Dan Wallingford, my jo Dan!-- Though but a child in years, Your patriot spirit thrills the land And wakens it to cheers,-- You lift the flag--you roll the drums-- We hear the bugle blow,-- Till all our hearts are one with yours, Dan Wallingford, my jo! CLAUDE MATTHEWS GOVERNOR OF INDIANA Steadfastly from his childhood's earliest hour-- From simplest country life to state and power-- His worth has known advancement,--each new height A newer glory in his fellow's sight. So yet his happy fate--though mute the breath Of thronging multitudes and thundrous cheers,-- Faith sees him raised still higher, through our tears, By this divine promotion of his death. TO LESLEY Burns sang of bonny Lesley As she gaed o'er the border,-- Gaed like vain Alexander, To spread her conquests farther. I sing another Lesley, Wee girlie, more alluring, Who stays at home, the wise one, Her conquests there securing. A queen, too, is my Lesley, And gracious, though blood-royal, My heart her throne, her kingdom, And I a subject loyal. Long shall you reign, my Lesley, My pet, my darling dearie, For love, oh, little sweetheart, Grows never old or weary. THE JUDKINS PAPERS FATHER AND SON Mr. Judkins' boy came home yesterday with a bottle of bugs in his pocket, and as the quiet little fellow sat on the back porch in his favorite position, his legs elbowed and flattened out beneath him like a letter "W," his genial and eccentric father came suddenly upon him. "And what's the blame' boy up to now?" said Mr. Judkins, in an assumed tone of querulous displeasure, as he bent over the boy from behind and gently tweaked his ear. "Oh, here, mister!" said the boy, without looking up; "you thist let up on that, will you!" "What you got there, I tell you!" continued the smiling Mr. Judkins, in a still gruffer tone, relinquishing the boy's ear, and gazing down upon the fluffy towhead with more than ordinary admiration. "What you got there?" "Bugs," said the boy--"you know!" "Dead, are they?" said Mr. Judkins. "Some of 'em's dead," said the boy, carefully running a needle through the back of a large bumblebee. "All these uns is, you kin bet! You don't think a feller 'ud try to string a live bumblebee, I reckon?" "Well, no, 'Squire," said Mr. Judkins, airily, addressing the boy by one of the dozen nicknames he had given him; "not a live bumblebee--a real stem-winder, of course not. But what in the name o' limpin' Lazarus air you stringin' 'em fer?"