e Tenthredo),
which converts the whole of the inside into dust, leaving nothing but
the rind entire, without any loss of color. Human life is as fair and
tempting as the fruit of 'Ain Jidy,' till stung and poisoned by the
Tenthredo of sin."

All conceivable _suaviter in modo_ characterized his mocking
countenance and tone, as he inclined his haughty head and asked:

"Will you favor me by lifting on the point of your dissecting knife
this stinging sin of mine to which you refer? The noxious brood swarm
so teasingly about my ears that they deprive me of your cool, clear,
philosophic discrimination. Which particular Tenthredo of the buzzing
swarm around my spoiled apple of life would you advise me to select
for my _anathema maranatha_?"

"Of your history, sir, I am entirely ignorant; and even if I were not,
I should not presume to levy a tax upon it in discussions with you;
for, however vulnerable you may possibly be, I regard an _argumentum
ad hominem_ as the weakest weapon in the armory of dialectics--a
weapon too often dipped in the venom of personal malevolence. I merely
gave expression to my belief that miserable useless lives are sinful
lives." . . .

FOOTNOTE:

[36] By permission of the author, and of the publisher, G. W.
Dillingham, N. Y.

DANIEL BEDINGER LUCAS.

~1836=----.~

DANIEL BEDINGER LUCAS is a native of Charlestown, West Virginia, and
has reputation as a lawyer, orator, and judge. He was a soldier in the
Confederate Army and wrote his fine and best known poem, "The Land
Where We Were Dreaming," in 1865. He has served in the State
Legislature. His sister was also a poet and her verses are included in
the "Wreath of Eglantine."

WORKS.

Memoir of John Yates Bell.
Maid of Northumberland.
Ballads and Madrigals.
Wreath of Eglantine, and other Poems.

THE LAND WHERE WE WERE DREAMING.

(_From The Land We Love._[37])

Fair were our nation's visions, and as grand
As ever floated out of fancy-land;
Children were we in simple faith,
But god like children, whom nor death
Nor threat of danger drove from honor's path--
In the land where we were dreaming.

Proud were our men as pride of birth could render,
As violets our women pure and tender;
And when they spoke, their voices' thrill
At evening hushed the whip poor-will,
At morn the mocking bird was mute and still,
In the land where we were dreaming.