A voice arose from the brethren then,
Let no one speak but the holy men;"
For have ye not heard the words of Paul,
'Oh, let the women keep silence all ?''

I watched them long in my curious dream,
Till they stood by the borders of the stream;
Then, just as I thought, the two ways met;
But all the brethren were talking yet,
And would talk on till the heaving tide
Carried them over side by side---
Side by side, for the way was one:
The toilsome journey of life was done;
And all who in Christ the Saviour died,
Came cut alike on the other side.

No forms or crosses or books had they;
No gowns of silk or suits of gray;
No creeds to guide them, or MSS.;
For all had put on Christ's righteousness.

HOW A MAN SHOULD BE JUDGED.

WHO shall judge a man from nature?
Who shall know him by his dress?
Paupers may be fit for princes,

Princes fit for something less.
Crumpled shirt and dirty jacket
May beclothe the golden ore
Of the deepest thought and feeling-
Satin vest could do no more.

There are springs of crystal nectar
Ever swelling out of stone;
There are purple buds and golden,
Hidden, crushed, and overgrown.
God, who counts by souls, not dresses,
Loves and prospers you and me ;
While He values thrones the highest
But as pebbles in the sea.

Man, upraised above his fellows
Oft forgets his fellows then;
Masters-rulers lords, remember,
That your meanest hands are men!

Men of labor, men of feeling,

Men by thought and men by fame,
Claiming equal rights to sunshine
In a man's ennobling name.

There are foam-embroidered oceans,
There are little weed-clad rills,
There are feeble, inch-high saplings,
There are cedars on the hills;
God, who counts by souls, not stations,
Loves and prospers you and me;
For to him all vain distinctions,
Are as pebbles in the sea.

Toiling hands alone are builders
Of a nation's wealth and fame;
Titled laziness is pensioned,

Fed, and fattened on the same;
By the sweat of other's foreheads,
Living only to rejoice,

While the poor man's outraged freedom
Vainly lifteth up its voice.

Truth and justice are eternal,

Born with loveliness and light;
Secret wrong shall never prosper
While there is a starry night.
God, whose world-heard voice is singing
Boundless love to you and me,

Sinks oppression with its titles,
As the pebbles in the sea.

ARTEMUS WARD CROSSING DIXIE'S LINE. C. F. Brown.

THE train of cars in which I was to trust my walerable life was the scaliest, rickytiest lookin' lot of consarns that I ever saw on wheels afore. "What time does this string of second-hand coffins leave ?" I inquired of the depot master. He said direckly, and I went in and sot down. I hadn't more'n fairly squattered afore a dark-lookin' man with a swinister expression on his countenance entered the cars, and lookin' very sharp at me, he axel me what was my principles?

"Sesesh!" I answered, "I'm a Dissoluter. I'm in favor of Jeff. Davis, Bowregard, Pickens, Capt. Kidd, Bloobeard, Monro Edwards, the devil, Mrs. Cunningham, and all the

rest of 'em."

"You're in favor of the war ?" "Certingly. By all means.

I'm in favor of this war, and also of the next war. I've been in favor of the next war for over sixteen years."

At the first station a troop of sojers entered the cars and inquired if “Old Wax Works" was on board. That was the disrespective stile in which they referred to me. "Becawze if Old Wax Works is on board,' sez a man with a face like a double-brested lobster, we're going to hang Old Wax Works!" "

6

"My illustrious and patriotic Bummers !" sez I, agittin' up and takin' orf my shappo, "if you allude to A. Ward, Jr., it's my pleasin' dooty to inform you that he's ded.' He saw the error of his ways at 15 minits past two yesterday, and stabbed hisself with a sled-stake, dying in five beautiful tabloos to slow music."

"And who be you?"

"I'm a stoodent in Senator Benjamin's law-offis. I'm going up North to steal some spoons and things for the Southern army." This was satisfactory, and the intossicated troopers went orf.

At the next station I didn't get orf so easy, I was dragged out of the cars, and rolled in the mud for several minits, for the purpose of "taking the conseet out of me," as Sesesher kindly stated.

