Well, it soon became known that I recited (one must have _some_ little vices, you know, just to show up one's virtues). I received an invitation from Lady Midas for a musical evening last Friday, and in a postscript, "We hope you will favor us with a recitation." Very flattering, wasn't it?

I went there fully primed with three pieces--"The Lifeboat," by Sims, "The Lost Soul," and Calverley's "Waiting." I thought that I had hit on a perfectly original selection; but I was soon undeceived. There were a great many people at Lady Midas', quite fifty, I should think, or perhaps two hundred; but I'm very bad at guessing numbers. We had a lot of music. A young man, with red hair and little twinkling light eyes, sang a song by De Lara, but it did not sound as well as when I heard the composer sing it.

Then two girls played a banjo duet; then--no, we had another song first, then a girl with big eyes and an ugly dress--brown nun's veiling with yellow lace, and beads, and ribbons, and sham flowers and all sorts of horrid things, so ugly, I'm sure it was made at home. Well--where was I?

Oh, yes!--she stood up and recited, what do you think? Why, "Calverley's Waiting!" Oh! I was so cross when it came to the last verses; you remember how they go (_imitating_)--

"'Hush! hark! I see a hovering form!

From the dim distance slowly rolled; It rocks like lilies in a storm, And oh! its hues are green and gold.

'It comes, it comes! Ah! rest is sweet, And there is rest, my babe, for us!'

She ceased, as at her very feet Stopped the St. John's Wood omnibus."

Well, when I heard that I felt inclined to cry. Just imagine how provoking; one of the pieces I had been practicing for weeks past. Oh, it _was_ annoying! After that there was a violin solo, then another--no, then I had an ice, such a nice young man, just up from Aldershot, _very_ young, but _so_ amusing, and so full of somebody of "ours" who had won something, or lost something, I could not quite make out which.

Then we came back to the drawing-room, and an elderly spinster, with curls, sang, "Oh that we two were Maying," and the young man from Aldershot said, "Thank goodness we aren't."

Afterward I had another ice, not because I wanted it, not a bit, but the young man from Aldershot said he was _so_ thirsty.

Then I saw a youth with long hair and badly-fitting clothes. I thought he was going to sing, but he wasn't; oh no! much worse! he recited. When I heard the first words I thought I should faint (_imitating_):

"Been out in the lifeboat often? Aye, aye, sir, oft enough.

When it's rougher than this? Lor' bless you, this ain't what _we_ calls rough."

How well I knew the lines! Wasn't it cruel? However, I had one hope left--my "Lost Soul," a beautiful poem, serious and sentimental. The aesthetic youth was so tedious that the young man from Aldershot asked me to come into the conservatory, and really I was so vexed and disappointed that I think I would have gone into the coal-cellar if he had asked me.

We went into the conservatory and had a nice long talk, all about----well, it would take too long to tell you now, and besides it would not interest _you_.

All at once mamma came in, and I felt rather frightened at first (I don't know why), but she was laughing and smiling. "O, Mary," she said, "that aesthetic young man has been so funny; they encored 'The Lifeboat,' so he recited a very comic piece of poetry, that sent us all into fits of laughter, it was called 'The Fried Sole,' a parody on 'The Lost Soul' that you used to recite."

Alas! my last hope was wrecked; I could not read after that! I believe I burst into tears. Anyhow, mamma hurried me off in a cab, and I cried all the way home and--and--I forgot to say good-night to the young man from Aldershot. Wasn't it a pity?

And you see that's why I don't like to recite anything to-night. (_Some one from the audience comes up and whispers to her_). No! really, have I? How stupid! I'm told that I've been reciting all this time. I am so sorry; will you ever forgive me? I do beg pardon; I'll never do it again! (_Runs out._)

NOW I LAY ME DOWN TO SLEEP.

[Found in the Knapsack of a Soldier of the Civil War After He Had Been Slain in Battle.]

