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LIDA'S DREAM.
BY EVANGELINE.
A pnrple nipht in reiral June,
Low-lighted by a crescent moon,
A slender girl, white-draped and fair,
With red. tweet ro es in her hair,
Who late had listened to love's vow,
Still haunted by its music now,
Although alone', with dreamy eyes
She gazed upon the spangled skies,
Till sleep crept softly to her brain.
And brought this vision in its train.
A dream whose dreary scenes foretold
The fate the future would unfold.
Slow breaking through a misty light.
She sees a landscape strange and bright,
With tropic skies and colors rare,
And orange odors in the air:
Bnt on the brightness fell a gloom,
A grave whose lowly headstone bore
The Dame of him w hose ring she wore;
Then the scene shifted, and she knew
This old familiar airs that blew
About her household graves; alas !
Her rich heart jewels in the grass !
And there a newer mound—another.
Stooping she reads the words “ Our mother,”
Again a cheng" - the moonlight's sheen
Gleamed whitely on a Northern scene.
A pale, gray sea, a plain, a monnd.
Breaking the stretch ol snowy ground.
With drear significance; no sound
Save the low cr}fof sea ward bird
Or moan of distant waves was heard.
The dreamer knew then# slept below
The dearest, earliest loved of yore,
The nearest to the heart of all.
And now between - this frozen wall!
And straightway, like some hopeless spell,
A gense of desolation fell.
The sunset streamed athwart a tomb.
And life grew dark—its winding path
Seem’d shadow ed by pursuing wrath;
The seasons had no charm, but sped
Aiwa} s in longing for the dead:
The crowd seemed shadows, in her sight,
And all the days were wan with blight.
THE
MYSTERIOUS WOMAN.
By Mrs. C. W. BARBER TOWLES.
Thus he performed his tedious journey, find- i
ing many who sjmpathized, and none who jeer-
ed^ The milk ot human kindness is a broader
stream than some would have us think. There
are hearts, thank God ! where it wells up a per
petual fountain sweet and clear.
But let us turn to where a pleasant faced
woman sat before a blazing lire in a low roofed
cottage at Wash Hollow, anxiously awaiting our
traveler’s return. The light of the pine knots
fell with a glow upon her sunny head, turning
its braids to gold, as she bent over a little fellow
asleep in her lap, and dallied with the light curls
clustering aroud his forehead.
“Duffie, couldn't keep awake to see papa,” i
she muimured, touching the rosy face with her i
lips. “He was too tired, wasn't he? Well, may-
-bepapa won’t come after all, but if he doesn’t,
mamma will feel certain something has happen- \
ed to him. He was to have been here yesterday :
by dinner, but Snowball and Jehu are not fast !
travelers, and the roads are muddy ; so we’ll
borrow no unnecessary trouble about him.” I
She arose and deposited her sleeping burden j
upon a snowy bed in one corner of the apart
ment. As she did so, an observer would have
remarked that she was of medium height, and
possessed 01 a good figure. Her movements
moreover were graceful, and as she raised her
head from the pillow of her sleeping boy, and
drew the cover snugly over his shoulders, the
fire light showed as sweet a lace as ever graced
noble halls. HaDnah Church was much younger
than her husband and better educated. At the i
time of tier marriage some had wondered at her
choice, but Evans C’hurcb was a good man, and
none deemed him unworthy ot the jewel he
had won.
The hare floor of the little brown cottage had
been scoured as white as soap and sand could
make it, and the rough walls whitewashed to
snowy purity. There were a few cheap yet well
selected engravings hanging here and there ; a
nicely kept bureau stood in one corner and a
few comfortable chairs were in the room. Near
one of the windows, there was a scarlet geranium
in full bloom, and from a hanging basket near the
door, long vines ot ground ivy trailed nearly to j
the floor.
Altho’ the night out of doors was biting with !
frosts, the soft w arm air of the neat little room
made these plants to bud and blossom in tropical
luxuriance.
Evans Church's charge bad grown very fretful
during the last day of his journey. The ceasless
joltings oi the caithad caused it to ache in every
joint, and it refused the warm, sweet milk of I
which it had once so eager!y partaken. Some
times his masculine patience was worn thread
bare, and he felt like tossing it out beside the
road and leaving it to perish, but these impulses j
were but momentary. As a general tbiDg he j
spoke in soothing tones to it, and lifted it as
tenderly as he had fondled Duffie—his first born
his pride, and darling. No wonder Evans
Church, as he journeyed homeward that night,
thought of that sweet little room as a spot some- !
what like Paradise.
