prithee explain; I'm out of all patience, don't mock me again. The obstinate bird, with his wonderful trill, Still made the same answer, and that, "Whip-poor-Will."       Well, have your own way, then; but if you won't tell, I'll shut down the window, and bid you farewell; But of one thing be sure, I won't whip him until You give me some reason for whipping poor Will. I listened a moment, as if for reply, But nothing was heard but the bird's mocking cry. I caught the faint echo from valley and hill; It breathed the same burden, that strange "Whip-poor-Will." 

  

       CARVING A NAME.     

      I wrote my name upon the sand, And trusted it would stand for aye; But, soon, alas! the refluent sea Had washed my feeble lines away. I carved my name upon the wood, And, after years, returned again; I missed the shadow of the tree That stretched of old upon the plain. To solid marble next, my name I gave as a perpetual trust; An earthquake rent it to its base, And now it lies, o'erlaid with dust. All these have failed. In wiser mood I turn and ask myself, "What then?"      If I would have my name endure, I'll write it on the hearts of men, In characters of living light, Of kindly deeds and actions wrought. And these, beyond the touch of time, Shall live immortal as my thought. 

  

       IN TIME OF WAR.     

  

       GONE TO THE WAR.     

      My Charlie has gone to the war, My Charlie so brave and tall; He left his plough in the furrow, And flew at his country's call. May God in safety keep him,—        My precious boy—my all! My heart is pining to see him; I miss him every day; My heart is weary with waiting, And sick of the long delay,—      But I know his country needs him, And I could not bid him stay. I remember how his face flushed, And how his color came, When the flash from the guns of Sumter Lit the whole land with flame, And darkened our country's banner With the crimson hue of shame.       "Mother," he said, then 

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