"You may go home with me-- Or may run on before; You've a glittering key That will open the door! Your mother is there, Praying for you e'en now; There is snow in her hair, There is pain on her brow. And when you have kissed her The old-fashioned way, There's a brother and sister Who've longed for this day; And whatever can befriend you On earth, shall be done; May God's blessing attend you, My son--oh, my son!" Then the banjo struck in, And the tambourine jingled; There rose such a din That my blood fairly tingled. The vocalists screamed Till quite red in the face; But somehow it all seemed Not at all out of place! Now denouements immense Do riot somehow take hold, Or dramatic events Reach my heart, as of old; But my smiles could not hide The fast-gathering tears, And I cheered, laughed, and cried, As I had not for years! And I thought, "Not amiss Are this tumult and shout: Folks who save men like this Know what they are about. You who fight with God's sword For the good of your kind-- You can never afford To leave these men behind. If these women I've seen, Should be pelted or cursed, I would step in between-- I would take the blow first. They who draw souls above From the depths lowest down, Will not fail of God's love Or to shine in His crown." [Illustration: THE SALVATION ARMY.] [_From Arthur Selwyn's Note-book._] [THE MARCH OF THE CHILDREN.] [Illustration] List to the sound of the drumming! Gaily the children are coming; Sweet as the smile of a fairy, Fresh as the blossoms they carry. Pride of the parents who love them, Pure as the azure above them, Free as the winds that caress them, Bright as the sunbeams that bless them. [Illustration] List to the voice-echoes ringing! Sweeter than birds they are singing; Thoughts that to virtue invite them, Wed unto airs that delight them. Truths that their future will cherish, Soul-planted, never to perish! Only to senses completer, Heaven's choicest music were sweeter! Virtue, unconscious and pretty, Walks through the streets of the city; See the gay bannerets flying, Mottoes and titles undying; Truths dearly hallowed and olden, Braided in strands that are golden; Words for the spirit's desiring, Sentences sweetly inspiring! * * * * * When, in a voice of caressing, Christ gave the children His blessing, 'Twas not for one generation-- But for each epoch and nation. So through the present it lingers, Shed from His bountiful fingers; So unto these it is given-- Types of the angels in Heaven. TRAVEL. [_From Farmer Harrington's Calendar._] NOVEMBER 1, 18--.