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MARION'S DINNER.-EDWARD C. JONES.

A British officer, sent to negotiate an exchange of prisoners, was conducted into Marion's encampment. There the scene took place which is here commemorated. The young officer was so deeply affected by the sentiments of Marion, that he subsequently resigned his commission and retired from the British service.

They sat on the trunk of a fallen pine,
And their plate was a piece of bark,
And the sweet potatoes were superfine,
Though bearing the embers' mark;

But Tom, with the sleeve of his cotton shirt,
The embers had brushed away,

And then to the brook, with a step alert,
He hied on that gala day.

The British officer tried to eat,

But his nerves were out of tune,

And ill at ease on his novel seat,
While absent both knife and spoon,

Said he, you give me but Lenten fare,
Is the table thus always slim?

Perhaps with a Briton you will not share
The cup with a flowing brim!

Then Marion put his potato down,
On the homely plate of bark-

He had to smile, for he could not frown,
While gay as the morning lark ;-
'Tis a royal feast I provide to-day,

Upon roots we rebels dine,

And in Freedom's service we draw no pay,

Is that code of ethics thine?

Then, with flashing eye and with heaving breast,

He looked to the azure sky,

And, said he, with a firm, undaunted crest,

Our trust is in God on high!

The hard, hard ground, is a downy bed,
And hunger its fang foregoes,

And noble and firm is the soldier's tread,
In the face of his country's foes.

The officer gazed on that princely brow,
Where valor and genius shone,

And upon that fallen pine, his vow,
Went up to his Maker's throne,

I will draw no sword against men like these,
It would drop from a nerveless hand,

And the very blood in my heart would freeze,
If I faced such a Spartan band.

From Marion's camp, with a saddened mien,
He hastened with awe away,

The Sons of Anak, his eyes had seen,
And a giant race were they.

No more on the tented field was he,
And rich was the truth he learned,
That men who could starve for Liberty,
Can neither be crushed, nor spurned.

SONG OF MARION'S MEN.-W. C. BRYANT.

Our band is few, but true and tried,

Our leader frank and bold;

The British soldier trembles
When Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood,
Our tent the cypress-tree;
We know the forest round us,
As seamen know the sea;
We know its walls of thorny vines,
Its glades of reedy grass,

Its safe and silent islands
Within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery
That little dread us near!

On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire,
their arms in vain,

They

grasp

And they who stand to face us

Are beat to earth again;

And they who fly in terror deem

A mighty host behind,

And hear the tramp of thousands

Upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release

From danger and from toil;

We talk the battle over,

And share the battle's spoil.

The woodland rings with laugh and shout

As if a hunt were up,

And woodland flowers are gathered

To crown the soldier's cup.

With merry songs we mock the wind

That in the pine-top grieves,

And slumber long and sweetly

On beds of oaken leaves.

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Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leads,-
The glitter of their rifles,

The scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb
Across the moonlit plain;
'Tis life to feel the night-wind
That lifts his tossing mane.
A moment in the British camp-
A moment-and away
Back to the pathless forest,
Before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee,
Grave men with hoary hairs;
Their hearts are all with Marion,
For Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band
With kindliest welcoming,

With smiles like those of summer,
And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms,
And lay them down no more
Till we have driven the Briton
Forever from our shore.

SHE MEANT BUSINESS.

There is no reason why the inventor of a remedy to "cure the worst case of catarrh inside of five minutes" shouldn't feel it his duty to place a bottle of the same in every person's hand--" price twenty-five cents; no cure, no pay." Therefore, the long-legged chap who pulled a door-bell on John R. Street yesterday had none of that timidity in his bearing which characterizes rag-buyers, lightning-rod men, and solicitors for the fire sufferers. He had a good thing, and he knew it, and he wanted other folks to know it. When the door opened and a hard-featured woman about forty years of age confronted him, he pleasantly went to business, and asked:

"Madam, is your husband ever troubled with the catarrh ?" "Can a man who has been dead seven years be troubled with the catarrh ?" she grimly replied.

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But the children are liable to be attacked at any hour this season," he remarked.

"Whose children?"

"Yours, madam."

"I never had any, sir! What brought you here, anyhow? Why do you come asking those questions?"

'Madam, I have compounded a remedy for the catarrh. It is a good thing. I'll warrant it to knock any case of catarrh sky-high in less than five minutes."

"Well, sir, what's all this to me?"

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Why, madam-why-" he stammered.

"Do I look as if I needed any catarrh remedies?" she demanded, as she stepped out on the platform.

"Madam, I would not for the world have you think that I thought you had the catarrh, but I suppose the fair and lovely can be attacked, as well as the strong and brave."

"And what have I got to do with all that rigmarole? Who are you, sir, and what do you want?"

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'Madam," he whispered, backing down one step, "I have compounded a remedy for the catarrh."

"Whose catarrh ?"

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'Madam, I am selling my catarrh—”

"Where is your catarrh-where is it?" she interrupted.

He got down on the second step and softly began:

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‘Madam, I have a sure cure for the catarrh, and I am selling lots of it."

"Well, what do I care! Must you ring my door-bell to tell me that you are selling lots of catarrh medicine?"

He got down on the walk, clear of the steps, and he tried hard to look beautiful around the mouth as he explained: "Madam, didn't I ask you if your husband was ever troubled with catarrh ?"

"Yes, sir, and didn't I reply that he was dead? Do you want to see his grave, sir?"

No, madam, I do not. I am sorry he 's dead, but my catarrh remedy can't help him any. Good-by, madam.” "Here, sir, hold on a minute!" she called, "what was your business with me?"

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Why, I have a remedy for the catarrh."

So you said before."

"I asked you if you didn't want to purchase, and-"

"You are a falsifier, sir, you never asked me to purchase!"

"Do-you-want-a--bottle?" he slowly asked.

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Yes, sir: give me two of them: here's your money! Next time you want to sell your catarrh remedy, don't begin to talk around about the discovery of America. Here you've bothered me fifteen minutes, and put all my work behind, and it's good for you I didn't bring the broom to the door!" He retreated backward through the gate, his left eye squinted up and his mouth open. He shut the gate, leaned over it and looked long at the front door. By-and-by he said:

"Well, well! You can never tell where to find 'em." -Detroit Free Press.

TALE OF A TEMPTATION.-ALICE HORTON.

His love was mine no more, mother, I saw it in his eyes;
I did not heed his tender words, I knew that they were lies;
I could not be deceived, mother, my love had made me wise.

You wondered why my cheek was pale; I would not tell a lie;
And yet how could I speak a truth which almost made

me die?

So I lay on your heart and cried, mother, an exceeding bitter cry.

A maiden's heart is lightly won-he won mine in a day;
How could I know he wanted it to break and cast away?
He had such a noble face, mother, and yet he could betray.

My world had never seemed so fair-he was the world to me;
I feared no future day, because my only future he;
I fled to him as to my rest, and loved him utterly.

There are who pray, "From sudden death deliver us, good
Lord."

I dare not pray that prayer, lest God should take me at my word,

And send me awful lingering, with pains of death deferred.

I saw the rosy dawn, mother, cloud over gradually;
I saw the shadows deepen, and the last sunbeam fly;
And then I said, "It is enough; would God that I could die!"
He came at last to blame himself for having long delayed;
I must not think he loved me less-“ No, surely no,” he said;
He kissed me with a Judas-kiss; I felt myself betrayed.

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