At length a stream, which ran through the
Hollow, was reached; he was crossing the bridge
and could see the bright light at home. Slowly
and wearily, Snowball and Jehu climbed the 1
slight eminence upon which the cottage stood, I
and passed before the door. Hannah whose
quick ear had detected the sound of approaching
wheels, stood upon the threshold, peering out
into the darkLess, trying to make sure it was
her husband. Just then the babe sent forth a
fresh wail. The wife started back in dismay.
“ That certainly is not Evans” she said, “but j
I felt sure it was the cart. Who can it be ”
“ Its me Hannah,” he cried discerning through
the light, her start of suprise—“don’t be frighten
ed but come and take this squalling thing out
of my arms. 1 never wanted to get rid of any
thing so badly in my life. Its a baby—a sure
enough baby—don’t be afraid to touch it, I've
had an adventure, and I'll tell you all about it
by and by.”
Hannah stepped out and stood alongside the
cart In her astonishment she had not uttered a
syllable, or extended her arms to take it But
when Evans assured her it was a live infant, and
that he had had an adventure, she reached up
her bauds and tcok it lrom him
“Touch the thing tenderly,” he said, “for its
had a rough time ot it If it is isn’t quite fagged
out, 1 cm. Keep the overcoat about it tmtil
you get it into the house. I’ll be in, as soon as
I’ve taken Snowball anji Jehu out of the cart.”
Hannah turned without uttering a word ex
pressive of welcome or astonishment. She did
not stop to kiss her husband, or inquire after
his journey, but with the shaggy bundlo in her
arms, walked back to the fire, and sunk into
the chair, where, earlier in the night, she had
rocked Duflie to sleep.
“ What does this mean ?” she murmured as
she hastily unwrapped the infant, and held the
thin waif where the strong light of the fire fell
fnll upon its face—“ How pale and wretched
the child looks ! Where did he find it? He said
he had had an adventure, and I think he has.” '
She bent over and commenced an examin
ation of its clothes. They were soiled and worn,
but with the quick eye of a woman in such
matters, she saw they were of fine material* and
exquisitely embroidered. She held it for a
few moments in her lap, as if undecided what
to do with it. She was thus sitting, when her |
husband came in.
“You are full of wonder, Hannah.” he said,
I “and l^am not surprised at it. It isn’t every man j
who takes tobacco to market aDd returns with a
baby in his arms. I tell you what I’ve had a gay
time with her ladyship, though. She's cried
evenly on a stretch ever since nine o’clock this
morning. I’ve tried my best to quiet her, but
all to no purpose. Next time I undertake the
i like, you'll have to be there to lend a helping
hand.”
“But where did this thing come from, Evans?
That’s what puzzles me. 1 can realize that you
have had a jolly time bringing her, but where
did you get her —That’s the question. ’
Our market man sat down before the fire, and
holding his rough fingers toward the glowing
flame, strove to rub warmth into them while he
told the tale. Hannah listened in grave atten
tion.
“ And now the question is,” he said in con
clusion, “what is to become of the child? I
have brought her to you because I didn’t know
what else to do with her. I thought if you
were willing, we would keep her awhile, until at
least we could find out something about her
parentage. The woman didn’t look like a tramp
— neither does the child look like the offspring
of a tramp, or of a drab’ Its clothes you will
notice are nicely made, and of fine material,
and here are some ear-rings and and a finger
ring, that the women took off of the corpse when
they dressed it for burial. They are very bright j
and very pretty,”’ he continued as he held the
brilliant jewels up in the firelight. “I never]
saw such bright things in my life, but it isn't !
likely they’re dimonds.”
“6 no,” said Hannah; “such a woman I
wouldn’t be likely to wear anything very pre- ]
cious, I'll put them away in one of the bureau !
drawers, and keep them until we find out some- I
thing about her, however: As to this child, you j
did qnite right. I’ll do the best I can by it, !
until somebody comes to claim it. But you
are hungry and must have some supper. You [
must hold the baby a bit until I put supper on
the table, for you# Then I’ll try to feed it and
get it to sleep.”
