ALL.

There hangs a sabre, and there a rein,
With a rusty buckle and green curb chain;
A pair of spurs on the old gray wall,
And a mouldy saddle-well, that is all.

Come out to the stable-it is not far;
The moss grown door is hanging ajar,
Look within! There's an empty stall,
Where once stood a charger, and that is all.

The good black horse came riderless home,
Flecked with blood drops as well as foam;
See yonder hillock where dead leaves fall;
The good black horse pined to death-that's all.

All? O God! it is all I can speak;
Question me not-I am old and weak;
His saber and saddle hang on the wall;

And his horse pined to death-I have told you all.

Anon.

Bayard Taylor is reported to have said of the above: "I know

of no finer poem of its length."

M. BOCHSA PLAYS THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER!

M. Bochsa, the celebrated harpist, was a great wag. At a concert, once given in Tremont Temple, he offered to play any air the audience might select, with embellishments and variations.

"You vill plees send me ze tune vot I sal play," he said. Half a dozen slips of paper were immediately sent to the platform.

"O Dolce Concento'-Yankee Doodil'-(I know him vera well. I play him one, two, tree-several time! 'Groves o' Blarney'

,

-'Yankee Doo (I have two 'Yankee Doodils'), 'Non piu festa' tres bien !'"

"Star Spangled Banner!" shouted somebody in the crowd.
"Vot you say?" inquired Bochsa.

"Star Spangled Banner!" Monsieur didn't understand. "Ze zhentilman will plees step to ze front." The gentleman declined.

"If ze zhentilman cannot come to me, I must come to him," continued Bochsa.

A roar followed the announcement, pending which the stranger came forward amid applause. At the foot of the passage stood Monsieur gravely awaiting further explanation.

"Vot you say, sair?"

"The Star Spangled Banner, I want.”

"Scar Strangled Bannair? aha! N'comprend, Monsieur." "Not Scar-Strangled, sir-Star Spangled Banner."

"Ze Bannaire-Oui, I un'erstan'-ze flag!"

"Yes, yes-the flag of the United States."

"Yes saire! I remember him ver'mooch. Zat is, I do not recollec' him, 'zac'ly. Monsieur, you know him?

"Why, yes, to be sure-everybody knows the "Star Spangled Banner!"

"Tres bien, Monsieur! Every Yankee zhentilman vissel. You sal vissel him in my ear!"

Another shout from the audience; but the gentleman, not abashed, placed his mouth to Bochsa's ear and whistled the "Star Spangled Banner" most philosophically amid the convulsions of the audience, who could not find this scene on the bills of the evening.

"Tres bien, Monsieur! shouted Bochsa; "elegant, superb! Monsieur, you von ver' fine musician. I sal play ze Scar Strangled Bannair vis mooch plaisir !"

Mounting the platform he commenced with a grand introduc tion to the several themes proposed, following by highly finished

and exquisitely performed variations upon the melodies sent up, not forgetting the two Yankee Doodils—always a certain favorite.

Suddenly a crash of harmony leaped from the harpstrings, which took the audience by surprise. A pause followed, when the "Star Spangled Banner" was produced with a most brilliant accompaniment which "brought down the house."

Bochsa was satisfied, his friend and the audience were satisfied, and the great harpist left the stage (with a quiet smirk at the corner of his mouth) amid a perfect storm of applause.

G. Fernald.

GRADATIM.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound,
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit round by round.

I count this thing to be grandly true:

That a noble deed is a step toward God—
Lifting the soul from the common clod
To a purer air and a broader view.

We rise by the things that are under feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.

We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust,

When the morning calls us to life and light,
But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night
Our lives are trailing the sordid dust.

We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray,
And we think that we mount the air on wings
Beyond the recall of sensual things,

While our feet still cling to the heavy clay.

Wings for the angels, but feet for men

We may borrow the wings to find the way-
We may hope, and resolve, and aspire, and pray,
But our feet must rise, or we fall again.

Only in dreams is a ladder thrown

From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone.

Heaven is not reached at a single bound,

But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round.

Dr. J. G. Holland.

"KEEP SWEET AND KEEP MOVIN"." Greeting! A Message for the New Year. Contributed by the author.

Homely phrase of our southland bright-
Keep steady step to the flam of the drum;
Touch to the left-eyes to the right—
Sing with the soul tho' the lips be dumb.
Hard to be good when the wind's in the east;
Hard to be gay when the heart is down;
When "they that trouble you are increased,"
When you look for a smile and see a frown.
But

"Keep sweet and keep movin'."

Sorrow will shade the blue sky gray—
Gray is the color our brothers wore;
Sunshine will scatter the clouds away;
Azure will gleam in the skies once more.
Colors of Patience and Hope are they-
Always at even in one they blend;
Tinting the heavens by night and day,
Over our hearts to the journey's end.
Just

"Keep sweet and keep movin'."

Hard to be sweet when the throng is dense,
When elbows jostle and shoulders crowd;
Easy to give and to take offense

When the touch is rough and the voice is loud;
"Keep to the right" in the city's throng;
"Divide the road" on the broad highway;
There's one way right when everything's wrong;
"Easy and fair goes far in a day."

Just

"Keep sweet and keep movin'."

The quick taunt answers the hasty word-
The lifetime chance for a "help" is missed;
The muddiest pool is a fountain stirred,

A kind hand clenched makes an ugly fist.
When the nerves are tense and the mind is vexed,
The spark lies close to the magazine;

Whisper a hope to the soul perplexed-
Banish the fear with a smile serene

Just

"Keep sweet and keep movin'."

Robert J. Burdette.