Wi regard to wars and fitins, I mid be rong or right, But one thing's perty clear, it tiakes two to make a fight; And as for miakin one o' thay, I'd never hav a roun',

'Less I were shour and sartain I cud knock tha tother down. And ef the tother wer the siame opinion as I,

He'd be a blessed fool to stick up there and let ma try.
Zo ef my plan wer carried out by booath the grate and smaal,
I zomehow thenk there'd never be noa fitin not at aal.
Devence but not deviance es noo onmanein whim-
Doant never fight—but allus kip yerself in fightin trim.

-Rhymes in the West of England Dialect.

THE TWO TEMPLES.-C. T. CORLIS.

Through the mist of the years in the long, long ago,
I saw in a vision a Temple, aglow-

Aglow with the beams of the orient sun,

Whose splendor and vastness conception outrun.

No sound of the hammer or trowel was there,
In silence that Temple uprose in the air,
Like some gorgeous castle in fairy tale told,
All covered with silver and inlaid with gold.

The walls of that Temple in marble were laid.
Its roof-trees and coverings of cedar were made;
They laid its foundations deep down in the mold,
That this Temple might last through the ages untold.

The tribe of Naphtali to Solomon bore

A man who was skilled in mechanical lore,-
That cunning artificer, Hiram of Tyre,

Wrought vessels in gold that the world might admire.

He wrought them in brass, and in silver as well,
Their number and fashion would fail me to tell,
The tables, and altars, and candlesticks bore
An impress of genius man saw not before.

The pillars called Jachin and Boaz he made,
With lily-work and with pomegranates o'erlaid,
Twelve cubits about them and eighteen in length,
The former for beauty, the latter for strength.
When seven long years had in silence rolled on,
The capstone was laid and the Temple was done;
The craft were assembled and paid for their hire,
From the humblest apprentice to Hiram of Tyre.

That Temple of Solomon, where is it now?
The priest and the miter he wore on his brow?
The king and the subject, the master and slave,
Together they sleep in the night of the grave!

They builded with marble that Temple of old,
It has faded and gone like a tale that is told!
They builded with cedar, gold, silver, and brass,
It has vanished like dew when exhaled from the grass.

But we have a Temple not builded with hands,
Eternal as truth, in its glory it stands;

Age dims not its luster, grand, gorgeous, sublime,
Unmarred by the tempests, untarnished by time.

Its porch is as wide as the east from the west,
Its altar the heart in each true Mason's breast,
Its coverings of charity richer than gold,
Its jewels are good deeds of value untold.

Here all nations meet in one language and tongue,
The anthems of praise to Jehovah are sung;
No jarring of sects, neither clashing of creeds,
This Temple's as wide as the world and its needs.

All schisms are banished, no Christian or Jew;
Mohammedan, Pagan, nor Buddhist, nor Foo;
For these are all lost in the brotherhood-where
They meet on the level and work by the square.

"TIS FIVE-AND-TWENTY YEARS.

Sitting upon our cottage stoop,
By autumn maples shaded,

I call the gentle visions up
That time had nearly faded.

The evening light comes from the west,
In streams of golden glory:

So fold your head, love, on my breast,
And hear my olden story.

"Tis five-and-twenty years, my dear,
Since, hearts and hands together,
We launched our bark,-the ocean clear
And all serene the weather.
With simple trust in Providence,
We set the sails upon her:

My fortune, hope and common sense;
Your dowry, love and honor.

For five-and-twenty years, my dear,
The billows lightly skimming,-
One day the skies grew murk and drear,
Our eyes and spirits dimming.
How dark that night frowned overhead,
When hope foresaw no morrow,
And we beside our firstling dead
Drank our first cup of sorrow.

"Tis five-and-twenty years, my dear,
Yet music's in our dwelling,
The children's prattle that we hear
About our hearthstone swelling,-
God bless them all, the loving band
So glad to call you mother;

With heart to heart, and hand to hand,
Clinging to one another.

Through five-and-twenty years, my dear,
Whene'er my arm was weary,
And scarce I knew the way to steer,
Your words were ever cheery.
When mid the tempest and the night,
With courage sorely shrinking,
Then on our way God gave us light
That kept our faith from sinking.

"Tis five-and-twenty years, my dear,
Slight change in you revealing;
But o'er my brow-you see them here-
The silver hairs are stealing.