She baby had been sitting very quietly in the
woman's lap for some minutes, admiring the
ruddy glow of the pine knots, and enjoying the
warmth as well as the light, but as Hannah at
tempted to remove it to her husband’s lap, it
set up its shrill cry again.
Evans shrunk back.
“I’d rather get my own supper, Hannah,” he
said, “ than to work with that squalling thing
any longer. Is it on the plate in the corner?"
“Yes,” replied his wife, and there is hot cof
fee in the pot.” Evens placed the plate upon
the table, and poured his coffee, while Hannah
went with the fretful babe in h°r arms, to the j
bureau, and drew out a clean little nightgown— j
one that Duffie had outgrown. She then poured j
warm water from the kettle into a basin, and
sitting down again in her chair proceeded to
carefully disrobe and bathe it. Very tenderly j
she worked with it. Had it been her own little j
darling, she could not have treated it more gent
ly, or spoken to it in more motherly accents.
She then put on the clean little gown, and over
it wrapped a dainty flannel blauket bound with
blue ribbon. The child would not eat. It evi
dently needed sleep, and so she rocked it gently
back and forth, and sang soothing lullabies.
This treatment acted like magic. The wails grew
lower and lower, and finally ceased altogether.
The little waif had forgotten all fatigue, and gone
off into the flowery land of dreams. Hannah
laid it softly in Duffle’s crib, and sat down again
with one foot upon the rocker.
Evans finished his supper and then came back
to look at it.
“ I declare! Hannah,”he said “women were
made for just such business as this. That dirty
thing looks like a fiesh rosebud now, and sleeps j
as peacefully as a lamb. I didn't know it had
such fine features before. Nobody knows who J
or what she may turn oat to be. I mast get [
Fowler to write out an account of my adventure
for the Village Record. It will be printed far
and wide—for such things don’t happen every
day—and will serve as a sort of advertisement,
you know. I dare say we shall find an explana
tion of the mystery before long.”
“ That is a good plan, "Hannah replied. “I
had not thought that you could do that. You
had better see ’Squire Fowler about it tomor
row.”
This plan of proceeding settled, our worthy
couple closed the house for the night, and draw
ing the crib to their bedside, soon slept the
peaceful slumber of the tired and innocent.
But early the next morning, Evans Church
was astir. Duffie, too, awoke before the lark,
and his astonishment at finding the baby in his
little rocking bed, was only equalled by his de
light, in the flashy cap and brass-toed boots. In
the latter he stumbled about the room, falling
every now and then sprawlingly upon the floor;
but too much elated to think of crying over
smarting hands or flattened nose.
Breakfast was eaten in the bright little room,
with golden sunbeams streaming in at the east
windows. The cloth upon the table was of
snowy whiteness, and the coffee pot glittered
like silver. The baby slept late, but neverthe
less was fretful when it awoke. Hannah took
it into her lap and smoothed away the golden
hair from its forehead.
“It would be beautiful,” she said, “if it were
not so blue and thin in flesh. Poor little thing,
no one can tell what it may have suffered.” Daf-
fie came up stepping high in his boots, to have
another good look at it. His round chubby
face attracted the baby’s attention. It stopped j
crying, and as he shook its little hand up and
down over her head something like a smile came !
into the blue eyes, and played about the thin
lips. Children lo7e one another. Why cannot j
children of older growth imitate their example? j
Duffie langhed as the baby tried to clutch his !
yellow hair, and said:
“ It’s a pretty little sister, isn't it ma?”
“Y’es, my son, you must be very kind to it, j
and let it play with your rattle box, and rock in
your crib.”
“I’ll dive my trib to her,” he said proudly, j
“I’m a big man now. I’se dot boots.”
“So you are, ’ said his mother bending down
to kiss him, “you are mamma’s little, big man, ]
that's what you are. The baby can have the j
crib, and the rattle box and the candy. My ;
man doesn’t want such things.”
Duffie didn’t assent so readily to relinquish- j
ing his share in all the candies brought into the j
house, but he didn’t say anything. He took the
baby’s velvety little fist into his hand, and
opened slowly, one by one, the cunning little !
fingers. Then he put his fat little cheek to its
face and caressed it lovingly. He evidently did
not look upon it as a usurper, where he hereto- ;
fore had reigned an absolute sovereign.
