Write, sister, write! Nay, shrink not, for a sister's love is holy. Write words the angels whisper in thine ears: No bud of sweet affection, howe'er lowly, But planted here will bloom in after years. Something to cheer him, his rough way pursuing, For manhood's lot is sterner far than ours; He may not pause: he must be up and doing Whilst thou sittst idly dreaming among flowers. Write, sister, write! Write, brother, write! Strike a bold blow pages. And whoso aids a sorrowing, struggling brother By kindly word or deed or friendly token Shall win the favor of our heavenly Father, Who judges evil and rewards the good, And who hath linked the race of man together In one vast, universal brotherhood. HOME JOURNAL. THE SCHOLAR. MY days among the dead are past; Around me I behold, Where'er these casual eyes are cast, The mighty minds of old: My never-failing friends are they, bold blow upon those kindred With whom I converse day by day. Write, "Shoulder to shoulder, brother, we will go; Heart linked to heart, though wild the con flict rages, We will defy the battle and the foe." "We who have trodden boyhood's path together Beneath the summer's sun and winter's sky What matter if life brings us some foul weather? We may be stronger than adversity." Fellow-immortal, write! 'One God reigns in the heavens-there is no other With them I take delight in weal And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel Partake their hopes and fears, My hopes are with the dead; anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on Through all futurity, Yet leaving here a name, I trust, And all mankind are brethren: thus 'tis That will not perish in the dust. spoken ; ROBERT SOUTHEY. A BEAUTY. THING of beauty is a joy for ever; Its loveliness increases; it will never Pass into nothingness, but still will keep A bower quiet for us, and a sleep Full of sweet dreams and health and quiet breathing. Therefore on every morrow are we wreathing rills That for themselves a cooling covert make 'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake, Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms; And such too is the grandeur of the dooms Nor do we merely feel these essences They alway must be with us, or we die. JOHN KEATS. แ แ MOLLIE MEADE. A STORY WITH TWO SIDES. I. OME right in! How are you, Fred? COM Find a chair, and have a light." Well, old boy, recovered yet From the Mathers' jam last night?" Didn't dance: the German's old." "Didn't you? I had to lead. Awful bore! But where were you?" "Sat it out with Mollie Meade: Jolly little girl she is. Said she didn't care to dance'D rather have a quiet chat; Then she gave me such a glance! So, when you had cleared the room And had captured all the chairs, Having nowhere else, we two Took possession of the stairs: I was on the lower step, Mollie on the next aboveGave me her bouquet to hold, Asked me to draw off her glove. Then, of course, I squeezed her hand, Talked about my wasted life, Said my sole salvation must Be a true and gentle wife; Then, you know, I used my eyes. She believed me-every word; Almost said she loved me. Jove! Such a voice I never heard! Gave me some symbolic flower; Had a meaning-oh, so sweet! Don't know what it is, I'm sure: Must have dropped it in the street. How I spooned! And she Ha! ha! Well, I know it wasn't right, But she did believe me so That I-kissed her. Pass a light." II. "Mollie Meade! Well, I declare! Who'd have thought of seeing you After what occurred last night Out here on the Avenue? Oh, you awful, awful girl! There! Don't blush: I saw it all." "Saw all what?" Ahem! Last night, At the Mathers', in the hall." "Oh, you horrid! Where were you? Wasn't he an awful goose? I'd have done it if I could— hand! |