Yet let them come, while still thy breast
Retains the fond emotion

That nerved my arm when first we pressed
Our way out on life's ocean.

THE PALMETTO AND THE PINE.-VIRGINIA L. FRENCH.

They planted them together-our gallant sires of oldThough one was crowned with crystal snow, and one with solar gold.

They planted them together,-on the world's majestic height; At Saratoga's deathless charge; at Eutaw's stubborn fight; At midnight on the dark redoubt, 'mid plunging shot and shell; At noontide, gasping in the crush of battle's bloody swell. With gory hands and reeking brows, amid the mighty fray Which surged and swelled around them on that memorable

day

When they planted Independence as a symbol and a sign, They struck deep soil, and planted the palmetto and the pine

They planted them together,-by the river of the years,Watered with our fathers' hearts' blood, watered with our mothers' tears;

In the strong, rich soil of freedom, with a bounteous benison From their prophet, priest, and pioneer-our father, Washington!

Above them floated echoes of the ruin and the wreck,

Like "drums that beat at Louisburg and thundered at Quebec;"

But the old lights sank in darkness as the new stars rose to shine

O'er those emblems of the sections, the palmetto and the pine.

And we'll plant them still together-for 'tis yet the selfsame soil

Our fathers' valor won for us by victory and toil;

On Florida's fair everglades, by bold Ontario's flood,—

And through them send electric life, as leaps the kindred blood!

For thus it is they taught us who for freedom lived and died,

The Eternal's law of justice must and shall be justified,
That God has joined together, by a fiat all divine,

The destinies of dwellers 'neath the palm-tree and the pine.

God plant them still together! Let them flourish side by side In the halls of our Centennial, mailed in more than marble pride!

With kindly deeds and noble names we'll grave them o'er

and o'er

With brave historic legends of the glorious days of yore; While the clear, exultant chorus, rising from united bands, The echo of our triumph peals to earth's remotest lands; While "faith, fraternity, and love" shall joyfully entwine Around our chosen emblems, the palmetto and the pine.

"Together!" shouts Niagara, his thunder-toned decree; "Together!" echo back the waves upon the Mexic Sea; "Together!" sing the sylvan hills where old Atlantic roars; "Together!" boom the breakers on the wild Pacific shores; "Together!" cry the people. And “together,” it shall be, An everlasting.charter-bond forever for the free! Of liberty the signet-seal, the one eternal sign, Be those united emblems-the palmetto and the pine.

AUNTY DOLEFUL'S VISIT.-MARY KYLE DALLAS.

How do you do, Cornelia? I heard you were sick, and I stepped in to cheer you up a little. My friends often say, "It's such a comfort to see you, Aunty Doleful. You have such a flow of conversation, and are so lively." Besides, I said to myself, as I came up the stairs, " Perhaps it's the last time I'll ever see Cornelia Jane alive."

But you must be
Keep quite calm,

You don't mean to die yet, eh? Well, now, how do you know? You can't tell. You think you are getting better; but there was poor Mrs. Jones sitting up, and every one saying how smart she was, and all of a sudden she was taken with spasms in the heart, and went off like a flash. careful, and not get anxious or excited. and don't fret about anything. Of course, things can't go on just as if you were down stairs; and I wondered whether you knew your little Billy was sailing about in a tub on the millpond, and that your little Sammy was letting your little Jimmy down from the veranda roof in a clothes-basket.

Gracious goodness! what's the matter? I guess Providence 'll take care of 'em. Don't look so. You thought Bridget was watching them? Well, no, she isn't. I saw her talking to a man at the gate. He looked to me like a burglar. No doubt she let him take the impression of the door-key in wax, and then he'll get in and murder you all. There was a family at Kobble Hill all killed last week for fifty dollars. Now, don't fidget so; it will be bad for the baby.

Poor little dear! How singular it is, to be sure, that you can't tell whether a child is blind, or deaf and dumb, or a cripple at that age. It might be all, and you'd never know it.

Most of them that have their senses make bad use of them though: that ought to be your comfort, if it does turn out to have anything dreadful the matter with it. And more don't live a year. I saw a baby's funeral down the street as I came along.

How is Mr. Kobble? Well, but finds it warm in town, eh? Well, I should think he would. They are dropping down by hundreds there with sun-stroke. You must prepare your mind to have him brought home any day. Anyhow, a trip