Evans came in from feeding his stock, and
seemed struck with the pretty family group be- ]
fore him. He thought he had never seen a more
interesting tableau.
“If that little thing stays here long, and Djf-
fis, the little rogue, gets to loving her, we shall
hate to give her up, even if kinfolks arise to j
claim her. The quicker squire Fowler gets the j
advertisement, or notice, or obituary, or what- j
ever yon may please to call it, into fiis paper, I
the better. I believe I’ll ride over this very
morning and tell him about it.”
So sometime in the course of the forenoon, he
mounted his grey mare and rode over to the vil
lage, where the Weekly Record was published.
He found squire Fowler, and gave him an accu
rate and minute account of the death and burial
of the mysterious woman. He also spoke of the
child.
The old editor was both astonished and excit
ed by his recital. He took pen and paper and
prepared a sensational leader for fiis next isssue,
headed, in large type, “a stabtling discovery. ”
The whole country round about was excited
while it read; but nothing came of it. No one
knew anything of either woman or babe, and no
one appeared to claim the foundling, altho' ma
ny went to look at it. So Hannah fed it on
curds, custards and creams until it could digest
heartier food, and clothed it neatly in Duffle’s
cast off robes. Under her judicious manage
ment and tender, motherly care, its peevish
fretfulness gave place to attractive smiles, en
gaging ways and crowing laughter, its thin
limbs rounded into fulness and symmetry, and it
became the pet of the household.
Several letters passed between Evans Church
and Elijah Haskins, but the latter stated that
he could find out nothing relative to the woman
who slept so peacefully under the umbrageous
boughs of the oak tree on his premises. A dark
and inscrutable mystery hung over both mother
and child, and finally the correspondence was
dropped and the strange event ceased to be talk
ed about. Evans and Haskins looked upon her
as emphatically their own, and christened her
“Eva Church.” By this name she became
known to all the neighborhood.
Six years had passed, when Sorrow entered
the little cottage at Wash Hollow. Evans Church
had been a strong man, and had presumed too
far upon his physical constitution. No day was
so cold he could not brave the blast; none so
torrid he could not endure the heat; but disease
laid its palsying hand upon him and he suc
cumbed at lasb The attack was a violent one
and he sunk rapidly. Before those who watched
by his bedside fully realized his danger, the
Pale Messenger came and bade him follow.
His children were orphanel and his wife a wid
ow. Few men had lived more uprightly in the
world, or been more universally respected. A
large concourse of country and village people
followed him to his last resting place, and tears
bedewed the sods they piled above him.
The little cottage had never looked so desolate
as it did when Hannah Church came bak to it
after her husband's burial. Tne Weekly Record
paid tribute to his memory, affirming that he
had been an honest man, “the noblest work of
God.” But to Duflie and Eva the affliction
seemed terrible. They never thought that he
could die. We look upon the icy king of terrors
as sure to enterall homes but our own: we are ap
palled when he crosses our threshold and beck
ons one of our household circle away.
Many kind neighbors and friends came into
sympathize with and console the bereaved ones.
Among them, Squire Fowler and his estimable
wife were foremost. They had long known the
family, and Airs. Fowler had often remarked,
that Airs. Church waj one of the most refined
ladies in the circle of her acquaintance. In her
early youth she had been sent by a wealthy
aunt to a fashionable female seminary. Macau-
ley’s mother, it is averred, remembered the
teaching of Mrs. Hannah More; so Hannah
Church often thought over the precepts of her
much loved instructress, and was profited by
the remembrance. She had a fine voice and ear
for mus : c an! both had been somewhat cultivat
ed. Her taste was refined and her instincts, pure
and womanly. To add to the distress of the family
at this time, pecuniary embarrassments began
to thicken and perplex the little household at
Wash Hollow. The little farm was mortgaged
and there was no money to aid tfiem out of
this difficulty. Hannah knew but little about
the rotation of crops aDd the culture of lands,
for she had always depended entirely upon her
husband to look after out-of-door matters, while
she attended to her domestic duties. What was
she to do now, when the prop upon which she
had so trustingly leaned, had fallen? It was a
question she tearfully asked herself, and which
she and her intimate friend, Mrs. Fowler, dis
cussed in low aDd gn-y-v^l
“If Duffie was the only^me you had to care
for, your burden would not seem so intolera
ble,” said the editor’s wife.
