All conceivable suaviter in modo characterized his mocking countenance and tone, as he inclined his haughty head and asked:

"Will you favor me by lifting on the point of your dissecting knife this stinging sin of mine to which you refer? The noxious brood swarm so teasingly about my ears that they deprive me of your cool, clear, philosophic discrimination. Which particular Tenthredo of the buzzing swarm around my spoiled apple of life would you advise me to select for my anathema maranatha?"

"Of your history, sir, I am entirely ignorant; and even if I were not, I should not presume to levy a tax upon it in discussions with you; for, however vulnerable you may possibly be, I regard an argumentum ad hominem as the weakest weapon in the armory of dialectics—a weapon too often dipped in the venom of personal malevolence. I merely gave expression to my belief that miserable useless lives are sinful lives."

DANIEL BEDINGER LUCAS.
1836-—

DANIEL BEDINGER LUCAS is a native of Charlestown, West Virginia, and has reputation as a lawyer, orator, and judge. He was a soldier in the Confederate Army and wrote his fine and best known poem, "The Land Where We Were Dreaming,” in 1865. He has served in the State Legislature. His sister was aiso a poet and her verses are included in the "Wreath of Eglantine."

Memoir of John Yates Bell.
Maid of Northumberland.

WORKS.

Ballads and Madrigals.

Wreath of Eglantine, and other Poems.

THE LAND WHERE WE WERE DREAMING.
(From The Land We Love.)*

Fair were our nation's visions, and as grand
As ever floated out of fancy-land;
Children were we in simple faith,

But god-like children, whom nor death
Nor threat of danger drove from honor's path-
In the land where we were dreaming.

Proud were our men as pride of birth could render,
As violets our women pure and tender;

And when they spoke, their voices' thrill
At evening hushed the whip-poor-will,
At morn the mocking-bird was mute and still,
In the land where we were dreaming.

And we had graves that covered more of glory
Than ever taxed the lips of ancient story;

And in our dream we wove the thread

Of principles for which had bled

And suffered long our own immortal dead,
In the land where we were dreaming.

Our sleep grew troubled, and our dreams grew wild;
Red meteors flashed across our heaven's field,
Crimson the moon, between the Twins

Barbed arrows flew in circling lanes

Of light, red comets tossed their fiery manes
O'er the land where we were dreaming.

A figure came among us as we slept-
At first he knelt, then slowly rose and wept;
Then gathering up a thousand spears,

He swept across the field of Mars,

Then bowed farewell, and walked among the stars,
From the land where we were dreaming.

*By permission of the author.

We looked again—another figure still
Gave hope, and nerved each individual will;
Erect he stood, as clothed with power,
Self-poised, he seemed to rule the hour
With firm, majestic sway—of strength a tower-
In the land where we were dreaming.

As, while great Jove, in bronze, a warder god,
Gazed eastward from the Forum where he stood,
Rome felt herself secure and free-

So, Richmond! we on guard for thee,
Beheld a bronzèd hero, god-like Lee,

In the land where we were dreaming.

Woe! woe is us! the startled mothers cried;
While we have slept, our noble sons have died.
Woe! woe is us! how strange and sad,

That all our glorious visions fled

Have left us nothing real but our dead

In the land where we were dreaming.

"And are they really dead, our martyred slain?”
No, dreamers! Morn shall bid them rise again
From every plain, from every height

On which they seemed to die for right;
Their gallant spirits shall renew the fight
In the land where we were dreaming.

JAMES RYDER RANDALL.
1839-—.

JAMES RYDER RANDALL was born in Baltimore, and his fame rests upon his stirring war-song, "Maryland, my Maryland," which has been called the "Marseillaise of the Confederacy." It was written in 1861 and set by Mrs.