Should the base plebeian rabble
Dare assail my name at Rome,
Where my noble spouse, Octavia,

Weeps within her widow'd home, Seek her; say the gods bear witnessAltars, augurs, circling wings— That her blood with mine commingled Yet shall mount the throne of kings.

As for thee, star-eyed Egyptian,

Glorious sorceress of the Nile,
Light the path of Stygian horrors,
With the splendors of thy smile.
Give the Cæsar crowns and arches,
Let his brow the laurel twine,
I can scorn the Senate's triumphs
Triumphing in love like thine.

I am dying, Egypt, dying;

Hark! the insulting foeman's cry,
They are coming! quick, my falchion,
Let me front them ere I die.
Ah! no more amid the battle
Shall my heart exulting swell;
Isis and Osiris guard thee!
Cleopatra, Rome, farewell.

-GEN. WILLIAM HAINES LYTLE,
U. S. A.

No sighs can breathe away our guilt Or bid the past return;

If we have idly sown or failed

This solemn truth we learn: That every yesterday whose wreck Bestrews life's checkered way Has worn amid the fleeting now,

The raiment of to-day.

Then pluck each moment e'er it dies,
The present is thine own,
But, oh, the future's hidden light
Belongs to God alone.

Be thoughtful now; to wisdom's son
Give thou a ready ear,
'Twill make each yesterday a charm
And save to-morrow's tear.

Each common deed our hands perform,
Though small the act may be ;
Each thought unuttered in the soul,
Lives on immortally.

It springs into a welcome flower
To deck life's clover lea,

Or adds a cheerless thorn to swell
The waste of memory.

-L. L. KNIGHT.

SOME DAY.

"SOME day, somehow!" The hour is dead

When I looked into loving eyes, And kissed the whispering lips that said These words to me. And if the ties Then made are broken; if the breast

Then warm with life, is pulseless now, I still will think that God knows best, That we shall meet some day, somehow,

Until that time I still shall know

That whereso e'er in Heavenly care
That pure and radiant soul may go,
My thoughts may follow. Every-
where

I'll hear that voice so low and sweet,
Just as I seem to hear it now;
I'll hear the fall of fairy feet,

I'll hear the words: "Some day, somehow!"

Upon the mantelpiece I see
The picture of a fair, sweet face,
And, though the lips are sealed, to me
They speak with more than tender

grace.

I question not the mystic spell ;

But hark! how clear the accents now! 'Tis not the language of farewell,

'Tis trusting love's "some day, somehow!"

And so I fondly hope 'twill be,

Not now, but some time; after life Is finished and eternity

Dawns on the soul. The toil and
strife

Of time once ended, then comes rest
Such as we do not dream of now;
And then will come to me the best
Of all, my love, some day, somehow !
MINNEAPOLIS JOURNAL.

THE lights are growing dimmer-
The day is nearly done.
I love the golden glimmer,

From the slowly sinking sun;
I love the silent shadows
From the lurid waning west;
The world is drawing closer
To a haven sweet with rest.
-AUBREY HARWELL.

WHAT WIVES ARE FOR.

IT is not to sweep the house and make the beds, and darn the socks, and cook the meat, chiefly, that a man wants a wife. If this is all he wants, hired servants can do that cheaper than a wife. If this is all, when a young man calls to see a young lady, send him into the pantry to taste the bread and cakes that she made; send him to see the needlework and bed-making; or put a broom in her hands and send him to witness its use. Such things are important, and the wise young man will quietly look after them.

But what the true man most wants of a wife, is her companionship, sympathy and love. The way of life has many dreary places in it, and he needs a companion with him. A man is sometimes overtaken with misfortune; he meets a failure and defeat, trials and temptations beset him, and he needs one to stand by and sympathize. He has some stern battles to fight with poverty, with enemies, and with sin, and he needs a woman who as he puts an arm around