THE BRAVEST BATTLE.

The bravest battle that ever was fought!
Shall I tell you where and when?

On the maps of the world you will find it not 'Twas fought by the mothers of men.

Nay, not with cannon or battle shot,
With a sword or noble pen;

Nay, not with eloquent words or thought
From mouths of wonderful men!

But deep in a walled-up woman's heart—
Of a woman that would not yield,
But bravely, silently bore her part—
Lo, there is that battle-field!

No marshaling troops, no bivouac song,
No banner to gleam and wave;
But oh! these battles, they last so long-
From babyhood to the grave.

Yet, faithful still as a bridge of stars,
She fights in her walled-up town—
Fights on and on in the endless wars,
Then, silent, unseen, goes down.

Oh, ye with banners and battle shot,
And soldiers to shout and praise!
I tell you the kingliest victories fought
Were fought in those silent ways.

O spotless woman in a world of shame,
With splendid and silent scorn,
Go back to God as white as you came-

The kingliest warrior born!

Joaquin Miller.

JANE'S GRADUATION.

Be I agon' t' the graduation?
Well, you just bet I be!

D' you s'pose I'd miss a seein' that?
Well, I guess no sir-ee!

Why, darter Jane graduates this year,
And land a' massy sakes!

Of all the laces, bows and things
That graduation takes.

There's muslin, thin as thin can be,

And ribbon by the mile,

And yards 'n yards o' finest lace,

All made in latest style.

The skirt's a mass o' ruffles 'n tucks,

'N made up with a train,

Jane says that "trains" are all the style,

An' style is on her brain.

What's that? stand well in class? high marks?

Well, now, I couldn't say,

She hain't no time to think o' marks,

She's sewed most every day.

She ain't been studyin' much, you see,

Account o' graduation day;

"I'll have the best, or none at all,"

That's what I heard her say.

An' so they've bought the hull town out, The house is upside down,

'N filled with truck from end to end,
All for that pesky gown;

An' Jane's a right smart gal, she is,
She knows what's what, you bet;
An' that there graduation dress
Is handsome's I've seen yet.

Agon' to college did you say?
Well, no, I guess she ain't,
She don't keer much for studyin',
For learnin' she's no saint;
A help ter home? why, yes, of course,
She'll prob❜ly help round some;
But she's a gittin' pretty tired,
Now graduation's come.

Must a cost a lot, you say?

Why yes, but that's all right,

So long as Janie has a rig

That beats 'em all tonight.
Give an essay? well, no, she had
So much to think about
That I just went 'n told the chief
He'd have to leave her out.

She's gone an' had her pictur took,
An' I tell you it's fine,

It looks just like her, handsome, too,

As befits a gal o' mine. She's sittin' in an easy chair,

As cool as ever I see,

An' holdin' that there scroll o' her'n

As proud as proud can be.

O, be you go'n'? Why, what's your rush?
Well, come 'n smoke again;

Good land! the sky looks kinder black,

I hope 'tain't goin' ter rain!
Well, now you want ter go today,

(The thing, you know, is free)

An' see 'f Jane ain't as handsome a girl

As any you ever see.

Miss Mabel Florence Nash, Graduation Poem, Brockton (Mass.) High School, 1902.

A LONESOME BOY.

The boy sat huddled so close to the woman in gray that everybody felt sure he belonged to her; so when he unconsciously dug his muddy shoes into the broadcloth skirt of his left-hand neighbor she leaned over and said: "Pardon me, madam, will you kindly make your little boy square himself around? He is soiling my skirt with his muddy shoes."

The woman in gray blushed a little and nudged the boy away. "My boy?" she said. "My goodness, he isn't mine."

The boy squirmed uneasily. He was such a little fellow that he could not touch his feet to the floor, so he stuck them out straight in front of him like pegs to hang things on, and looked at them deprecatingly.

"I am sorry I got your dress dirty," he said to the woman on his left. "I hope it will brush off."

"Oh, it doesn't matter," she said. Then, as his eyes were still fastened upon hers, she added: "Are you going uptown alone?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said. "I always go alone. There isn't anybody to go with me. Father is dead and mother is dead. I live with Aunt Clara in Brooklyn, but she says Aunt Anna ought

to help do something for me, so once or twice a week, when she gets tired and wants to go to some place to get rested up, she sends me over to stay with Aunt Anna. I am going up there now. Sometimes I don't find Aunt Anna at home, but I hope she will be at home today, because it looks as if it is going to rain, and I don't like to hang around in the street in the rain."

The woman felt something uncomfortable in her throat, and she said: "You are a very little boy to be knocked about this way," rather unsteadily.

"Oh, I don't mind," he said. "I never get lost. But I get lonesome sometimes on the long trips, and when I see anybody that I think I would like to belong to I scrooge up close to her so I can make believe that I really do belong to her. This morning I was playing that I belonged to that lady on the other side of me, and I forgot all about my feet. That is why I got your dress dirty."

The woman put her arms around the tiny chap and "scrooged" him up so close that she hurt him, and every other woman who had heard his artless confidence looked as if she would not only let him. wipe his shoes on her best gown, but would rather he did it than not. New York Times.

MOTHER'S BOYS.

Yes, I know there are stains on my carpet,
The traces of small, muddy boots;

And I see your fair tapestry glowing,
All spotless with flowers and fruits.

And I know that my walls are disfigured
With prints of small fingers and hands;
And that your own household most truly
In immaculate purity stands.