THE "COURSE OF LOVE" TOO "SMOOTH."

HE came tripping from the church-door, her face flushed by emotions awakened by the just uttered discourse, and eyes bright with loving expectation. He shivered on the curb-stone, where for an hour he had waited impatiently, with a burning heart fairly palpitating in his throat, and frozen fingers in his pockets. They linked arms and started for the residence of her parents. After a few moments' hesitating silence he said : Jane, we have known each other long. You must know just how I feel. You must have seen that clear down at the bottom-O Moses!"

He had slipped down on the ice with so much force that his spine was driven up into his hat, and his hat was tipped over his nose, but she was a tender-hearted girl. She did not laugh, but she carefully helped him to his feet, and said:

"You were saying, John, when you slipped, that the foundation-0, goodness!"

She slipped herself that time, and saw little stars come down to dance before her eyes, but he pulled her up in haste and went on

"Yes; just as I said, clean down at the bottom of my heart is a fervent love, on which I build my hopes. That love has helped me stand and face-Thunder!"

He was down again, but scrambled up before she could stoop to help him, and she said breathlessly:

"Yes, yes, John. You remember you just said a love which helped you stand and face thunder. And that you founded your hopes on-This pesky ice!"

There she sat. John grasped the loose part of her sacque, between the shoulders, with one hand, and raised

her to her feet, as one would lift a kitten from a pail of water by the back of the neck. Then he said, with increased earnestness:

"Of course, darling; and I have longed for an opportunity to tell my love, and to hear those sweet lips whisper-Whoop!"

Somehow John's feet had slipped from under him, and he had come down like a capital V with his head and feet pointing skyward. She twined her taper fingers in his curling locks and raised him to the stature of a man, set his hat firmly over his eyes with both hands, and cried, in breathless haste:

"I understand; and let me assure you, John, that if it is in my power to lighten your cares and make lighter your journey through life to-Jerusalem!"

John stood alone, and said with breathless vehemence:

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"O my precious! and thus shall it be my lifelong pleasure to lift you from the rude assaults of earth and surround you with the loving atmosphere of Texas!"

And there they both sat together. They had nearly reached the gate, and, hand in hand, and with hearts overflowing with the bliss of young love's first confession, they crept along on their knees up to the front steps, and were soon forgetful of their bumps on the softest cushion of the parlor sofa.

CENTENNIAL HYMN.

UR fathers' God, from out whose hand

OUR

The centuries fall like grains of sand,

We meet to-day, united, free,

And loyal to our land and Thee.
To thank Thee for the era done,
And trust Thee for the opening one.

Here, where of old, by Thy design,
The fathers spake that word of Thine,
Whose echo is the glad refrain

Of rended bolt and falling chain,
To grace our festal time, from all
The zones of earth our guests we call.

Be with us while the new world greets
The old world thronging all its streets,
Unveiling all the triumphs won
By art or toil, beneath the sun;
And unto common good ordain
This rivalship of hand and brain.

Thou, who hast here in concord furled
The war-flags of a gathered world,
Beneath our Western skies fulfil
The Orient's mission of good will,
And, freighted with love's Golden Fleece,
Send back the Argonauts of peace.
For art and labor met in truce,
For beauty made the bride of use,

We thank Thee, while, withal, we crave,
The austere virtues strong to save,
The honor proof to place or gold,
The manhood never bought nor sold!

O, make Thou us, through centuries long,
In peace secure, in justice strong;
Around our gift of freedom draw
The safeguards of Thy righteous law,
And, cast in some diviner mould,
Let the new cycle shame the old!

JOHN G. WHITTIER.

HEROES OF THE LAND OF PENN.

BEAUTIE

EAUTIFUL in her solitary grandeur-fair as a green island in a desert waste, proud as a lonely column, reared in the wilderness-rises the land of Penn, in the history of America.

Here, beneath the Elm of Shackamaxon, was first reared the holy altar of Toleration. Here, from the halls of the old State House, was first proclaimed that Bible of the rights of man-the Declaration of Independence.

Here William Penn asserted the mild teachings of the Gospel, whose every word was Love. Here Franklin drew down lightnings from the sky, and bent the science of ages to the good of toiling man. Here Jefferson stood forth, the consecrated Prophet of Freedom, proclaiming from Independence Hall the destiny of a Continent, the freedom of a people.

She has no orator to celebrate her glories, to point to her past; she has no Pierpont to hymn her illustrious dead; no Jared Sparks to chronicle her Revolutionary grandeur.

And yet the green fields of Germantown, the twilight vale of the Brandywine, the blood-nurtured soil of Paoli, all have their memories of the past, all are stored with their sacred treasure of whitened bones. From the far North, old Wyoming sends forth her voice-from her hills of grandeur and her valleys of beauty, she sends her voice, and at the sound the mighty Dead of the land of Penn sweep by, a solemn pageant of the Past.

Pennsylvanians, remember that though the Land of Penn has no history, yet is her story written on her battle-fields.

Let us go to the battle of Germantown, in the dread hour of the retreat, and see how the children of Penn died. Let us go there, in the moment when Washington and his Generals came back from the fight.

A pause in the din of battle! The denizens of Mount Airy and Chestnut Hill come crowding to their doors and windows; the hilly streets are occupied by anxious groups of people, who converse in low and whispered. tones, with hurried gestures, and looks of surprise and fear. See yonder group clustered by the roadside: the gray-haired man, with his ear inclined intently toward Germantown, his hands outspread, and his trembling form bent with age; the maiden, fair-cheeked, red-lipped, and blooming, clad in the peasant costume; the matron, calm, self-possessed and placid; the boy, with the light flaxen hair, the ruddy cheeks, the merry blue eyes;—all standing silent and motionless, and listening, as with a common impulse, for the first news of the battle.

There is a strange silence upon the air. A moment ago, and far off shouts broke on the ear, mingling with the thunder of cannon, and the shrieks of the terrible musketry; the earth seems to tremble, and far around, the wide horizon is agitated by a thousand echoes. Now the scene is still as midnight. Not a sound, not a shout, not a distant hurrah. The anxiety of the group upon the hill becomes absorbing and painful. Looks of wonder, at the sudden pause of the battle, flit from face to face, and then low whispers are heard, and then comes another moment of fearful suspense. It is followed by a wild, rushing sound to the south, like the shrieks of the ocean waves, as they fill the hold of the foundering ship, while it sinks far into the loneliness of the seas.

Then a pause, and again that unknown sound, and then the tramp of ten thousand footsteps mingled with a