This famous band, our Nation's pride,
And Liberty's, fair Liberty's,

How boldly to the strife they ride

For victory! the world can see.
The Goddess proudly waves her hand
To waft the praise to every land
Of this heroic veteran band

Of Cavalry, brave Cavalry.

On Battle Field each gallant son
Of Liberty, fair Liberty,

A pair of golden spurs has won
In victory, by gallantry.

The world shall sing their deeds of fame
Which every Lyric will proclaim
And thus immortalize the name

Of Cavalry, Our Cavalry.

With carbines slung and sabres drawn
For Liberty, fair Liberty,

Brave Sheridan has led them on
To victory so valiantly.

THE BALLADS.

My friends, I've been a soldier,
But now I roam at large;

I am on the list of cripples,

For which I was discharged;

But still to make a living

I shall do the best I can;

For there's something yet for me to do Or any other man.

But to succeed at labor,

I never can again;

Nor can I wield the sabre,

But still can wield the pen; So, to write a lot of Ballads I thought would be my plan, To sell to my old comrades, Or any other man.

I shall keep a good collection,
Of the very finest style;
You can make your own selection,
From the list I have on file;
Some were composed before the war-
More since the war began;-
I'm bound to suit the million,
Or any other man.

MRS. V. H. DOWNES.

BORN: NEW BRUNSWICK, 1832. ALTHOUGH born in New Brunswick, this lady is a daughter of American parents. For a while she was a compositor in the printing office of the Aroostook Pioneer, and her

MRS. V. H. DOWNES. poems have received extensive publication in the local press. She was married in 1862 to Henry R. Downes, and is now a resident of Houlton, Maine.

THOUGHTS OF THE DEPARTED. Come back! come back! I cannot stay, 'Tis lonely since thou'st passed away; The charm that made life dear to me Is broken now, and fled with thee! The scenes that we have loved before Ah! I can visit them no more, Since thou canst not their pleasure share, To me they only shadows wear.

Come back! come back! my heart is sad,

I cannot teach it to be glad,

I cannot teach it yet to see

If blessings still are left for me;

I sometimes mingle with the train
When mirth and merry voices reign,
Perchance may linger some gay thought,
Not even then art thou forgot.

Come back! come back! I cannot sing
The songs we loved-but tears they bring,
Our chosen themes neglected lie,
I only think of them and sigh.

The lines thy gentle fingers traced,
And plans thy skillful hands have placed,
All these remain sacred and dear,
Yet I am sad-thou art not here!
Come back! come back! how sad to part,
The ceaseless murmur of my heart,
I know to wish thee back is vain,
Thou canst not come to us again.
Live, gently soothing all grief
May bring at last some sweet relief;
Methinks I can no more be blest
Until I am with thee at rest.

MY THREE LOVES.

Ere childhood's sunny days were passed My heart had learned love's lore,

And on a wayward youth were cast

The treasures of its store

Not dreaming that a change might come Across my early dream;

I thought forever I'd love on,

While gliding down life's stream.

But fleeting years no traces left

Of that fair transient flame,

Lo! at another shrine I knelt,

A worshiper again.

The object of my homage then
Was worthy of my love;

The noblest of earth's noblemen
Permitted here to rove.

I thought my idol not of earth,
A mold of common clay,

But one who owned a Heavenly birth,
A star-gleam on my way;
Forgetful of all else beside

The world was naught to me,
But that bright object, thus I loved
With blind idolatry.

But time still quickly onward sped,
This second dream was o'er.
All former fancies, hopes were fled
And I - I loved once more —
An erring mortal, such as 1,
Whose failings still I see,
Yet there is none beneath the sky
That's half so dear to me.

MY LITTLE FRIEND.

I have a friend, faithful and true,
Whose eyes are of the mildest blue
And ever glistening like the dew.

Whose brow is like the winter snows,
Whose cheek is rival with the rose,
Whose voice is like the brook that flows.
Whose form is graceful as the flowers,
Whose presence is like grateful showers,
Refreshing the earth's drooping bowers.

GEORGE LEO WEBER.

BORN: ST. LOUIS, MO., MARCH 29, 1852. AFTER receiving his education at the Christian Brother College and the Jones Commercial College, Mr. Weber entered mercantile pursuits, and now is the proprietor of a

GEORGE LEO WEBER.

large cigar factory. He was married in 1872 to Miss Bertha Meyer, and has one son and two daughters, and resides in Evansville, Ind. George Leo Weber has written about one hundred poems, including many songs, which have appeared in the Chicago Champion of Freedom and Right and the local press generally.

DAD'S GIRL.

