Banker Green got off a speech; Parson, too, on Sunday night, Almos' 'shamed me to the ground; Called me hero of the fight, Asked 'em all to wait around. Somehow we were 'neath the stars, A GOOD NAME MORE DESIRABLE THAN RICHES. L LOUIS B. COLEY. [From the Criterion, by permission of the publishers.] In society. She wears jes' the finest clothes- She has the most b'u'ful hats- An' her shoes-I guess they cost She has ponies 'at she drives An' they goes so fast-00-00-00h! She is rich, but I jes' bet 'At she envies me, 'Cause her name is Maggie Smif An' mine is Althea Penelope d'Arcy Lee. LAST TAPS. THEODORE ROBERTS. ¡From the New England Magazine, by permission of the publishers.] ARRY him out and put him away. C Reveille no more wakes him now; We've sounded his last lights out to-day, Lead his horse back to the camp again. Three volleys over the trooper's grave, And he moved no eyelid at noise of the three. "Ave" the first, to the soul of the brave, And the second " God speed" from the Company, 'And the last said "Vale," and then we turned And left him waiting the peace he had earned. We shed no tear and we make no moan For the man who has left us, to rest awhile. We recall old gesture and quiet smile; WHAT'S THE GOOD? HARRY C. WEBBER. WHAT WHAT'S the good o' shinglin' What's the good o' shoveling When the sun'll melt the snow? What's the good o' splittin' wood What's the good o' tellin' truth When 't's easier stretchin' facts? What's the good o' ridin' When cheaper 'tis ter walk? What's the good o' writin' When there's no charge for talk? What's the good o' keepin' house What's the good o' earnin' cash What's the good o' breathin' An' charge it ter yer wife? A SLAVE'S AUCTION. W. A. EATON. [The incident upon which the following recitation is founded occurred in Plymouth Church, Brooklyn, on Sunday, June 1, 1856. The story and the reason of the sale are given in Mr. Beecher's own words: "There was a girl named Pinky,' a fair and beautiful child, who was about to be taken from her grandmother, an old slave that had bought her freedom. Those interested in the girl wrote to me to see if I could purchase her. I replied, 'I can not unless you send her north." So she was brought here and placed upon this platform. The scene was one of intense enthusiasm, and the child was bought and over-bought. The collection taken on the spot was more than enough to purchase her. It so happened that a lady known to literary fame as Rose Terry was present; and as, like many others, she had not with her as much money as she wanted to give, she took a ring from her hand and threw it into the contribution-box. That ring I took and put on the child's hand and said: 'Now, remember that this is your freedom ring.' Eastman Johnson, the artist, was so interested that he painted her looking at her freedom ring. So the girl was redeemed. I lost sight of her until 1864, when she was at ChiefJustice Chase's, and I received word that she wished to see me. She had changed her name, taking 'Rose,' Miss Terry's first name, and 'Ward.' my middle name, which combined made a nice name. She wished to become a missionary among very her own people, so Plymouth Church raised enough to send her to school at Lincoln University, Washington."] S UNDAY morning in Plymouth Church, A rustle of silk or a whispered word, Though thousands thronged the sacred fane, Were the only sounds that could be heard. And heads were bowed in silent prayer, A quadroon girl, with olive cheek And a wavy mass of jet-black hair, Clothed in white, with her hands crossed, meek, And her bosom heaving as if in prayer. She was told to loosen the coils of jet, And her hair fell down like a glittering veil; A very Venus, she stood as fair As sculptured marble, though not so pale. They stood a moment in silence there; This happened in the slavery days, When women were sold in public day, Before the noble president Had dashed the negroes' chains away. The preacher spake in gentle tone: This girl you see was bought and sold, Made of your selfsame flesh and bone, Traded with, bartered, for yellow gold. 66 God made of one blood all the earth, Why should the weak, e'en from their birth, |