the soldier, as he marches his weary round, waiting to be relieved, and musing on the battle and the war for which he has pledged his life and his honor—­and they are a world to him.  ‘Not yet,’ says every great man and woman, laying hands to every noble task in time, which is to roll onward in result into eternity.  Wait, wait, thou active soul,—­even in thy most vigorous activity let thy work be one of waiting, and of great patience in thy fiercest toil.  There will come a day of triumph, when the fresh wind will banish the heat, and fan the laurel on thy brow.  Such is the true moral of the following lyric:—­

  FALLEN.

  BY EDWARD S. RAND.

  Blow gently, Oh ye winter winds,
    Along the ferny reaches,
  Nor whirl the yellow leaves which cling
    Upon the saddened beeches;
  And gently breathe upon the hills
    Where spring’s first violets perished,—­
  Died like the budding summer hopes
    Our hearts too fondly cherished.

  Oh memory, bring not back the past,
    To brim our cup of sorrow;
  The drear to-day creeps on to bring
    A drearier to-morrow. 
  Can streaming eyes and aching hearts
    Glow at the battle’s story,
  Or they who stake their all and lose
    Exult in fame and glory?

  Oh, lay them tenderly to rest,
    Those for their country dying,—­
  Let breaking hearts and trembling lips
    Pour the sad dirge of sighing. 
  Yet louder than the requiem raise
    The song of exultation,
  That the great heritage is ours
    To die to save the nation.

  In patience wait, nor think that yet
    Shall Right and Freedom perish,
  Nor yet Oppression trample down
    The heritage we cherish! 
  For still remember, precious things
    Are won by stern endeavor,—­
  Though in the strife our heart-strings break,
    The Right lives on forever.

* * * * *

When you write let your chirography be legible.  Strive not overmuch after beauty of finish, make not your a’s like unto u’s or your o’s like v’s; let not your heart be seduced by the loveliness of flourishes, and be not tempted of long-tailed letters.  Above all, write your own name distinctly,—­which is more than many do, and much more than was done by the gentleman described in the following letter from a kindly correspondent:—­

    MADISON, WIS.

    DEAR CONTINENTAL: 

The holder of any considerable quantity of Wisconsin currency is liable not only to the occasional loss consequent upon the absquatulation of a tricksy wild-cat, but also to great perplexity as to the name of the gentleman who countersigns the bills.  These inscrutable counter-signatures are accomplished by ROBERT MENZIES, our excellent Deputy Bank Comptroller.  His cabalistic ‘R.  Menzies’ does not greatly resemble a well-executed