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Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Wet with the rain, the Blue,
Wet with the rain, the Gray.

Sadly, but not with upbraiding,
The generous deed was done;

In the storm of the years that are fading,
No braver battle was won :-
Under the sod and the dew,

Waiting the judgment day;
Under the blossoms, the Blue,
Under the garlands, the Gray.
No more shall the war-cry sever,
Or the winding rivers be red ;
They banish our anger forever

When they laurel the graves of our dead!
Under the sod and the dew,
Waiting the judgment day;
Love and tears for the Blue,
Tears and love for the Gray.

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1 HOPE, that in all that relates to personal firmness, all that concerns a just appreciation of the insignificance of human life,-whatever may be attempted to threaten or alarm a soul not easily swayed by opposition, or awed or intimidated by menace,-a stout heart and a steady eye, that can survey, unmoved and undaunted, any mere personal perils that assail this poor, transient, perishing frame, I may, without disparagement, compare with other

men.

But there is a sort of courage, which, I frankly confess it, I do not possess,-a boldness to which I dare not aspire, a valor which I cannot covet. I cannot lay my. self down in the way of the welfare and happiness of my country. That I cannot, I have not the courage to do. I cannot interpose the power with which I may be invested-a power conferred, not for my personal benefit, nor for my aggrandizement, but for my country's goodto check her onward march to greatness and glory. I have not courage enough. I am too cowardly for that.

LC

I would not, I dare not, in the exercise of such a trust, lie down, and place my body across the path that leads RO,ww my country to prosperity and happiness. This is a sort of courage widely different from that which a man may display in his private conduct and personal relations. Personal or private courage is totally distinct from that higher and nobler courage which prompts the patriot to Ror. offer himself a voluntary sacrifice to his country's good.vide Apprehensions of the imputation of the want of firmness sometimes impel us to perform rash and inconsiderate acts. It is the greatest courage to be able to bear the imputation of the want of courage. But pride, vanity, RO egotism, so unamiable and offensive in private life, are vices which partake of the character of crimes, in the O conduct of public affairs. The unfortunate victim of these passions cannot see beyond the little, petty, contemptible circle of his own personal interests. All his thoughts are withdrawn from his country, and concentrated on his consistency, his firmness,-himself.

The high, the exalted, the sublime emotions of a paift triotism, which, soaring toward heaven, rises far above all mean, low, or selfish things, and is absorbed by one RC low soul-transporting thought of the good and the glory of one's country, are never felt in his impenetrable bosom. That patriotism, which, catching its inspirations from the immortal God, and leaving at an immeasurable distance below all lesser, grovelling, personal interests and feelings, animates and prompts to deeds of self-sacrifice, of valor, of devotion, and of death itself, that is public vir- B tue; that is the noblest, the sublimest, of all public virtues !

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HOW BETSEY ANDI MADE UP.*-WILL. M. CARLETON.

GIVE us your hand, Mr. Lawyer; how do you do to-day?
You drew up that paper-I s'pose you want your pay,
Don't cut down your figures; make it an X or a V;
For that 'ere written agreement was just the makin' of me.

*See "Betsey and I are Out," in No. 4, page 119.

Goir. home that evenin' I tell you I was blue,

Thinkin' of all my troubles, and what I was goin' to do;
And if my hosses hadn't been the steadiest team alive,

They'd 've tipped me over, certain, for I couldn't see where to drive.

No-for I was laborin' under a heavy load;

No-for I was travelin' an entirely different road;

For I was a-tracin' over the path of our lives ag'in,

And seein' where we missed the way, and where we might have been.

And many a corner we'd turned that just to a quarrel led, When I ought to 've held my temper, and driven straight ahead; And the more I thought it over the more these memories came, And the more I struck the opinion that I was the most to blame.

And things I had long forgotten kept risin' in my mind,
Of little matters betwixt us, where Betsey was good and kind;
And these things they flashed all through me, as you know
things sometimes will,

When a feller's alone in the darkness, and every thing is still.