At this moment Eva appeared ia the door.
Her curls were very sunny, her eyes were as
blu6 as violets in early spring, and her form
was an embodiment of grace and beauty. She
seemed to comprehend at a glance that the sub
ject of conversation that morning was a sad and
tearful one, for she came directly to Mrs.
Church’s chair, and standing on tip-toe touched
her forehead with her lips. It was a mute but ]
moving expression of sympathy and love, and
tears sprung into all eyes, while Hannah threw
her arms around her and pressed her to her
heart.
“I had rather subsist upon a crust of dry !
bread and a cup of water than to part with my ]
sweet little daughter,” she said. “I have loved
her ever since the night my husband first laid
her in my arms. Duffie, too, loves her dearly. )
Few children who are not blood kin, get on so j
well together. I cannot part with her, come
what may. I hope no one will ever arise to \
claim her now.”
“Bnt if the farm has to go, how are you to
support her?” asked Mrs. Fowler.
“He who feeds the ravens will care for us.
He who waters the lilies of the valley will nour
ish and protect us. I cannot let my birdie go.
Evans always said that God would bless us for
the nest we provided for her, and with His
blessing I will earn one still.'’
“I have no doubt of it,” replied Mrs. Fowler, ]
awed by such a triumph of Christian faitfi. “It
has occurred to me, that if the worst comes, you i
might teach a small primary school. We need
one over at the villige. I am certain I could j
get you twenty or thirty scholars and it would
save the tuition of your own children.”
“Where could I find a house?” said Hannah,
her attention immediately arrested by the idea.
“There is a small brick house on Greenville
street, which will rent cheap. Mr. Fowler
could secure it for you, I feel sure.”
The plan thus discussed, was afterwards act
ed upon. The mortgage was foreclosed and the ]
family left, and a little school for young chil- J
dren was opened at the brick house on Green
ville street, on the first Monday in the January
following. It was not a 7ery cheering prospect
that opened upon the vision of the young wid
ow, but she determined not to repine. Her
days were busy ones, for in every leisure mo
ment gained from school and domestic duties,
she tried to build upon the foundation of use- j
ful knowledge laid in her early life. Squire
and Airs. Fowler were tireless in their friend
ship, and her two children grew daily in per- i
sonal loveliness.
As time passed, many of the villagers became J
interested in Mrs. Church and her children, i
Her progress in music was so marked, she was
asked to assist at concerts and reunions, and fin- i
ally a lucrative situation as instructress in this ;
science was offered her by the trustees of the
village Seminary. Duffie, by this time was pre- ;
pared and left home for college, and Eva was
blushing into beautiful maidenfiood.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
It is very fine to laugh at a woman’s “ tantrums”
when a mouse makes its appearance near her
skirts; but a little merriment should be reserved
for the man who “ plays circus ” while a June bug
is walking up the inside of his clothing with
the slow and measured steps of a day laborer.
“ He is a man after my own heart, pa,” said
Julia, reverting to her Charles Augustus. “Non
sense,” replied old practical, “ he is a man after
the money your uncle left you.” And then all j
was quiet.
0, please, str^ I’ve brought your shirt ’ome; but |
mother says she can't wash it no more cos she
was obliged to paste it up agen the wall, and chuck
soap-suds at it, it’s so tender.
A Grand Poem.
“ Byzantium ” is an historical poem, written
in the early years of the present century—by
whom was never known. But that the writer
was of that order of geninsbefore whose intelect-
uai fires the ordinary lights cf mind pale into
nnregard is sufficiently attested.
The author was of the school of Byron, and
his peer in the grnder elements of poetry, with
out his faults. The electrical currents of Byrou-
ic verse have ceased to flow. This age is not
enraptured with Byron. The true Helicon is
not gin ; and Parnassus is accessible to sober,
: sensible and healthy thinkers, whose surest
celebrity, two generations ago, would have come
of finding a place in“English Bards.” Think
of Robert Browning quarrying his poetical
granite, and building, on the highway of the
muses, his odd looking structures, with hardly
any openings for access or light, and no satirist
to give the world an understanding of what he
. is about. And, indeed, it is a question, to-day,
whether Browning does not rank the famous
bard of Newstead Abby, with all his brilliancy
and power. Thus the world moves, and every
age, in its turn, revises aDd corrects the judge
ments and opinions of its predecessors.
