In the hush of the valley of silence
I dream all the songs that I sing;
And the music floats down the dim valley
Till each finds a word for a wing,
That to men, like the dove of the deluge,
The message of peace they may bring.,

But far on the deep there are billows
That never shall break on the beach,
And I have heard songs in the silence
That never shall float into speech.
And I have had dreams in the valley
Too lofty for language to reach.

And I have seen thoughts in the valley-
Ah me! how my spirit was stirred!
And they wore holy veils on their faces,
Their footsteps can scarcely be heard;
They pass through the valley like virgins,
Too pure for the touch of a word.

Do you ask me the place of the valley,
Ye hearts that are harrowed by care?

It lieth afar between mountains,

And God and his angels are there;
And one is the dark mount of sorrow,
And one the bright mountain of prayer.

FATHER RYAN.

THE FAST MAIL.

LAY by the weekly, Betsey, it's old, like you and I,
And read the morning's daily, with its pages scarcely dry.
While you and I were sleepin', they were printing them to-day,
In the city by the ocean, several hundred miles away.

"How'd I get it?" Bless you, Betsey, you needn't doubt and laugh,

1

It didn't drop down from the clouds, nor come by telegraph; I got it by the lightnin', mail we've read about, you know, The mail that Jonathan got up, about a month ago,

We farmers livin' round the hill went to the town to-day,
To see the fast mail catch the bags that hung beside the way;
Quick as a flash from thundering clouds, whose tempest swept
the sky,

The bags were caught on board the train as it went roarin' by.

We are seein' many changes in our fast declinin' years; Strange rumors now are soundin' in our hard-of-hearin' ears. Ere the sleep that knows no wakin' comes to waft us o'er the stream,

Some great power may be takin' all the self-conceit from steam.

Well do we remember, Betsey, when the postman carried mails,
Ridin' horseback through the forest 'long the lonely Indian trails,
How impatiently we waited -we were earnest lovers then-
For our letters comin' slowly, many miles, through wood and
glen.

-

Many times, you know, we missed them,—for the postman never came,

Then, not knowing what had happened, we did each the other

blame;

Long those lover quarrels lasted, but the God who melts the proud

Brought our strayin' hearts together and let sunshine through the cloud.

Then, at last, the tidings reached us that the faithful postman fell

Before the forest savage with his wild, terrific yell.

And

your letters lay and mouldered, while the sweet birds sang above,

And I was sayin' bitter things about a woman's love.

Long and tedious were the journeys- few and far between the

mails,

In the days when we were courtin'

wooden flails;

when we threshed with

Now the white-winged cars are flyin' 'long the shores of inland

seas,

And younger lovers read their letters 'mid luxury and ease.

We have witnessed many changes in our threescore years and

ten;

We no longer sit and wonder at the discoveries of men;

In the shadows of life's evenin' we rejoice that our boys
Are not called to meet the hardship that embittered half our joys.

Like the old mail through the forest, youthful years go slowly by; Like the fast mail of the present, manhood's years how swift they fly;

We are sitting in the shadow: soon shall break life's brittle cord

Soon shall come the welcome summons by the fast mail of the JOHN H. YATES.

Lord.

DE 'SPERIENCE OF DE REB'REND

QUACKO STRONG.

SWING dat gate wide, 'Postle Peter,
Ring de big bell, beat de gong,

Saints and martyrs den will meet dar;
Brudder, Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Sound dat bugle, Angel Gabrel!
Tell de elders loud an' long,

Cl'ar out dem high seats ob heaben,
Here comes Reb'rend Quacko Strong!

Turn de guard out, Gin'ral Michael,
Arms present de line along,
Let de band play "Conk'rin' Hero"
For de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Den bid Moses bring de crown, an'
Palms, an' weddin' gown along!
Wid processions to de landin'.

Here's de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Joseph, march down wid your bred'ren,
Tribes an' banners musterin' strong;

Speech of welcome from ole Abram,
Answer, Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Tune your harp-strings tight, King David,
Sing your good Ole Hundred song,
Let de seraphs dance wid cymbals
Round de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Angels hear me yell Hosanner,
Hear my dulcem speritool song;
Halleluyer! I'm a-comin',

I'm de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

Make dat white robe radder spacious,
And the waist-belt 'strodn'ry long,
'Cause 'twill take some room in glory
For de Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

What! No one at de landin'!

'Pears like suff'n' 'nudder's wrong; Guess I'll gib dat sleepy Peter

"

Fits from Reb'rend Quacko Strong.

To go 'long wid Major Satan

Into dat warm climate 'mong

I. Fire an' brimstone. Hear me knockin', 40 2.4 Ole church-member, Quacko Strong.

Dat loud noise am comin' nearer,
Dreffle smell like powder-smoke;
'Nudder screech! Good Heaben help me-
Lord, forgib dis poor ole moke!

Allers was so berry holy,

Singin' and prayin' extra long;
Now the debble's gwine to catch me,
Poor ole nigger, Quacko Strong.

Hi! dat gate swings back a little,
Mighty squeezin' to get froo!
Ole Apollyon's howlin' louder,
Everything around am blue.

Bang de gate goes! an' Beelzebub,
Bunch ob wool upon his prong,
Goes along widout de soul ob

Missabul sinner, name ob Strong.

THE PATTER OF THE SHINGLE.

--

WHEN the angry passion gathering in my mother's face I see, And she leads me in the bed-room gently lays me on her knee, Then I know that I will catch it, and my flesh in fancy itches, As I listen for the patter of the shingle on my breeches.

Every tinkle of the shingle has an echo and a sting,
And a thousand burning fancies into active being spring;
And a thousand bees and hornets 'neath my coat-tail seem to

swarm,

As I listen to the patter of the shingle, oh, so warm!

In a splutter comes my father

whom I supposed had gone—

To survey the situation, and tell her to lay it on;

To see her bending o'er me' as I listen to the strain

Played by her and by the shingle in a wild and weird refrain.