To welcome us, Aunt Mary fell

Asleep this morning, whispering, "Tell

The boys to come!" And all is well

Out to old Aunt Mary's.

JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY.

HOW MARY GREW.

(ADDRESSED TO MISS MARY GREW).

WITH wisdom far beyond her years,

WITH

And graver than her wondering peers,

So strong, so mild, combining still,
The tender heart and queenly will,
To conscience and to duty true
So up from childhood, Mary Grew!

Then in her gracious womanhood,
She gave her days to doing good,
She dared the scornful laugh of men,

The hounding mob, the slanderer's pen,

So did the work she found to do,

A christian heroine, Mary Grew!

The freed slave thanks her; blessing comes
To her, from woman's weary homes;
The wronged and erring find in her
The censor mild, and comforter.

The world were safe, if but a few
Could grow in grace as Mary Grew.

So New Year's Eve, I sit and say,
By this low wood fire, ashen grey;
Just wishing as the night shuts down,
That I could hear in Boston town,
In pleasant Chestnut Avenue

From her own lips, how Mary Grew!

And hear her graceful hostess tell,
The silver-voiced oracle-

Who lately through her parlors spoke
As through Dodona's sacred oak;
A wiser truth than any told
By Sappho's lips of ruddy gold—
The way to make the world anew
Is just to grow-as Mary Grew!

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

THOUGHTS OF MARY ON THE
POTOMAC.

LL quiet along the Potomac they say

AL

Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat to and fro
By a rifleman hid in the thicket.
'Tis nothing; a private or two now and then
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost, only one of the men

Moaning out, all alone, the death rattle.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon, Or the light of the watch-fires are gleaming. A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind

Through the forest leaves gently is creeping, While stars up above, with their glittering eyes Keep guard,—for the army is sleeping.

There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the lone trundle bed,
Far away in the cot, on the mountain.
His musket falls slack, his face dark and grim,
Glows gentle with memories tender,

As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep;
For their mother-may heaven defend her!

The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then
That night when the love yet unspoken,
Leapt up to his lips, when low, murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken;
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to his side
As if to keep down the heart swelling.

He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree,
The footstep is lagging and weary,

Yet onward he goes through the broad belt of light
T'ward the shade of the forest so dreary.

Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves,
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle "Ah! Mary, good-bye,"
And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing.

All quiet along the Potomac to-night,

No sound, save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead
The picket's off duty forever.

Hark! was it the night-wind that rustled the leaves,
Was it moonlight so wondrously plashing?

It looked like a rifle "Ah! Mary, good-bye,"
And the life-blood is ebbing and flashing.

MRS. ETHEL LYNN BEERS.

AN AMERICAN "AVE MARIA."

VE MARIA," 'tis the evening hymn,

"Αν

Of many pilgrims on the land and sea; Soon as the day withdraws, and two or three Faint stars are burning, all whose eyes are dim With tears or watching, all of weary limb,

Or troubled spirit, yield the bended knee, And find, O! Virgin, life's repose in thee. I too, at nightfall, when the new born rim Of the young moon is first beheld above,

Tune my fond thoughts to their devoutest key,

And from all bondage--save remembrance, free,

Glad of my liberty as Noah's dove,

Seek the Madona most adored by me,

And say my "Ave Maria's" to my

love.

THOMAS WILLIAM PARSONS.

MARY PRESCOTT.

(A REMINISENCE).

F I had thought so soon she would have died,
He said, I had been tenderer in my speech,

I had a moment lingered at her side,

And held her, ere she passed beyond my reach; If I had thought so soon she would have died.

That day she looked up with her startled eyes,

Like some hurt creature, where the woods are deep: With kisses I had stilled those breaking sighs,

With kisses closed those eyelids into sleep, That day she looked up with her startled eyes,

Oh! had I known she would have died so soon,
Love had not wasted on a barren land,
Love, like those rivers under torrid noon

Lost on the desert, poured out on the sand-
Oh! had I known she would have died so soon.
HARRIET PRescott Spofford.