It does not seem a long time to one passing
down the decilivity of life, and verging toward
its shadows, since Byron first burst upon the
world, filling the heavens with his splendor—
the most brilliant meteor of his time, when, at
the same time, bright stars in whole constella
tions covered the empyrean. The tide of open
shirt collars, of inspiring gin, a dreary consci
ousness of utter misery, domestic infelicities
and literary Don Juanism ; and sentimental
affections of every sort set in, flooding, as by a
deluge, the young minds of the period. Th i
poetry of Byron constituted a large element in
the extra-scholastic education of youths. The
late AVillis Gaylord Clarke in his boy days recit
ed whole cantos of Childe Harold ;and the light
er lyrical poems of the Bard of Newstead Abby,
the Bride of Abydos, Parisina, ect., sang them
selves into impassioned control of hall the young
minds that were budding into power a genera
tion and a half ago. These waters covered the
earth during many days and years, till society
sickened of such mockeries, and at last consid
erately put away the poisoned chalices of Byron-
ism,
In the flush of the Byronic era “Byzantium ”
was written. Its author has taken his place, for
all time to come, with the shades of Junius and
the writer of “Vestiges of the Creation,” and will
never be known in the annals of that literature
he has so honored and adorned. He was, beyond
all question, an admirer and close student of the
author of Childe Harold ; and obviously drew
deep drughts from the waters of the Pierian
Spring through the channel of the great Bard.
But there is no servility in the like-hood of this
magnficent poem to the highest grandeur of its
model, while it is as sincere, as passionate and
sublime, as the best and loftiest efforts of the
great master.
We regret that “Byzantium” is quite too long
a poem to admit of its reproduction in the
columns of the Democrat. It has, we think,
long been out of print, but those who admire
genius, and apreciate the powers of the human
soul in its most impasioned bursts of song will
thank us for even the briefest mention of a pro
duction so grand, of a master mind so unmis-
takeable. We may at least convey some im
pression to our readersof its strength and beauty
by a few of its grand images and thoughts :
Alas for proud Byzantium! On lier head
The lire may smoulder and the foe may tread;
Yet with heroic look and lovely form
She mocks the deep, unconscious of the storm.
Her footstool is the shore, which hears the moan
Of dying waves—the mountain is her throne.
Her princely minarets, whose spires on high
Gleam with their crescents in the cloudless sky;
Her temples bathed in all the pomp of day;
Her domes that backward flash the living ray:
Her cool kiosks 'round which from granite white
High sparkling fountains catch a rainbow light,
And the dark cypress, sombre and o'ercast,
Which speaks the sleep, the longest and the last—
Each scene around the haughty city throws
A mingled charm of action and repose;
Each feature breathes of glory wrapt in gloom—
The feast, the shroud, the palace and the tomb!
It was by his electric power that Byron thrill
ed every fibre of the human heart and filled all
souls with lightning splendor. But there is an
intenser depth and a more magnificent energy
in many of the superb lines of “Byzantium”
than in anything of Byron. It contains none
of the Byronic frenzy, and is wholly free from
the all pervading ego which rendered the great
est Englishman of his time a mark for raillery.
Following the above matchless description
are clusters of magnificent imagery, on which
the power of language and of thought are alike
exhausted. A very rain of glowing beauties,
which we cannot preserve for want of space, de
pict the wealth and glory of the renowned city
of the Bosphorus:
The costly treasures of the marble isle,
The spice of Iud, the riches of the Nile.
The stores of earth, like streams that seek the sea,
Poured out the tribute of their wealth to thee.
How proud was thy dominion! States and kings
Slept ’neath the shadow of thine outstretched wings.
To the expression of our regret at not ^having
the space to revive this glorious poem, unbrok
en and entire, we can but add our desire to fur
nish to our reader as many of its sounding sen
tences in the grand descriptive march of desti
ny as our crowded columns can admit. Among
the literary trash and tinsel of the time, could
no enterprising publisher find either courage or
encouragement to reproduce in fitting style one
of the most powerful and superb poems of the
century.
Alas! that peace so gentle, hope so fair.
Should make but strife and herald bnt despair.
Oh thine, Byzantium, thine were hitter tears,
A couch of fever and a throne of fears.