I was let up finally, when a powerful large Sesesher came up and embraced me, and to show that he had no hard feelin's agin me, put his nose into my mouth. I returned the compliment by placin' my stummick suddenly agin his right foot, when he kindly made a spittoon of his able bodied face. Actooated by a desire to see whether the Sesesher had been vaxinated, I then fastened my teeth onto his left sleeve, and tore it to the shoulder. We then vilently bunted our heads together for a few minits, danced round a little, and sot down in a mud-puddle. We riz to our feet agin, and by a sudden and adroit movement I placed my left eye agin the Sesesher's fist. Saw stars and other loominaries. Got down on the ground to see if he had dropt suthin'.

I riz, and we embraced agin. Soonly I sent home a sledge-hammer blow on Sesesher's whisky orifice, which started 33 ov his grinders on a voyage down his throat, while he planted his left mawler in my baskit. I also received a slight crack on the jugoolar. By another dexter ous movmint got Sesesher's cokonut in the Cort of Chan

cery, and played sooperbly on his nob. A man in a cockt hat then cum up, and sed he felt as though an apology was due to me. The crowd had taken me for another man.

I was rid on a rale the next day, a bunch of blazin' tirecrackers bein' tied to my coat tales. It was a tine spectycal in a dramatic pint of view, but I didn't enjoy it. I had other adventurs of a startlin' kind, but why continuer? why lasserate the public boozum with these here things? Suffysit to say I got across Mason and Dixie's line safe at larst.

AFTER THE BATTLE.

THE drums are all muffled, the bugles are still;
There's a pause in the valley, a halt on the hill ;
And bearers of standards swerve back with a thrill
Where sheaves of the dead bar the way;
For a great field is reaped, Heaven's garners to fill,
And stern Death holds his harvest to-day.

There's a voice in the wind like a spirit's low cry ;
'Tis the muster-roll sounding--and who shall reply
For those whose wan faces glare white to the sky,
With eyes fixed so steadfast and dimly,

As they wait the last trump, which they may not defy!
Whose hands clutch the sword-hilt so grimly.

The brave heads late lifted are solemnly bowed,
As the riderless chargers stand quivering and cowed—
As the burial requiem is chanted aloud,

The groans of the death-stricken drowning,
While Victory looks on like a queen pale and proud
Who awaits till the morning her crowning.

There is no mocking blazon, as clay sinks to clay;
The vain pomps of peace-time are all swept away
In the terrible face of the dread battle-day;
Nor coffins nor shroudings are here;

Only relics that lay where thickest the fray-
A rent casque and a headless spear.

Far away, tramp on tramp, sounds the march of the foe,
Like a storm-wave retreating, spent, fitful and slow;
With sound like their spirits that faint as they go
By the red-glowing river, whose waters
Shall darken with sorrow the land where they flow
To the eyes of her desolate daughters.

They are fled-they are gone; but oh! not as they came;
In the pride of those numbers they staked on the game,
Never more shall they stand in the vanguard of fame,
Never lift the stained sword which they drew ;
Never more shall they boast of a glorious name,
Never march with the leal and the true.

Where the wreck of our legions lay stranded and torn,
They stole on our ranks in the mist of the morn;
Like the giant of Gaza, their strength it was shorn
Ere those mists have rolled up to the sky;

From the flash of the steel a new day-break seemed born,
As we sprang up to conquer or die.

The tumult is silenced; the death-lots are cast,
And the heroes of battle are slumbering their last:
Do you dream of yon pale form that rode on the blast?
Would ye see it once more, oh ye brave!

Yes-the broad road to honor is red where ye passed,
And of glory ye asked-but a grave!

CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE.
Alfred Tennyson.

HALF a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,
All in the valley of death
Rode the six hundred.
"Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said.
Into the valley of death,

Rode the six hundred.

"Forward, the Light Brigade !"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldiers knew
Some one had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die
Into the valley of death,

Rode the six hundred.

Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them,