will be very willing to regard her wishes. You know, William, that our mothers know what is best for us, and I hope you will see that I am right. So long as they do so much for us, we ought to be willing to do what we can to please them. William. Well, I think what you say is true, and I will follow your example.

Freddy. Then I am sure you will never be sorry for it. Such a course will prove you a brave boy, and not a coward or a slave.

THE

TRIUMPH OF THE UNION CAUSE.

[April, 1865.]

HE long and dreary night of this civil war is ended forever. The evil star of treason has sunk down in eternal night. The sun of the Union is to-day in mid-heavens. The earth beneath our feet seems to throb with awakened pulsations. Everything about us and around us seems to partake in the general joy, and in the devout gratitude to Almighty God which fills our hearts.

The baleful star of war has cast its last malignant rays upon our land, and the star of peace is on the forehead of the skies, shedding its mild radiance over fields that have been swept for four years with the storms of civil war.

We have to-day a country, a united country, and above all, and more than all, a free country forevermore. The fatal doctrine of nullification, secession, and disunion, thirty-five years ago refuted in the Senate by Daniel Webster, is now, by the military power of the loyal North, ground to powder, and crushed out, and will no more show itself in reunited America. Our Constitution is no longer a compact" between "confederated sovereignties," but a Government of the people of the United States, and so it will remain forever.

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Gen. Grant has "moved on the enemy's works," in his last stronghold, and the flag of the Union waves in triumph over the rebel capital, and Davis and Lee and their guilty compeers, with the brand of treason on their brows, are seeking for a hiding-place, and can find none on American soil.

EARLY RISING.

HE lark is up to meet the sun,
The bee is on the wing;

The ant its labor has begun,
The woods with music ring.

Shall birds, and bees, and ants be wise,
While I my moments waste?
O, let me with the morning rise,
And to my duty haste.

THE BOBOLINK AND THE SPORTSMAN.

A

BOBOLINK, whose lucky lot

It was to dodge a sportsman's shot,
Perched on a hemlock-bough, began
To taunt the disappointed man:

"Click! bang! Put in more powder, mister!
Tall shooting that! Call in your sister!
Shoot with a shovel, you'd do better!
Ha! Rip-si-da'dy! I'm your debtor!
Chick-a-dee-dee! Don't pine in sorrow!
You couldn't do it. Call to-morrow!
You'll always find me in. Tip-wheet!
You're a great fool! Hip! Zip! Bang! Skeet!
Lick-a-tee-splip! No, no! You can't!
My best remembrance to your aunt!
Chick-a-dee-dee! Tip-wheet! I never
Felt better! Bobolinks forever!
You thought you had me fast asleep;
Excuse my laughing; you look cheap.
Come, try again; don't quit your gaming;
I feel so safe when you are aiming!"

The sportsman angry grew; another
Drew near, and thus addressed his brother:
"When your attempts to injure fail,
Complain not if your victim rail.”

OLD IRONSIDES.

AY, tear her tattered ensign down!

Long has it waved on high,

And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;-
Beneath it rung the battle shout,
And burst the cannon's roar;

The meteor of the ocean air

Shall sweep the clouds no more.

Her deck, once red with heroes' blood,
Where knelt the vanquished foe,
When winds were hurrying o'er the flood,
And waves were white below,
No more shall feel the victor's tread,
Or know the conquered knee;
The harpies of the shore shall pluck
The eagle of the sea!

O, better that her shattered hulk

Should sink beneath the wave!
Her thunders shook the mighty deep,
And there should be her grave!
Nail to the mast her holy flag,

Set every threadbare sail,

And give her to the god of storms

The lightning and the gale!

A

THE WASP AND THE BEE.

WASP met a bee that was just buzzing by,

And he said, "Little cousin, can you tell me why

You are loved so much better by people than I? ”

"My back shines as bright and as yellow as gold, And my shape is most elegant, too, to behold; Yet nobody likes me for that, I am told."

"Ah! cousin," the bee said, "'tis all very true; But if I had half as much mischief to do,

Indeed, they would love me no better than you.

"You have a fine shape and a delicate wing;

They own you are handsome; but then there's one thing They cannot put up with, and that is your sting.

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My coat is quite homely and plain, as you see, Yet nobody ever is angry with me,

Just because I'm a harmless and busy bee."

From this little story let people beware;
For if like the cross wasp, ill-natured they are,
They will never be loved, if they're ever so fair.

Ho

THE ROSE.

OW fair is the rose! what a beautiful flower!
The glory of April and May!

But the leaves are beginning to fade in an hour,
And they wither and die in a day.

Yet the rose has one powerful virtue to boast
Above all the flowers of the field;

When its leaves are all dead, and its fine colors lost,
Still how sweet a perfume it will yield!

So frail is the youth and the beauty of men,
Though they bloom and look gay like the rose,
But all our fond care to preserve them is vain;
Time kills them as fast as he goes.

Then I'll not be proud of my youth or my beauty,
Since both of them wither and fade;

But gain a good name by well doing my duty;
This will scent like a rose when I'm dead!

THE NOBLE NATURE.

T is not growing like a tree

IT

In bulk, doth make man better be;

Or standing long an oak three hundred year,

To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere;

A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night,

It was the plant and flower of Light.
In small proportions we just beauty see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

I

THE ROBIN'S TEMPERANCE SONG.

ASKED a sweet robin, one morning in May, Who sung in the apple-tree over the way, What 't was she was singing so sweetly about, For I'd tried a long time, but could not find out:

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Why, I'm sure," she replied, "you cannot guess wrong; Don't you know I am singing a temperance song?

"Teetotal-oh, that's the first word of my lay;
And then, don't you see how I twitter away?
'Tis because I've just dipped my beak in the spring,
And brushed the fair face of the lake with my wing.
Cold water, cold water; yes, that is my song,

And I love to keep singing it all the day long.

"And now, my sweet child, won't you give me a crumb?
For the dear little nestlings are waiting at home;
And one thing besides; since my story you've heard,
I hope you'll remember the lay of the bird;
And never forget, while you list to my song,
All the birds to the cold-water army belong."