Of tourse oo tan, Aunt Nelly say; All this the little maiden said, While yet her hat was on her head, I said, "How is your Aunty Nell?” I hope to hear that she is well." She lifted up her great black eyes, "Aunt Nelly's dot de whoopin' toff, Somehow I knew she told a fib, "Oh! Uncle Don's down to de city; He say he some time dit one, maybe." "You do not want another cousin? "Dis baby'll be my ve'wy own, An' t'ill be made of meat an' bone, An' I tan dive it somefin t'eat. Oo see, I'se dot no 'ittle b'over He's daun way up to heav'n wiv mover, An' I tan't never dit no over. But papa say he don't want any; He say anuzzer be too many; He say he'll tange my name to Benny." "O Perley! how you rattle on; "Aunt Nelly is not sit," she said, "An' s'e's not lying in ze bed, Nor got no wet cloff on s'e's head." "Why, Perley, you have told a lie!" "Why did you tell me such a tale? She came and stood beside my knee- JENNIE T. HAZEN LEWIS. A PIECE OF BUNTING. ON a Christmas morning, many years ago, I stood upon the deck of a merchantman, in the harbor of Cadiz, in Spain. The cathedral and convent bells were ringing out their carols, in commemoration of that event, which, two thousand years ago, brought the tidings of peace on earth and good-will to men ; and as I leaned on the taffrail, infused with the glamour of youth, enveloped in the Indian-summer haze of that delicious atmosphere, which predisposes the most stolid to revery, I gazed on the beautiful town, that rose like a city of pearl from the sea, and mused. I could hardly realize my own identity; that I, a boy born and reared on the margin of the Great Lakes, was floating on the same waters which had borne the Pho nician fleets three thousand years ago; that I was looking on a city contemporary with Carthage, and which was old before Rome was born. On the distant mountain side I could see the towers of Ronda, where Julius Cæsar had fought a pitched battle of which he said, that, although he had fought many times for victory, he had fought but once for his life, and here was the spot; and Hannibal had here probably stopped when starting on that march which was to end only in Rome's abasement or her triumph. I thought of the advent of Christianity, and the dethronement of the idols of Baal; of Roderick, the last of the Goths, and his fateful love; of the coming of the Moors, and of the empire they reared; of the sorrows of Boabdil, the man without a country-the king without a throne; and as these imaginings floated across my brain as pinnacles before a soft south wind, a strain of music struck upon my ear. As its cadences floated across the tremulous floor of the sea, it sounded wondrously familiar. It was our national hymn. I turned; and there, thank God! our flag was flying at the peak of a man-of-war. A great lump rose in my throat, great drops rolled down my cheeks, I reached out my arms as if to enfold it. What to me were the historic scenes of Spain, and its fables, what its olive groves and acacias, what was Xerxes, Saguntum, the Alhambra, or the Guadalquiver? Yet, to one who knew not its significance, it was but a piece of bunting with hues harmoniously blended, not half so attractive as a painting or a landscape; but no Murillo nor the gardens of Atlantis, could have awakened any such emotions in my breast. What was it that endowed it with such power? It It was was the emblem of all I held dear on earth. home, country, power, protection, inspiration, restraint, society in solitude, wealth in poverty. From it as from a camera were thrown upon my heart visions of those I loved, of the beautiful city where I was born, of my companions in its streets, of the primeval forests of my State, of its environing lakes, of my country and its happy homes. F. W. PALMER. TW THE FIRST TE DEUM. WAS Easter night in Milan, and before Saint Ambrose stood. At the baptismal font Saint Ambrose raised His hands to heaven, and on his face there shone An angel from God's altar bare a coal And touched his lips. With solemn step and slow |