For five-and-twenty years, my dear, "Tis five-and-twenty years, my dear, With heart to heart, and hand to hand, Through five-and-twenty years, my dear, Tis five-and-twenty years, my dear, Yet let them come, while still thy breast Retains the fond emotion That nerved my arm when first we pressed 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. hey 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, 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; Of liberty the signet-seal, the one eternal sign, 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 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 And more don't : have anything dreadful the matter with it. live a year. along. I saw a baby's funeral down the street as I came Well, but finds it warm in town, eh? How is Mr. Kobble? Well, I should think he would. They are dropping down by hundreds there with sun-stroke. mind to have him brought home any day. Anyhow, a trip You must prepare your on these railroad trains is just risking your life every time you take one. Back and forth every day as he is, it's just trifling with danger. Dear! dear! now to think what dreadful things hang over us all the time! Dear! dear! Scarlet fever has broken out in the village, Cornelia. Little Isaac Potter has it, and I saw your Jimmy playing with him last Saturday. Well, I must be going now. I've got another sick friend, and I shan't think my duty done unless I cheer her up a little before I sleep. Good-by. How pale you look, Cornelia. I don't believe you have a good doctor. Do send him away and try some one else. You don't look so well as you did when I came in. But if anything happens, send for me at once. If I can't do anything else, I can cheer you up a little. CUSTER'S LAST CHARGE.-FREDERICK WHITTAKER. Dead! Is it possible? He, the bold rider, Charming the bullets of yore to fly wider, Comrades, he's gone; but ye need not be grieving; No regrets wasted on words I am leaving, Falling with brave men, and face to the sky. Gold though the bowl be, 'tis fate that must break it, Proud for his fame that last day that he met them! Hurrying scouts with the tidings to awe them, All the wide valley was full of their forces, Numbers! What recked he? What reckeď those who followed? Men who had fought ten to one ere that day? Out swept the squadrons, the fated three hundred, Then down the hill-side exultingly thundered Wild Horse's braves, and the rest of their crew, Red was the circle of fire about them: Shot through that terrible black cloud without them, THEN, DID HE BLENCH? Did he die like a craven, Backward again and again they were driven, Even the leader's voice, clarion clear, |