When Passion druggedthe bowl and flashed the steel,
When Mnrder followed in the track of Zeal.
When that Religion, born to guide and bless.
Itself became perverse and merciless,
And factions of the circus and the shrine,
And lords like slaves and slaves like lords were thine!
Then did thy empire sink in slow decay:
Then were its stately branches torn away;
And thou, exposed and stripped, wert left instead
To bear the lightnings on thy naked head.
********
Yet for a season did the Moslem's hand
Win for thy state an aspect of command.
Let Syria Egypt tell, let Persia’s shame,
Let haughty Barbarossa'e deathless name,
Let Buda speak, let Rhodes, whose knighted brave
Were weak to serve her, impotent to save.
Zeal in the rear and valor in the van
Spread far the fiats of thy sage divan,
Till stretched the sceptre of thy sway awhile
Victorious from the Dneiper to the Nile.
Brief transitory glory! foul the day.
Foul thy dishonor when in Corinth’s bay
’Neath the rich snn triumphant Venice spread
Her lion banner as the Moslem fled:
When proud Vienna’s ’saulting troops were seen,
When Zenta's laurels decked the brave Eugene;
When the great Shepherd led the Persian van
And Cyrus lived again in Kouli Khan;
And last, and most when freedom spurned the yoke,
And tyrants trembled as the Greeks awoke.
* • * * * * * * *
Now joy to Greece, the genius of her clime
Shall cast his gauntlet at the tyrant Time,
And wake again the valor and the fire
Which rears the trophy and attunes the lyre,
Oh! known how early and beloved how long
Ye sea-girt shrines of battle and of song!
Ye clustering isles that bv the Aegean press’d
In sunshine slumber on her dark blue breast!
Laud of the brave, athwart whose gloomy night .
Breaks the bright dawn, red harbinger ot light;
May glory now efface each blot of shame,
May Freedom’s torch yet light thy path to fame:
Mai- Christian trnth. in this thy sacred birth.
Add strength to empire, give to wisdom worth.
And with the rich-fraught hopes of coming years
Inspire thy triumphs while it dries thy tears!
(New Orleans Democrat.)
“ Do you ever have malaria here ?” said a lady
to an illiterate hotel man. “Yes,” said he, we’ll
have it every day, for I’ve got the best French
cook in the city.”
Poet. Preacher and Novelist.
BY M. LOUISE CROSSLEY.
Serials from the pen of George MacDonald
| have appeared in some of the most popular
| American magazines; he is also a poet, and a
minister of the Congregational church in Eng-
I land.
An eminently handsome man, he is said to be,
of little more than medium hight, “with a gen
eral look that suggests the scholar and the poet,”
and has an earnest, impressive manner in the
j pulpit.
Here are some extracts from one of his ser
mons, and I produce them with the hope that
they will give some other one the calm restful
comfort they have given me :
“As we contemplate the seething sum of all
social wrong, and bitterness, and abomination,
| we are apt to get impatient with it all, and be
eager to undertake some great and sudden thing
j against it. We cannot persuade ourselves to
work slowly upon it from within, as the leaven
works upon the loaf, as *he life-principle of the
, mustard seed pushes itself up into the tree; but
I we want to attack and vanquish it all some how
j from the outside. But tfiat was Dot the way
| which Jesus took ; he never attacked anything
from the outside, and he did the will of His
Father.
“ Ah ! I would have you think less about being
‘ good,’ and being * kind,’ and more about being
just. I would have you earnest, not simply to
talk religion, but to be more honest toward the
little, despised, neglected duties of each, day by
day.
You feel out of heart, sometimes, that you
don’t get faster on; and yet likely you have not
made auy great effort, after ail. You say, per
haps. ‘ ‘Ah ! it’s hardly any good trying;” but
then you are almost always driven to the con
fession that yon haven’t been trying much, not
withstanding. Y'ou get discouraged, very likely,
because there are so many people in the world
who do not seem to he really capable of such a
thing as a genuinely spiritual idea. But let
God mind His own; we have nothing to do with
that. We must not be discouraged because of
the great things we cannot do, into omitting the
little things we can do.
