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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