your skin so white-would God, your heart
Were half as free from stain!

I'd rather be my comrade dead
Than you in life supreme;

For your's the sinner's waking dread,
And his the martyr's dream.
Whom serve we in this life, we serve
In that which is to come;

He chose his way; you your's; let God
Pronounce the fitting doom.

THE COUNTRY'S GREATEST EVIL.

A short speech by Vice-President Henry Wilson, delivered at the National Temperance Convention, in Chicago, June, 1875.

Forty years of experience and observation have taught me that the greatest evil of our country, next, at any rate, to the one that has gone down in fire and blood to rise no more, is the evil of intemperance. Every day's experience, every hour of reflection, teaches me that it is the duty of patriotism, the duty of humanity, the duty of Christianity, to live Christian lives, and to exert temperance influence among the people.

There was a time, when I was younger than I am now, when I hoped to live long enough to see the cause which my heart loves and any judgment approves stronger than it is to-day. I may be mistaken, but it seems to me that the present is a rather dark and troubled night for that cause, and it is because it so seems to me that I believe it to be the duty of every honest, conscientious, self-sacrificing man of our country to speak and to work for the cause in every legitimate and proper way. And my reliance for the advancement of the cause of temperance is the same reliance which I have for the spread of the Gospel of our Divine Lord and Master.

The heart, the conscience and the reason must be appealed to continually; and Christian men and women must remember that the heart of Christianity is temperance. If it costs a sacrifice, give it. What is sacrifice to doing good and

lifting toward heaven our fellow-men? We have got to rely on appeals and addresses made to the heart of this nation, to the conscience of the people and the reason of the country. We have got to train up our children in the cause from infancy. We must teach it in the schools and everywhere by word, and above all by example; and it seems to me that Christian ministers, in this dark hour of our country, when they see so much intemperance, and what looks to some of us like a reaction, should make the voice of the pulpits of this land heard.

Members of Christian churches should remember that they have something to do in this cause. If anything stands in the way of Christianity it is the drunkenness in our land. A word for temperance at this time is the strongest blow against the kingdom of Satan and for the cause of our Lord and Master. Suppose you have been disappointed. Suppose that many of your laws have failed. We know that we are right. We personally feel and see it. The evidence is around and about us that we cannot be mistaken in living total abstinence lives and recommending such a course t our neighbors.

When it costs something to stand by the temperance cause, then is the hour to stand by it. If I could be heard to-day by the people of the land, by the patriotic young men of this country, full of life, vigor and hope, I would say that it is among the first, the highest, and the grandest duties, which the country, God, and the love of humanity impose, to work for the cause of total abstinence.

POPPING CORN.

And there they sat, a popping corn,
John Styles and Susan Cutter-
John Styles as fat as any ox,

And Susan fat as butter.

And there they sat and shelled the corn,
And raked and stirred the fire,
And talked of different kinds of care,
And hitched their chairs up nigher.

Then Susan she the popper shook,
Then John he shook the popper
Till both their faces grew as red
As saucepans made of copper.

And then they shelled, and popped, and ate,
All kinds of fun a-poking,

While he haw-hawed at her remarks,
And she laughed at his joking.

And still they popped, and still they ate-
John's mouth was like a hopper-
And stirred the fire, and sprinkled salt,
And shook and shook the popper.

The clock struck nine-the clock struck ten,
And still the corn kept popping;

It struck eleven, and then struck twelve,
And still no signs of stopping.

And John he ate, and Sue she thought-
The corn did pop and patter-
Till John cried out, " The corn's a-fire!
Why, Susan, what's the matter?"

Said she, "John Styles, it's one o'clock;
You'll die of indigestion;

I'm sick of all this popping corn-
Why don't you pop the question?"

BETH GELERT.-W. R. SPENCER.

The spearman heard the bugle sound,
And cheerily smiled the morn;
And many a brach, and many a hound,
Obeyed Llewellyn's horn:

And still he blew a louder blast,

And gave a lustier cheer:

Come, Gelert! why art thou the last

Llewellyn's horn to hear?

"Oh! where does faithful Gelert roam?
The flower of all his race;

So true, so brave,—a lamb at home,
A lion in the chase!"

NUMBER TWELVE.

"Twas only at Llewellyn's board

The faithful Gelert fed;

He watched, he served, he cheered his lord,
And sentineled his bed.

In sooth, he was a peerless hound,
The gift of royal John;

But now no Gelert could be found,
And all the chase rode on.

And now, as over rocks and dells
The gallant chidings rise,
All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells
With many mingled cries.

That day Llewellyn little loved
The chase of hart or hare;
And small and scant the booty proved,
For Gelert was not there.

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied,
When, near the portal-seat,
His truant Gelert he espied,
Bounding his lord to greet.

But when he gained his castle door,
Aghast the chieftain stood;

The hound was smeared with gouts of gore,
His lips, his fangs ran blood!

Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise,
Unused such looks to meet:

His favorite checked his joyful guise,
And crouched and licked his feet.

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed-
And on went Gelert too-
And still, where'er his eyes he cast,
Fresh blood-gouts shocked his view!

O'erturned his infant's bed he found,
With blood-stained covert rent;
And all around the walls and ground
With recent blood besprent.

He called his child-no voice replied;
He searched-with terror wild;
Blood! blood! he found on every side,
But nowhere found his child.

"Hell-hound! my child's by thee devoured!" The frantic father cried;