unto the form of the Son of God. Their eyes met Why should not Asenath sing?

"Senath!" cried the old man out upon the burning bricks; he was scorched now, from his gray hair to his patched boots.

The answer came triumphantly:

"To die no more, to die no more,

We're going home to die no more

"Sene! little Sene!"

But some one pulled him back.

I'M

ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS.

OLD LETTERS.

"M keeping them all for the sake of my darlingsThe loved and the lost by God kindly given. Two are still wandering, heart-sick and sorrowing, And four have passed thro' the portals of heaven. I'm sitting alone by the desolate hearthstone, Reading their letters while memories flow, Stirring my heart to its uttermost fountains, Like echoes of harp-strings that broke long ago. Here is a missive from Bertha, our beauty, Who wedded the dissolute heir of the Grange She is "My Lady" in satin and diamonds, Beautiful Bertha, so altered and strange.

Was it a dream that her fair jeweled fingers

Traced in bitterness the lines that I read—
"Come to me, sister, I'm both sick and wretched,
I loved him and lost him! I wish I were dead!"
I meet her sometimes in the pride of her grandeur,
Haughty and cold as the white falling snow.

I pity the child for the mask she is wearing,
And sigh for the heart lying broken below.
Yet, for the sake of the winsome, wee sister,
Dear little Bertha, so gentle and fair,
I'm keeping this token of early affection,
Of Bertha's first sorrow and Bertha's despair.
Here is a letter all post-marked and blackened-
Jamie was coming from over the sea.
Idolized Jamie, blithe brother Jamie!
Returning to home, to mother, and me.
Here is another "for Jamie's pet sister,"
Some pitying stranger had written to me.
Jamie was sleeping, peacefully sleeping,
Under the treacherous, merciless sea.
Here in its envelope, war-worn and blackened,
Is a letter from father to her he loved best-
Father, who died on the red field of battle,
With Liberty's stream flowing out from his breast.
Glad was that time when the loud shouts of victory
Swelled at the nation's proud heart like a flood,
But costly the triumph, yes, dear was the conquest,
Won at the price of our father's life-blood.

Under the turf daisy-crowned in its beauty,

My best love soon folded her hands to her breast: They wanted another to praise God in heaven,

And mother, dear mother, was called with the rest.

Ah, but I missed her thro' long nights of anguish!
Choking with sobs that I could not repress,
And the head of poor, little, motherless Lily,
Nestled to sorrowful rest on my breast.

Here is the message that Lily was dying-
Mother's sweet baby, I reared as my own!
Seventeen summers the angels but lent her,

And Lily, the bride of a twelvemonth, had flown. I kissed her cold lips, and smoothed back her tresses Robing her, too, in daintiest white.

The fair golden head that lay in my bosom

Rests 'neath the long-waving grave-grass to-night.

Here is a tear-blotted farewell from Lula,

Who would be an actress, she willfully said.
Silver-voiced Lula, who went with the summer!
Where-oh! where is she?-living or dead?

Ah! me, when the sad tears of Mem'ry are flowing,
In sorrowful retrospect over the Past,

Their dear faces come, as of old, and they whisper,
"Be patient, thy earth-days are vanishing fast."

Where is the ribbon? There, tie up the letters,

Sorrowful records of Home's scattered band.
I'm lonely without them, so weary of waiting
To meet them again in a happier land.

I was the first-born, their joy and their comfort.
I am the last and the loneliest now,

Waiting to go, when the Father shall call me,
The one withered leaf on Winter's bare bough.

MY

THE POWER OF THE TONGUE.

Y brethren, be not many masters, knowing that we shall receive the greater condemnation.

For in many things we offend all. If any man offend

not in word, the same is a perfect man, and able also to bridle the whole body.

Behold, we put bits in the horses' mouths, that they may obey us; and we turn about their whole body.

Behold also the ships, which though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whithersoever the governor listeth.

Even so the tongue is a little member, and boasteth great things. Behold, how great a matter a little fire. kindleth!

And the tongue is a fire, a world of iniquity; so is the tongue among our members, that it defileth the whole body, and setteth on fire the course of nature; and it is set on fire of hell.

For every kind of beasts, and of birds, and of serpents, and of things in the sea, is tamed, and hath been tamed of mankind:

But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.

Therewith bless we God, even the Father; and therewith curse we men, which are made after the similitude of God. Out of the same mouth proceedeth blessing and cursing. My brethren, these things ought not so to be.

Doth a fountain send forth at the same place sweet water and bitter?

Can the fig tree, my brethren, bear olive berries? either a vine, figs? so can no fountain both yield salt water and fresh.

Who is a wise man and endued with knowledge among you? let him shew out of a good conversation his works with meekness of wisdom.

But if ye have bitter envying and strife in your hearts, glory not, and lie not against the truth.

This wisdom descendeth not from above, but is earthly, sensual, devilish.

For where envying and strife is, there is confusion and every evil work.

But the wisdom that is from above is first pure, then peaceable, gentle, and easy to be entreated, full of mercy and good fruits, without partiality, and without hypocrisy.

And the fruit of righteousness is sown in peace of them that make peace. BIBLE.

LINCOLN'S LAST DREAM.

APRIL flowers were in the hollows; in the air were

April bells,

And the wings of purple swallows rested on the battle

shells;

From the war's long scene of horror now the nation found release;

All the day the old war bugles blew the blessed notes of peace.

'Thwart the twilight's damask curtains

Fell the night upon the land,

Like God's smile of benediction

Shadowed faintly by His hand.

In the twilight, in the dusk light, in the starlight every where,

Banners waved like gardened flowers in the palpitating air.

In Art's temple there were greetings, gentle hurryings of feet,

And triumphant strains of music rose amid the aum bers sweet.