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And through the tempest bravely
Jane Conquest fought her way,
By snowy deep

And slippery steep
To where her duty lay.

And she journeyed onward, breathless,
And weary and sore and faint,
Yet forward pressed

With the strength, and the zest,
And the ardor of a saint.

Solemn, and weird, and lonely,
Amid its countless graves,

Stood the old, old gray church
On its tall rock perch,

Secure from the sea and its waves;
And beneath its sacred shadow
Lay the hamlet safe and still;
For however the sea

And the wind might be,
There was quiet under the hill.

Jane Conquest reached the churchyard,
And stood by the old church door,
But the oak was tough

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,
And she wrought with an earnest will,
And the clamorous bell

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
Showed man's work had begun.

But the ringer in the belfry

Lay motionless and cold,

With the cord of hope,
The church-bell rope,
Still in her frozen hold.

How long she lay it boots not,
But she woke from her swoon at last,
In her own bright room,

To find the gloom,

And the grief, and the peril past,
With the sense of joy within her,
And the Christ's sweet presence near;
And friends around,

And the cooing sound

Of her babe's voice in her ear.

And they told her all the story,
How a brave and gallant few
O'ercame each check,

And reached the wreck,
And saved the hopeless crew.
And how the curious sexton
Had climbed the belfry stair,
And of his fright

When, cold and white,
He found her lying there;
And how, when they had borne her
Back to her home. again,

The child she left

With a heart bereft
Of hope, and weary with pain,
Was found within his cradle
In a quiet slumber laid;
With a peaceful smile,

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.*
IRWIN RUSSELL.

When merry Christmas-day is done,
And Christmas-night is just begun;
While clouds in slow procession drift
To wish the moon-man Christmas gift,"
Yet linger overhead, to know
What causes all the stir below;
At Uncle Johnny Booker's ball
The darkies hold high carnival.

From all the country-side they throng,
With laughter, shouts, and scraps of song-
Their whole deportment plainly showing
That to "the frolic" they are going

*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,
To traverse muddy bottom-land;
Aristocrats their steeds bestride--
Four on a mule, behold them ride!
And ten great oxen draw apace
The wagon from "de oder place,"
With forty guests, whose conversation
Betokens glad anticipation.

Not so with him who drives: old Jim
Is sagely solemn, hard and grim,
And frolics have no joys for him.
He seldom speaks, but to condemn―
Or utter some wise apothegm-

Or else, some crabbed thought pursuing,
Talk to his team, as now he's doing:

Come up heah, Star! Yee-bawee!
You alluz is a-laggin'-

Mus' be you think I's dead,

And dis de huss you's draggin'-
You's mos' too lazy to draw yo' bref,
Let 'lone drawin' de waggin.

Dis team-quit bel'rin, sah!
De ladies don't submit 'at-

Dis team-you ol' fool ox,

You heah me tell you quit 'at?
Dis team's des like de 'Nited States;
Dat's what I's tryin' to git 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'—
De folks gits down: an' den watch out
For hommerin' an' kickin'.

Dey blows upon dey hands,

Den flings 'em wid de nails up,
Jumps up an' cracks dey heels,
An' pruzntly day sails up,

An' makes dem oxen hump deysef,
By twistin' all dey tails up!

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