Dad's girl, so sweet, so fair to see,
How nice she can arrange each curl,
And if you'll read you'll find below

A full description of Dad's Girl.
..Her Cheeks" full bloom and rosy red,
Just as fine as you ever have seen;
She'd found out how to make them so
By using cosmetics and glycerine.
..Her Eyes" they looked most beautiful,
So sparkling, bright like gloss,
But alas, that girl is blind in one

And with the other she's squinting cross. "Her Nose," from the side it looks lovely, But in front it resembles a Jap.

Her Ears are large, her face pockmarked, And her lips swoll up and chapped.

"Her Mouth," when its closed it looks charming,

But when open, Great Scott," what a crack.

Don't happen near when she draws her breath,

Or you'll land right square on your back.

"Her Teeth" are white and sapolio clean,
They were set and filled in with gold.
When I paid forty dollars to the dentist
He said they're the best I ever have sold.

..Her Feet," they were born in Chicago,
From a tannery she'd order her shoes,
The stores have none that will fit her,
As it took two hides for her twos.

"Her Walk," it was never imitated,

Every step that she takes gives her pain. She's knock-kneed, bow-legged and P toed, Can only walk with a crutch and a cane.

"Her Talk" and her facial expression

When abroad is like Nye or Von Brock, But when home she'd get fits every minute, And her face, it would stop any clock.

"Her Form" would be a perfect Greek model
If it wasn't for the lump on her neck,
And to dress her so no one can see it,
A thousand a year I settled by check.

..Her Ways" are not at all like her sister,

Nor can she compare with her mother, But she'll say I surely can't help it

If I take after the Dad of my brother.

The Truth" is that my girl's cheek's full bloom,

Eyes, nose, mouth, teeth and her feet, Walk, talk and the rest are all falsehoods. In short, "Dad's Girl" is perfect, complete.

THE DRUMMER. EXTRACT.

I used to have a notion that a drummer's, life was sweet,

I believed to be a drummer was happiness complete:

I have a different notion now than I had eighteen years ago,

I used to think how nice it was to make friends where'er you'd go.

I knew not then I'd meet with men who'd draw me on and say,

I'll give you an order next time, I'm sorry I

can't to-day.

JOHN ROLAND COLGAN.

BORN: WESTVILLE, O., OCT. 27, 1830. FOR Several years Mr. Colgan was a teacher, but since 1857 has been constantly in the ministry in central, western and northern Ohio. He was married in 1859 to Miss Catha

JOHN ROLAND COLGAN. rine Boyers, and now resides with his family at Pioneer, Ohio. The poems of the Rev. John Colgan have appeared in the Western Christian Advocate and in various newspapers and magazines.

THE ATLANTIC CABLE.

Ho, blue-mantled Neptune, old god of the

sea,

The steed we call lightning is harnessed for thee,

Though long we have waited, but waited in

vain

To be thus united with land o'er the main.

To-day it is done! Let the message go forth From the south polar sky to the "Bear" of the north;

Down deep in old ocean, where sails are unknown,

With electrical speed is thy chariot drawn.
Go tell the glad tidings, whoever may hear,
Declare it afar and to all who are near,
From threshold to house-top, from dungeon

to throne,

Republic and kingdom through lightning are

one.

Go publish the news on the banks of the Nile Where Christian invention has ne'er cast her smile;

Go tell it to India whose millions are bound To the gods they adore till a better is found. Let Britain be glad, and Columbia as well; Let nations about them the joy only swell; The Lion" be spokesman to all the great

powers;

The Eagle" pipe forth The invention is ours."

Rejoice all the world, for the day seemeth

nigh

When the peoples of earth shall all see eye

to eye:"

Each people a power for God, in its place; All peoples united as one, in the race.

When the honor of one is that of the whole; International compact the shield of each soul;

And the serf of the east, or the slave of the

west

Finds freedom backed up by the public bebest.

Speak on, new-born Wonder, your whisper

is low,

But infantile power is destined to grow;

And soon the round world will be list'ning

to thee,

Thou child of Columbia, the land of the free.

TOBACCO.

If you will, blind to disaster,
Drain the gumption from your brain:
If your appetite is master:

You a slave beneath its reign;

If no effort can redeem you
From the plight you now are in,
Neither love nor hate reclaim you,
Then push onward in your sin.

If you chance to have a shilling,
Find a store without delay;
Your tobacco-box needs filling,-
Cash on hand, so you can pay.
Now you have it, start the dripping,
Let the juice begin to flow,
Incisors cutting, cuspids nipping,
Molars grinding fast and slow.

If within a car you're riding,
Don't forget the Indian weed,"
In its service still abiding,

Give your appetite its feed.
Keep the spurting flow in action,
Spurting left and spurting right,
Spurting on without contraction,
Spurting morning, noon and night.