“It seems to me sometimes that God had
taken great trouble to make us. The problem
was how to do it. I hope you don’t think that
God made us, and made the world, out of noth
ing. I don’t believe God made anything out of
nothing; I think He made all things out of Him- 1
self! And makiDg us thus out of Himself, the
problem was how to make us so we should be
ourselves; and so I sometimes think He took a
great trouble to throw us off, as it were, so far
out of Himself as that we might become our
selves, and develop a will and free will of our
own, and with that free will turn around and
seek him. . . . Now you who are ten
der-hearted, and want to be true, and are trying
to be, remember our text that says ‘one day is
with the Lord as a thousand years, and a thous
and years as one day,’ and from it learn these
two things : never to be discouraged because
good things get on so slowly here, and never to
fail to do daily that good which lies next to your
hand. Do not be in a hurry, but be diligent.
Enter into the sublime patience of the Lord. Be
charitable in the view of it. Be earnest in the
faith of it. God can afford to wait—why can not
we, since we have Him always to fall back upon !
Let patience have her perfect work, and bring
forth her celestial fruits. Trust God to weave
in your little thread into the great web, though
the patterns show it not yet. When God’s peo
ple are able an I willing thus to labor and to
wait, the great harvest of the ages shall come to
its reaping, and the day shall broaden itself to
a thousand years, and the thousand years shall
show themselves as a perfect and finished day !”
A Midnight Ride to Matrimony.
Yesterday morning, on the arrival of the morn
ing train of the Virginia Midland Railroad at
the Baltimore & Potomac depot, there stepped
on the platform a handsome young couple—
Charles Dickerson and Julia E. Dickerson, from
Ruckerville, Green county, Va., bent on matri
mony.
The groom was apparently twenty-one years
of age, and the bride a few years younger. After
breakfast at the depot they at once sallied forth
in quest of matrimonial information. The
police at once came to their assistance, and they
were directed to the City Hall, where Mr. Re
turn S. Meigs, jun., issued to them th° necessa
ry document to take to the minister t nd lirected
them to the residence of Dr. Sum’erl.nd, who
tied the knot. After viewing the sights iboutthe
city they left in the afternoon train for their
home.
From the statement made by the groom it ap
pears that the parents of both parties are quite
well to do, and that they have been engaged
fjr some years. Mr. Dickerson said:
“I acted honorably and asked the old man
for her, but he hemmed and hawed, and
wouldn’t say no or yes, and I then made up my
mind to steal her, and I did. We only live half
a mile apart and we arranged that we would
meet on the road some distance from the houses,
when a colored boy was to meet us with three
horses saddled and bridled—one with a side
saddle. The boy had the horses there, and she
met me about twelve o'clock; we put off, riding
fifteen miles to the station. Here we left the
boy with the horses, and he is to wait till we get
back.”
When we asked if the old folks would not find
out about their flight and pursue them, he re
plied:
“ Well! what if they do? They may take the
horses home, hut we will get home to-morrow,
somehow, and I guess her old man will kick up
highway, but I guess he will come down to it
when we show him the document.”
They left on the afternoon train, expecting to
find the boy waiting with the horses to carry
them home.
A QUEEN’S VAGARIES.
How Queen Victoria Snubs the Prince of
Wales Continually.
I set out, however, not to retail gossip, bnt to
refer to a matter which is being so generally
talked about that it would be mere affectati on
on my part to be silent respecting it. It re
lates to the absence of the Prince of Wales from
the review of troops by the Queen last week. So
general has been the talk on the subject that
at last the Times seems to have been desired to
offer a sort of explanation, and it is that the
Prince of Wales was not invited to attend by
reason of an “ oversight.”
Now an oversight which leaves the heir appar
ent out in the cold could scarcely have been an
undesigned one, and all sorts of motives are at
tributed to the Queen for passing the slight
upon her eldest son. In reality, however, there
is nothing mysterious about it. The Queen has
always been jealous of the Prince’s popularity
with the army, and, when she reviews her
troops, she desires no one to come between her
and them. She is a monarch, and will have no
divided allegiance.
The Prince of Wales holds certain positions
in the army which could scarcely have been re
fused to him, but he ha3 been made to under
stand before now that a “royal” review of the
troops does not mean a review in which he can
take any part.
The Queen, in fact, means to be the sovereign
as long as she lives, and she often shows that
she cares nothing whatever for any remon
strances, criticisms or suggestions that may '
addressed to her.
ectinct print