THE TOUCHES OF HER HANDS. J. W. RILEY. T HE touches of her hands are like the fall Of velvet snowflakes; like the touch of down Caught in the crinkle of a leaf of brown crisp. Soft as the falling of the dusk at night, The touches of her hands are like the dew Oh, rarely soft, the touches of her hands, green Or pulse of dying fay; or fairy sighs; tc THE SOLDIER'S DREAM. T. CAMPBELL. Our bugles sang truce,--for the night-cloud had lower'd, When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain; Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array, I flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft, And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung. Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore, From my home and my weeping friends never to part; My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er, And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fullness of heart. "Stay, stay with us,-rest, thou art weary and worn;" THE MOTHER'S CHARGE. "Behold, I commit my daughter unto thee of special trust," Precious and lovely, I yield her to thee! Guard her with care, which must never decline; What is the casket, where the jewel is not? Take her and pray that thine arm may be strong, Now she doth love thee as one without spot- THE BRIGHT SIDE. MRS. M. A. KIDDER. There is many a rest on the road of life, And whose beautiful trust never faileth, Better to hope, though the clouds hang low, And to keep the eyes still lifted; For the sweet blue sky will soon peep through, There was never a night without a day, There is many a gem in the path of life, It may be the love of a little child, |