II.

My brother, take my hand;
Weary, and sick, and faint,
To thee I make complaint,
Who art my all.

III.

My brother, take my hand;
Though pale it is and thin,
The same blood flows within
That is in thine.

IV.

My brother, take my hand;
It's all I have to give;
O, let me, while I live,
Press it to thine.

V.

My brother, take my hand;
And with the hand receive
The blessing which I leave,
Before I die.

VI.

My brother, take my hand;
And when at last you come,
I will receive you home,--
The home on high.

* * * * *

A correspondent in Ohio sends us the following:--

'It is a good thing for a weak brother to have faith; and some one
to rely on is to such an especial blessing. Squire BULLARD
was wont to find such a prop in his friend Deacon PARRISH,
who, he firmly believed, "knew everything."

'Near by the Squire lived a graceless old infidel named
MYERS, who was wont to entangle his simple neighbors in
arguments sadly vexing to their orthodoxy. On one occasion he
devoted an hour to prove to BULLARD that there was no
future after death.

'"Well," exclaimed Squire B----, "you kin talk jest as much as ye
please. Free speech is permitted; but I don't believe ye. I tell
you what, MYERS, the soul _is_ immortal; I'll bet five
dollars on it, and leave it to Deacon PARRISH!"'

This is indeed believing in human power; and yet who would laugh
_through_ his heart at it? For it is this same _belief_ in other men,
mere mortals like ourselves, in hero-worship, which led man through the
stormy ages of old on to the lighter and brighter time, when we see afar
the promised time when great ideas shall rule instead of great men, and
heroism yield to sincere, unselfish ministry. Great was the final lesson
of Friar BACON'S head--'Time will be.'

* * * * *

The failure of the great Southern Confederacy to secure recognition in
Europe will doubtless provoke sad strains from the bards of that
unfortunate 'empire.' Nor less to be pitied are those who have put their
trust in contracts and become the 'victims of misplaced confidence.' The
following brace of parodies sets forth the sorrows of either side with
touching pathos.

THE UNIVERSAL COTTON GIN.

He journeyed all creation through,