"
IV. HER BROTHER'S.
"By jove! were I a girl--through horrid hap--
I wouldn't have a milk-and-water chap.
The man has not a single spark of 'go.'
He's not worth loving."--" Yet I love him so."
V. HER OWN.
"And were he everything to which I've listened,
Though he were ugly, awkward (and he isn't),
Poor, lowly-born, and destitute of 'go,'
He _is_ worth loving, for I love him so."
THE PRIDE OF BATTERY B.
BY F.H. GASSAWAY.
South Mountain towered on our right
Far off the river lay;
And over on the wooded height
We kept their lines at bay.
At last the muttering guns were stilled,
The day died slow and wan;
At last the gunners' pipes were filled,
The sergeant's yarns began.
When, as the wind a moment blew
Aside the fragrant flood,
Our brushwood razed, before our view
A little maiden stood.
A tiny tot of six or seven,
From fireside fresh she seemed;
Of such a little one in heaven
I know one soldier dreamed.
And as she stood, her little hand
Went to her curly head;
In grave salute, "And who are you?"
At length the sergeant said.
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