Near the camp-fire's flickering light, In my blanket bed I lie, Gazing through the shades of night And the twinkling stars on high; O'er me spirits in the air Silent vigils seem to keep, As I breathe my childhood's prayer, "Now I lay me down to sleep."

Sadly sings the whip-poor-will In the boughs of yonder tree; Laughingly the dancing rill Swells the midnight melody.

Foemen may be lurking near, In the canon dark and deep; Low I breathe in Jesus' ear: "I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep."

'Mid those stars one face I see-- One the Saviour turned away-- Mother, who in infancy Taught my baby lips to pray; Her sweet spirit hovers near In this lonely mountain-brake.

Take me to her Saviour dear "If I should die before I wake."

Fainter grows the flickering light, As each ember slowly dies; Plaintively the birds of night Fill the air with sad'ning cries; Over me they seem to cry: "You may never more awake."

Low I lisp: "If I should die, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take."

Now I lay me down to sleep; I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep.

If I should die before I wake, I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take.

THE AMERICAN UNION.

BY DANIEL WEBSTER.

I profess, sir, in my career hitherto, to have kept steadily in view the prosperity and honor of the whole country, and the preservation of our Federal Union. It is to that union we owe our safety at home, and our consideration and dignity abroad. It is to that union that we are chiefly indebted for whatever makes us most proud of our country.

That union we reached only by the discipline of our virtues, in the severe school of adversity. It had its origin in the necessities of disordered finance, prostrate commerce, and ruined credit. Under its benign influences, these great interests immediately awoke, as from the dead, and sprang forth with newness of life.

Every year of its duration has teemed with fresh proofs of its utility and its blessings; and although our territory has stretched out wider and wider, and our population spread further and further, they have not outrun its protection, or its benefits. It has been to us all a copious fountain of national, social, and personal happiness.

I have not allowed myself, sir, to look beyond the union, to see what might lie hidden in the dark recess behind. I have not coolly weighed the chances of preserving liberty, when the bonds that unite us together shall be broken asunder.

I have not accustomed myself to hang over the precipice of disunion, to see whether, with my short sight, I can fathom the depth of the abyss below; nor could I regard him as a safe counsellor in the affairs of this government, whose thoughts should be mainly bent on considering, not how the union should be best preserved, but how tolerable might be the condition of the people when it shall be broken up and destroyed.

While the union lasts, we have high, exciting, gratifying prospects spread out before us, for us and our children. Beyond that I seek not to penetrate the veil. G.o.d grant that, in my day at least, that curtain may not rise!

G.o.d grant that on my vision never may be opened what lies behind!

When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last time, the sun in heaven, may I not see him shining on the broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious union; on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent with civil feuds, or drenched, it may be, in fraternal blood!

Let their last feeble and lingering glance rather behold the gorgeous ensign of the republic, now known and honored throughout the earth, still full high advanced, its arms and trophies streaming in their original l.u.s.tre, not a stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, bearing for its motto no such miserable interrogatory as, What is all this worth? nor those other words of delusion and folly, Liberty first, and union afterward; but everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea and over the land, and in every wind under the whole heavens, that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart, liberty and union now and forever, one and inseparable!

THE POPPY LAND LIMITED EXPRESS.

BY EDGAR WADE ABBOT.

The first train leaves at six p. m.

For the land where the poppy blows; The mother dear is the engineer, And the pa.s.senger laughs and crows.

The palace car is the mother's arms; The whistle, a low, sweet strain: The pa.s.senger winks, and nods, and blinks, And goes to sleep in the train!

At eight p. m. the next train starts For the poppy land afar, The summons clear falls on the ear: "All aboard for the sleeping-car!"

But what is the fare to poppy land?

I hope it is not too dear.

The fare is this, a hug and a kiss, And it's paid to the engineer!

So I ask of Him who children took On His knee in kindness great, "Take charge, I pray, of the trains each day, That leave at six and eight.