didn't do so.

How wicked we are, and how good they were then!
They kept at arm's length those detestable men;
What an era of virtue she lived in!--But stay--
Were the _men_ all such rogues in Aunt Tabitha's day?

If the men _were_ so wicked, I'll ask my papa
How he dared to propose to my darling mamma;
Was he like the rest of them? Goodness! Who knows?
And what shall _I_ say, if a wretch should propose?

I am thinking if aunt knew so little of sin,
What a wonder Aunt Tabitha's aunt must have been!
And her grand-aunt--it scares me--how shockingly sad
That we girls of to-day are so frightfully bad!

A martyr will save us, and nothing else can,
Let _me perish_--to rescue some wretched young man!
Though when to the altar a victim I go,
Aunt Tabitha'll tell me _she_ never did so!

The Flag Goes By

Hats off!
Along the street there comes
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums,
A flash of color beneath the sky:
Hats off!
The flag is passing by!

Blue and crimson and white it shines,
Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines.
Hats off!
The colors before us fly;
But more than the flag is passing by.

Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great,
Fought to make and to save the State;
Weary marches and sinking ships;
Cheers of victory on dying lips;

Days of plenty and years of peace,
March of a strong land's swift increase:
Equal justice, right and law,
Stately honor and reverent awe;

Sign of a nation, great and strong,
To ward her people from foreign wrong;
Pride and glory and honor, all
Live in the colors to stand or fall.

Hats off!
Along the street there comes
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums,
And loyal hearts are beating high:
Hats off!
The flag is passing by!

_H.H. Bennett._

The Rivers of France

The rivers of France are ten score and twain,
But five are the names that we know:
The Marne, the Vesle, the Oureq and the Aisne,
And the Somme of the swampy flow.

The rivers of France, from source to sea,
Are nourished by many a rill,
But these five, if ever a drouth there be
The fountains of sorrow would fill.

The rivers of France shine silver white,
But the waters of five are red
With the richest blood, in the fiercest fight
For freedom that ever was shed.

The rivers of France sing soft as they run,
But five have a song of their own,
That hymns the fall of the arrogant one
And the proud cast down from his throne.

The rivers of France al