NORTH AND SOUTH.

In vain do partisans, by false charges and unholy appeals to the bitter memories of the past, attempt to lash the North into fury against the South.

A few years since, when the yellow demon held high carnival in the stricken South, a vessel freighted by generous hearts and hands in the North floated down the father of waters bearing aid to those who were once enemies, but now of kin through the great "touch of nature."

The commander of that vessel, a gallant Union soldier, now sleeps upon the historic hills of Vicksburg, fit monuments to the memory of him, who died not amidst martial music, or of "shot and shell and saber stroke," but with a higher and nobler courage, silently and calmly gave up his life for those he had fought and conquered. In all history, what scene, save one on the hills of Judea, is more sublime than that upon the banks of the great river, where bearded men and pallid women with loving and tender hands laid in its last resting-place the body of that northern soldier? Angels looked down with moistened eyes, and from all nature arose that hymn of love which once floated over the blue Ægean.

"Love, sons of earth, for love is earth's soft lore;
Look where you will, earth overflows with me;
Learn from the waves that ever kiss the shore,
And the winds nestling on the heaving sea."

Yes, love is stronger than hate, and in the grave of that dead hero was buried the last vestige of sectional strife. The North needs the South, and the South needs the North. The South needs the energy and wealth of the great North, whilst the North needs the semi-tropical productions of the South.

The South asks for no pensions, no bounties, no payment of its war debt. There is not a Confederate

soldier worthy the name who would ask or receive one cent from the federal government in pension or bounty. All that the South asks is peace, lasting, real, true peace-peace in which to build up its ruined homes and industries-peace in which to pay its proportion of the national debt.

What the country demands to-day is the development of its material resources, and the protection of its citizens in every right. The country is heartily and thoroughly tired of sectional strife and sectional legislation. Enveloped by a common nationality, united by a common destiny, we should turn our backs upon the sad memories of the past, and go resolutely forward to the duties of the future. For on the brow of that future, God has written in letters of light and beauty, "One flag, one people, one country." Pledging our unfaltering devotion to the interests of country, we shall, if new interests arise, be found with that great party which, bearing the constitution as the gallant Douglas bore the Bruce's heart, will, when overpowered, fling it far into the midst of its enemies, and falling, covered with wounds and glory, protect the sacred treasure even in death.-George G. Vest.

PANSY BLOSSOM.

go

Of all the bonny buds that blow
In fair or cloudy weather;
Of all the flowers that come and
The full twelve months together,
This little purple pansy brings
Thoughts of the saddest, sweetest things.

I had a little lover once

Who used to bring me posies;

His eyes were blue as hyacinths,
His cheeks as red as roses;
And everybody used to praise
His pretty looks and winsome ways.

The girls who went to school with me
Made little jealous speeches,
Because he brought me loyally

His biggest plums and peaches,
And always at the door would wait
To carry home my book and slate.

They couldn't see, with pout and fling,
The mighty fascination

About that little crooked-nose thing
To cause such admiration!

As if there wer'n't a dozen girls
With bluer eyes and longer curls!

And this I knew as well as they,
And never could see clearly,
Why more than Marion or May
I should be loved so dearly.
And so I asked him, why was this,
He only answered with a kiss.

And so I teased him, "Tell me why,
I want to know the reason.'
Then from a flower bed close by-
The pansies were in season—
He plucked and gave a flower to me
With sweet and simple gravity.

"The garden is in bloom," he said,
"With lilies pale and tender,
With roses and verbenas red,

And fuchsias' purple splendor,

But over and above the rest
This little heart's-ease suits me best."

"Am I your little heart's-ease then?"
I asked with sudden pleasure.
He answered yes, and yes again,

Heart's-ease and dearest treasure,

That the big round world, and all the sea, Held nothing half so sweet as me.

I listened with a pleased delight,
Too rare for words to capture,
Nor ever dreamed what sudden blight
Would come to chill my rapture.
Could I foresee the tender bloom
Of pansies, round a little tomb?

Life holds some stern experience,
As most of us discover,

And I've had other losses

Since first I lost that little lover;
But oh, this purple pansy brings
Thoughts of the saddest, sweetest things.

TO THE MEMORY OF S. S. COX.

When Samuel S. Cox passed out from among men into the endless shadow of that mystery we call death, it was as if the evening star had slipped from tired bands and fallen to shine no more. And what shall

we say of him now that he is gone?

The scope and character of his achievements differ from those of most men we term great. Nearly all great men have accomplished greatness by persistent effort along some special line of thought or endeavor. He was remarkable rather for the versatility of his thought and the diversity of his endeavor. He was a scholar of extensive research and splendid erudition he was an author whose books enchant with bewitching description and sparkle with noble gems of thought. He was a statesman of unsullied patriotism and comprehensive grasp. He was an orator whose scimitar flashed at the front of fiercest debate, and whose eloquence swayed the multitude as stormwinds the forests. He was an ambassador whose culture, grave and gentle breeding made him a favorite, and whose skill in diplomacy won him respect while it dignified the Republic. And then how genial and companionable he was! How full of life

of the

glad, rollicking joy of life! He sometimes seemed a very boy, scattering joy and sunshine along the way.

But when sorrow folded her pallid wings and brooded about the hearts of those he loved, how gentle he was! In his presence sadness seemed less sad. and a softer light crept in among the shadows, for there was in his speech and act something so like the delicate touch of woman's hand and the melting music of woman's speech. Such was the man loved! and we loved him all the more, because we knew that behind this native gentleness was the strong masculine man, familiar with the philosophies of books and trained to the responsibilities of great affairs, who, when occasion required, could be stern, rugged, obstinate, almost vengeful.

we

Such was the man we lament. He lived a pure, unselfish, and useful life; and he goes away into the mystic summer land, leaving behind him a great name, and taking with him the blessing of his race. He went away without thought of fear, bearing a sweet message from the world to those who should greet him in the great beyond.-W. J. Stone.

GETTYSBURG.

The sun of Gettysburg rose on the first of July and saw the army of the gray already advancing in line of battle; the army of the blue hastening eagerly forward to this point; and the unquailing lines so long arrayed against each other, stood face to face. Once more the inexpressible emotions of yearning memory, of fond affection, of dread foreboding, of high hopes, of patriotic enthusiasm and stern resolve swept for a moment over thousands of brave hearts, and the next instant the overwhelming storm of battle burst. For three long, proud, immortal days it raged and swayed, the earth trembling, the air quivering, the sky obscured; with shouting charge, and rattling volley, and thundering cannonade piling the