An' I tell ye what it was, Squar, my boys cum up to the

scratch,

They all had a share o' the old man's grit, with enough of their own to match

They show'd ther colors, an' set ther flint, ther names went down on the roll,

An' Benjamin, Thomas, an' Sam was pledged to preserve the old flag whole.

They all cum hum together at the last, rigged up in soldier's clothes;

It made my old heart thump with pride, an' ther mother's spirits rose,

Fur she'd been "down in the mouth" sumwhat, sence she'd heard what the boys had done,

Fur it took all three, an' it's hard enough fur a mother to give up one.

But ther warn't a drop of coward's blood in her veins, I ken tell you first,

Fur she'd send the boys, an' the old man, too, if worst had cum to worst;

I shall never forgit the last night, when we all kneeled down to pray,

How she give 'em, one by one, to God, in the hush of the twilight gray.

An' then, when morning broke so clear-not a cloud was in the sky

The boys cum in with sober looks to bid us their last good-bye;

I didn't 'spect she would stand it all with her face so firm and calm,

But she didn't break nor give in a peg till she cum to kissin' Sam.

An' then it all cum out at onst, like a storm from a

thunder-cloud

She jest sot down on the kitchen floor, broke out with a sob so loud

Thet Sam give up, an' the boys cum back, and they all got down by her there,

An' I'm thinkin' 't would made an angel cry to hev seen thet partin', Squar!

I think she had a forewarnin', fur when they brought back poor Sam,

She sot down by his coffin there, with her face so white an' calm,

An' the neighbor's thet cum a pourin' in to see our soldier dead,

Went out with a hush on their tremblin' lips, an' the words in ther hearts unsaid.

Stranger, perhaps you heerd of Sam, how he broke thro' thet Secesh line,

An' planted the old flag high an' dry, where its dear old stars could shine;

An' after our soldiers won the day, an' a-gatherin' up the

dead,

They found our boy with his brave heart still, and the flag above his head.

An' Tom was shot at Gettysburg, in the hottest of the

fray

They said thet he led his gallant boys like a hero thro' thet day;

But they brought him back with his clear voice hushed in the silent sleep of death,

An' another grave grew grassy green 'neath the kiss of the summer's breath.

An' Benjamin, he cum hum at last, but it made my old

eyes ache

To see him lay with thet patient look, when it seemed thet his heart would break

With his pain an' wounds; but he lingered on till the flowers died away,

An' then we laid him down to rest, in the calm of the autumn day.

Will I sell the old farm, stranger, the house where my boys were born?

Jes' look down thro' the orchard, Squar, beyond that field o' corn—

Ken ye see them four white marble stuns gleam out thro the orchard glade?

Wall, all thet is left of our boys on arth rests under them old trees' shade.

But there cums John with the cows, ye see, an' it's 'bout my milkin'-time;

If ye happen along this way agin, jes' stop in at eny

time.

Oh! ye axed if I'd eny notion the old farm would ever

be sold:

Wall! may be, Squar, but I'll tell ye plain, 't will be when the old man's cold.

A. ALPHONSE DAYTON.

MY EARLY HOME.

OVE, Peace, and Repose! the tenderest trio

Lov

Of musical words ever

blended in one

That one word is Home-'mid the hills of Ohio

Dear home of my childhood in years that are gone.

There, father and mother, two sisters, one brother,
With hopes, like their hearts, united, abide,
Their treasures in this world are few; in another,
A heritage holy and glory beside.

In fancy I wander, this sweet summer morning,
Away to the wheat-field, just over the hill;
"Tis harvest-time now, and the reapers are coming
To gather the waiting grain, golden and still.

Many harvests have passed, many summers have ended
Since here I oft toiled, with glad reapers, before,
And felt the great bounty of Heaven extended,
Giving joy to the worker and bread to the poor.

Long ago, I remember, when thirsty and tiring,
The harvesters came to the old maple shade,
How they quaffed the pure water, so cool and inspiring,
That gushed from the fountain that Nature had made.

And I think of the orchard, and the apples that yellowed,
Half hidden by leaves in the "big early tree;"
Ah, the apples, how luscious, when ripened and mellowed,
Then dropped in the clover for sisters and me!

Old home of my youth, so humble, so cherished,
Thy hallowed memory cheers me to-day;

When all other thoughts of the past shall have perished,
Remembrance of thee shall illumine my way.

Sweet home in Ohio, now farewell forever!

I've wandered afar from thy dear cottage door: I'll visit thee, love thee; but never, oh, never,

Will thy charms, or my childhood, return any more. ALEXANDER CLARK

WILLIAM TELL.

"PLACE

CE there the boy," the tyrant said; "Fix me the apple on his head. Ha! rebel, now!

There's a fair mark for your shaft:

To yonder shining apple waft

An arrow." And the tyrant laughed.
With quivering brow

Bold Tell looked there; his cheek turned pale
His proud lips throbbed as if would fail

Their quivering breath.

"Ha! doth he blanch?" fierce Gesler cried, "I've conquered, slave, thy soul of pride." No voice to that stern taunt repliedAll mute as death.

"And what the meed?" at length Tell asked. "Bold fool, when slaves like thee are tasked, It is my will.

But that thine eye may keener be,
And nerved to such nice archery,
If thou cleav'st yon, thou goest free.
What! pause you still?

Give him a bow and arrow there-
One shaft-but one." Gleams of despair
Rush for a moment o'er the Switzer's face!
Then passed away each stormy trace,
And high resolve came in their place.
Unmoved, yet flushed,

"I take thy terms," he muttered low,
Grasped eagerly the proffered bow-
The quiver searched,

Sought out an arrow keen and long,
Fit for a sinewy arm, and strong,