His plighted maiden, when she fears
For him the joy of her young years,
Thinks of thy fate, and checks her tears:
And she, the mother of thy boys,
Though in her eye and faded cheek
Is read the grief she will not speak,

The memory of her buried joys,
And even she who gave thee birth,
Will, by their pilgrim-circled hearth,

Talk of thy doom without a sigh:
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's;
One of the few, the immortal names,

That were not born to die.

Fitz-Greene Halleck.

The Teetotal Mill.

Two jolly old topers sat once in an inn,
Discussing the merits of brandy and gin;
Said one to the other, "I'll tell you what, Bill,
I've been learning to-day of the Teetotal Mill.

"You must know that this comical Mill has been built
Of old broken casks, where the liquor 's been spilt;
You go up some high steps, and when at the sill,
You've a paper to sign at the Teetotal Mill.

"You promise, by signing this paper (I think),
That ale, wine and spirits you never will drink;
You give up (as they call it) such rascally swill,
And then you go into the Teetotal Mill.

"There's a wheel in this Mill that they call 'self-denial,' They turn it a bit, just to give you a trial;

Old clothes are made new, and if you've been ill,
You are very soon cured at the Teetotal Mill.”

Bill listened and wondered

at length he cried out,

"Why, Tom, if its true, what you 're telling about,
What fools we must be to be here sitting still,
Let us go and we 'll look at this Teetotal Mill."

They gazed with astonishment; there came in a man,
With excess and disease his visage was wan;

He mounted the steps, signed the pledge with good will,
And went for a turn in the Teetotal Mill.

He quickly came out, the picture of health,
And walked briskly on the highway to wealth;
And, as onward he pressed, he shouted out still,
"Success to the wheel of the Teetotal Mill."

The next that went in were a man and his wife,
For many long years they 'd been living in strife;
He had beaten her shamefully, swearing he'd kill,
But his heart took a turn in the Teetotal Mill.

And when he came out how altered was he,
Steady, honest, and sober - how happy was she;

They no more contend, "No you shan't;" "Yes I will."
They were blessing together the Teetotal Mill.

Next came a rough fellow, as grim as a Turk,
To curse and to swear seemed his principal work;
He swore that that morning himself he would fill,
And drunk as he was he reeled into the Mill.

And what he saw there, I never could tell,

But his conduct was changed, and his language as well;
I saw, when he turned round the brow of the hill,
That he knelt and thanked God for the Teetotal Mill.

The poor were made rich, the weak were made strong, The shot was made short, and the purse was made longThese miracles puzzled both Thomas and Bill,

At length they went in for a turn in the Mill.

A little time after, I heard a great shout,

I turned round to see what the noise was about;

A flag was conveyed to the top of the hill,

And a crowd, amongst which were both Thomas and Bill, Were shouting, "Hurrah for the Teetotal Mill."

"Little Bennie."

A CHRISTMAS STORY.

I had told him, Christmas morning,
As he sat upon my knee,
Holding fast his little stockings,
Stuffed as full as full can be,
And attentive listening to me,

With a face demure and mild,
That old Santa Claus, who filled them,
Did not love a naughty child.

"But we'll be good, won't we, moder,"
And from off my lap he slid,
Digging deep among the goodies
In his crimson stockings hid.
While I turned me to my table,
Where a tempting goblet stood
Brimming high with dainty custard
Sent me by a neighbor good.

But the kitten, there before me,
With his white paw, nothing loth,
Sat, by way of entertainment,
Lapping off the shining froth;
And, in not the gentlest humor

At the loss of such a treat,

I confess I rather rudely

Thrust him out into the street.

Then how Bennie's blue eyes kindled; Gathering up the precious store

He had busily been pouring

In his tiny pinafore,

With a generous look that shamed me

Sprang he from the carpet bright,

Showing by his mien indignant,

All a baby's sense of right.

"Come back, Harney," called he loudly, As he held his apron white,

"You shall have my candy wabbit,"

But the door was fastened tight,
So he stood abashed and silent,
In the center of the floor,
With defeated look alternate
Bent on me and on the floor.

Then, as by some sudden impulse,
Quickly ran he to the fire,
And while eagerly his bright eyes

Watched the flames grow higher and higher,

In a brave, clear key, he shouted,

Like some lordly little elf,

"Santa Kaus, come down the chimney, Make my Mudder 'have herself."

"I will be a good girl, Bennie,"
Said I, feeling the reproof;
And straightway recalled poor Harney,
Mewing on the gallery roof.
Soon the anger was forgotten,

Laughter chased away the frown,
And they gamboled 'neath the live oaks,
Till the dusky night came down.

In my dim, fire-lighted chamber,
Harney purred beneath my chair,
And my playworn boy beside me

Knelt to say his evening prayer;
"God bess Fader, God bess Moder,
God bess Sister," then a pause,
And the sweet young lips devoutly
Murmured, "God bess Santa Kaus.”

He is sleeping; brown and silken
Lie the lashes, long and meek,
Like caressing, clinging shadows,
On his plump and peachy cheek,

And I bend above him, weeping
Thankful tears. O undefiled!
For a woman's crown of glory,

For the blessing of a child.

Annie Chambers Ketchum.

Lady Clare.

It was the time when lilies blow,
And the clouds are highest up in air,
Lord Ronald brought a lily-white doe
To give his cousin, Lady Clare.

I trow they did not part in scorn;
Lovers long betrothed were they:
They two will wed the morrow morn;
God's blessing on the day!

"He does not love me for my birth,

Nor for my lands as broad and fair; He loves me for my own true worth, And that is well," said Lady Clare.

In there came old Alice, the nurse,

Said, "Who was this that went from thee?" "It was my cousin," said Lady Clare, "To-morrow he weds with me."

"O God be thanked!" said Alice the nurse, "That all comes round so just and fair, Lord Ronald is heir of all your lands,

And you are not the Lady Clare."

"Are ye out of your mind, my nurse, my nurse?
Said Lady Clare, "that ye speak so wild?"
"As God's above," said Alice the nurse,
"I speak the truth; you are my child."

"The old earl's daughter died at my breast;
I speak the truth as I live by bread;
I buried her like my own sweet child,
And put my child in her stead."