1 And through the tempest bravely And slippery steep And she journeyed onward, breathless, With the strength, and the zest, Solemn, and weird, and lonely, Stood the old, old gray church Secure from the sea and its waves; And the wind might be, Jane Conquest reached the churchyard, And had bolts enough, And her strength was frail and poor; So she crept through a narrow window, And climbed the belfry stair, And grasped the rope, Sole cord of hope, For the mariners in despair. And the wild wind helped her bravely, Spoke out right well To the hamlet under the hill. And it roused the slumbering fishers, Nor its warning task gave o'er Till a hundred fleet And eager feet Were hurrying to the shore. And then it ceased its ringing, For the woman's work was done, And many a boat That was now afloat But the ringer in the belfry Lay motionless and cold, With the cord of hope, How long she lay it boots not, To find the gloom, And the grief, and the peril past, And the cooing sound Of her babe's voice in her ear. And they told her all the story, And reached the wreck, When, cold and white, The child she left With a heart bereft On its lips the while, And the wasting sickness stayed. And she said, ""Twas the Christ who watched it, And brought it safely through;" And she praised His truth And His tender ruth Who had saved her darling too. VALLEY FORGE.-HENRY ARMITT BROWN. Extract from an oration delivered upon the occasion of the first Centenary Anniversary of the Encampment at Valley Forge. MY COUNTRYMEN:-The century that has gone by has changed the face of nature and wrought a revolution in the habits of mankind. We stand to-day at the dawn of an ex traordinary age. Freed from the chains of ancient thought and superstition, man has begun to win the most extraordinary victories in the domain of science. One by one he has dispelled the doubts of the ancient world. Nothing is too difficult for his hand to attempt-no region too remote-no place too sacred for his daring eye to penetrate. He has robbed the earth of her secrets and sought to solve the mysteries of the heavens! He has secured and chained to his service the elemental forces of nature--he has made the fire his steed-the winds his ministers-the seas his pathway— the lightning his messenger. He has descended into the bowels of the earth, and walked in safety on the bottom of the sea. He has raised his head above the clouds, and made the impalpable air his resting-place. He has tried to analyze the stars, count the constellations, and weigh the sun. He has advanced with such astounding speed that, breathless, we have reached a moment when it seems as if distance had been annihilated, time made as naught, the invisible seen, the inaudible heard, the unspeakable spoken, the intangible felt, the impossible accomplished. And already we knock at the door of a new century which promises to be infinitely brighter and more enlightened and happier than this. But in all this blaze of light which illuminates the present and casts its reflection into the distant recesses of the past, there is not a single ray that shoots into the future. Not one step have we taken toward the solution of the mystery of life. That remains to-day as dark and unfathomable as it was ten thousand years ago. We know that we are more fortunate than our fathers. We believe that our children shall be happier than we. We know that this century is more enlightened than the last. We believe that the time to come will be better and more glorious than this. We think, we believe, we hope, but we do not know. Across that threshold we may not pass; behind that vail we may not penetrate. Into that country it may not be for us to go. It may be vouchsafed to us to behold it, wonderingly, from afar, but never to enter in. It matters not. The age in which we live is but a link in the endless and eternal chain. Our lives are like the sands upon the shore; our voices like the breath of this summer breeze. that stirs the leaf for a moment and is forgotten. Whence we have come and whither we shall go, not one of us can tell. And the last survivor of this mighty multitude shall stay but a little while. But in the impenetrable To Be, the endless generations are advancing to take our places as we fall. For them as for us shall the earth roll on and the seasons come and go, the snowflakes fall, the flowers bloom, aud the harvests be gathered in. For them as for us shall the sun, like the life of man, rise out of darkness in the morning and sink into darkness in the night. For them as for us shall the years march by in the sublime procession of the ages. And here, in this place of sacrifice, in this vale of humiliation, in this valley of the shadow of that Death, out of which the life of America arose, regenerate and free, let us believe with an abiding faith that, to them, Union will seem as dear and Liberty as sweet and Progress as glorious as they were to our fathers and are to you and me, and that the institutions which have made us happy, preserved by the virtue of our children, shall bless the remotest generations of the time to come. And unto Him who holds in the hollow of His hand the fate of nations, and yet marks the sparrow's fall, let us lift up our hearts this day, and into His eternal care commend ourselves, our children, and our country. CHRISTMAS-NIGHT IN THE QUARTERS.* When merry Christmas-day is done, From all the country-side they throng, *This humorous sketch makes a capital reading when given in full, or either of the sub-headings can be recited separately. Some take the path with shoes in hand, Not so with him who drives: old Jim Or else, some crabbed thought pursuing, Come up heah, Star! Yee-bawee! Mus' be you think I's dead, And dis de huss you's draggin'- Dis team-quit bel'rin, sah! Dis team-you ol' fool ox, You heah me tell you quit 'at? De people rides behind De pollytishners haulin'Sh'u'd be a well-bruk ox, To foller dat ar callin' An' sometimes nuffin won't do dem steers, But what dey mus' be stallin'! Woo bahgh! Buck-kannon! Yes, sah, Sometimes dey will be stickin'; An' den, fus thing dey knows, Dey takes a rale good lickin'— Dey blows upon dey hands, Den flings 'em wid de nails up, An' makes dem oxen hump deysef, YYYY |