shall glitter o'er the brave;
When death, careering on the gale,
Sweeps darkly round the bellied sail,
And frightened waves rush wildly back
Before the broadside's reeling rack
Each dying wanderer of the sea
Shall look at once to heaven and thee,
And smile to see thy splendors fly
In triumph o'er his closing eye.

Flag of the free heart's hope and home,
By angel hands to valor given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And freedom's banner streaming o'er us?
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.

We will swing the rope for Baby dear,
So jump, jump, jump!
That you will trip her up I fear,
But jump, jump, jump!
Swing it easy and low,
Steady and slow,
Or down the dear tot will go.

A crafty Fox crept forth one day
And over the hills he scampered away
In search of a fine, fat hen;
But old dog Sport was keeping guard,
When Fox leaped into our chicken yard,
And chased him back to his den.

AUNT POLLY SHEDD'S BRIGADE.

"Something about the Battle of Hampden?" Grandma took off her spectacles
and wiped them reflectively "It seems to me already I have told you
everything worth telling; but there!" in a sudden burst of recollection,
"did I ever tell you about Aunt Polly Shedd's Brigade? That was quite an
affair to those of us that belonged to it!"

"Oh, no! do tell us about it!" called out the three childish voices in
chorus; and Grandma only waited to knit by the seam needle.

"I've told you all about it so many times that I don't need to describe
again that dreadful morning when the British man-of-war came up the
river and, dropping her anchor just opposite our little village of
Hampden, sent troops ashore to take possession of the place in the
King's name. So what I am going to tell you now is how, and where, we
youngsters spent the three days that the British occupied our houses. I
was about twelve years old at the time. I remember that it was just as
we were getting up from the breakfast-table that one of our neighbors,
Sol Grant, old General Grant's youngest son, rushed in without knocking,
his face as white as a sheet, and his cap on hind-side before, and
called out hurriedly:

"'Mr. Swett, if you love your family, for God's sake find a place