"But," says I, "we're too far along to take another track, And when I put my hand to the plow I do not oft turn back, And 'tain't an uncommon thing now for couples to smash in two;"

And so I set my teeth together, and vowed I'd see it through.

When I came in sight o' the house 'twas some'at in the night,
And just as I turned a hill-top I see the kitchen light;
Which often a han'some pictur' to a hungry person makes,
But it don't interest a feller much that's goin' to pull up stakes.

And when I went in the house the table was set for me-
As good a supper's I ever saw, or ever want to see;
And I crammed the agreement down in my pocket as well as
I could,

And fell to eatin' my victuals, which somehow didn't taste good.

And Betsey she pretended to look about the house,

But she watched my side coat pocket like a cat would watch

a mouse;

And then she went to foolin' a little with her cup,

And intently readin' a newspaper, a-holdin' it wrong side up.

And when I'd done my supper I drawed the agreement out, An give it to her without a word, for she knowed what 'twas about,

And then I hummed a little tune, but now and then a note Was bu'sted by some animal that hopped up in my throat,

Then Betsey she got her specks from off the mantel-shelf,
And read the article over quite softly to herself;
Read it by little and little, for her eyes is gettin' old,
And lawyers' writin' ain't no print, especially when it's cold

And after she'd read a little she give my arm a touch,
And kindly said she was afraid I was 'lowin' her too much;
But when she was through she went for me, her face a-stream
in' with tears,

And kissed me for the first time in over twenty years.

I don't know what you'll think, Sir,-I didn't come to in quire

But I picked up that agreement and stuffed it in the fire;
And I told her we'd bury the hatchet alongside of the cow;
And we struck an agreement never to have another row.

And I told her in the future I wouldn't speak cross or rash
If half the crockery in the house was broken all to smash;
And she said in regard to heaven, we'd try and learn its worth
By startin' a branch establishment and runnin' it here on earth.

And so we sat a-talkin' three-quarters of the night.

And opened our hearts to each other until they both grew light;

And the days when I was winnin' her away from so many meu Was nothin' to that evenin' I courted her over again.

Next mornin' an ancient virgin took pains to call on us,
Her lamp all trimmed and a-burnin' to kindle another fuss;
But when she went to pryin' and openin' of old sores,
My Betsey rose politely, and showed her out-of-doors.

Since then I don't deny but there's been a word or two;
But we've got our eyes wide open, and know just what to do;
When one speaks cross the other just meets it with a laugh,
And the first one's ready to give up considerable more than
half.

Maybe you'll think me soft, Sir, a-talking in this style,
But somehow it does me lots of good to tell it once in a while;
And I do it for a compliment-'tis so that you can see

That that there written agreement of yours was just the makin'

of me.

So make out your bill, Mr. Lawyer; don't stop short of an X;
Make it more if you want to, for I have got the checks;
I'm richer than a National Bank, with all its treasures told,
For I've got a wife at home now that's worth her weight in
gold.
Harper's Weekly.

ONE NIGHT WITH GIN.

I'LL take some sugar and gin, if you please;
I've a hacking cough perhaps 'twill ease;

Exposed myself yesterday; caught a severe cold, –
And something warm-for it's good, I am told.

Some say it's injurious; and no doubt it is
To men who can't drink and attend to their biz;
I have my opinion of men who cannot
Drink now and then without being a sot.

Wasting their lives, stunting their brains,
Binding their families in poverty's chains
Seeking a bed in the gutter, like swine
Forgetting they're human for whisky and wine.

But of course you don't sell to that class of men ;
Don't blame you-correct-there's nothing in them;
They're a damage to trade; they injure your bar
More than their purses contribute, by far.

Another glass, if you please ;-that's excellent gin.
My cough, I think,'s better than when I came in;
Import this yourself? From Holland, you say?

Like your taste for pure drinks. Here's a V; take your pay.

By the Good Templar's I'm annoyed and perplexed,
Coaxed to join their society until I am vexed.

A piece of absurdity too foreign to think

That one can't indulge in a good social drink.

Over myself I know I've control,

I can sip now and then from the rich flowing bowl,
Drink or not drink, do either with ease,—

What a pity all men can't do as they please !

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