the foe's front! Peace, dreamer! Thou hast done well Thy place in the close rank is filled; and yet another waits for his who holds it.

Gaze on yon

5. Knight, hast thou yet a thought? bend it on IIcaven! The past is gone; the future lics before thee. gorgeous sky; thy home should be beyond it! Life, honor, love-they pass to Him that gave them. Pride, that came on like ocean's billows-see round thee how it lies mute and passive. The wealthy here are poor. The high-born have no precedence. The strong are powerless; the mean, content. The fair and lovely have no followers. Soldier! she who sped thee on thy course to-day, her blue eyes shall seek thee in the conquering ranks to-morrow; but it shall seek thee in vain! Well! thus it is thou shouldst have died!worth all to live for. Wouldst thou be base to have thy death a blessing? Proud necks shall mourn for thee. Bright eyes shall weep for thee. They that live envy thee. Death glory takes out thy sting!

6. Warrior! aye, the stream of that rill flows cool; but thy lip no more shall taste it. The moonlight that silvers its white foam, shall glitter on thy corslet, when thy eye is closed and dim. Lo! now the night is coming. The mist is gathering on the hill. The fox steals forth to seek his quarry, and the gray owl sweeps whirling by, rejoicing in the stillness. Oh, soldier! how sweetly sounds thy lady's lute! how fragrant are the dew-sprinkled flowers that twine round the casement from which she leans! that lute shall enchant thee, those flowers shall delight thec-no more!

7. One other charge! Soldier, it may not be. To thy saint and thy lady commend thee! Hark to the low trumpet that sounds the recall! Hark to its long note; sweet is that sound in the cars of the spent and routed foe! The victor hears it not. When the breath rose that blew that note, he lived; its peal has rung, and his spirit has departed. Heath! thou shouldst be the soldier's pillow! Moon, let thy cold light this night fall upon him! But, morning, thy soft dews shall tempt him not! the soldier must wake no more. He sleeps the sleep of honor. His cause was his country's freedom, and her faith. He is dead! The cross of a Chris

tian knight is on his breast; his lips are pressed to his lady's token. Soldier, farewell!

XX.-POETICAL SELECTIONS.

1.-ABSALOM BESS.

1. A BENEVOLENT man was Absalom Bess,—
At each and every tale of distress

He blazed right up like a rocket;

He felt for all who 'neath poverty's smart
Were doomed to bear life's roughest part,-
He felt for them in his inmost heart,

But never felt in his pocket.

2. IIe did n't know rightly what was meant
By the Bible's promised four hundred per cent.,
For charity's donation;

But he acted as if he thought railroad stocks.

And bonds secure bencath earthly locks,

Were better, with pockets brim full of rocks,
Than heavenly speculation.

3. Yet all said he was an excellent man;

For the poor he'd preach, for the pocr he'd plan,—
To better them he was willing;

But the oldest one who had heard him pray,
And preach for the poor in a pitiful way,
Could n't remember, exactly, to say
He had ever given a shilling.

4. O, an excellent man was Absalom Bess,
And the world threw up its hands to bless,
Whenever his name was mentioned;

But he died one day, he did, and O!
He went right down to the shades below,
Where all are bound, I fear, to go,

Who are only good intentioned.

2.-FAMINE.

1. O, the long and dreary winter!
O, the cold and cruel winter!
Ever thicker, thicker, thicker,
Froze the ice on lake and river

SHILLABER

Ever deeper, deeper, deeper,
Fell the soft snow o'er the landscape,
Fell the covering snow and drifted
Through the forest, round the village.

2. Hardly from his buried wigwam
Could the hunter force a passage;
With his mittens and his snow-shoes,
Vainly walked he through the forest,
Sought for beast or bird and found none,
Saw no track of deer or rabbit,
In the snow beheld no foot-prints,
In the ghastly, gleaming forest

Fell, and could not rise from weakness,
Perished there from cold and hunger.

3 0, the famine and the fever!
O, the wasting of the famine!
O, the blasting of the fever!
O, the wailing of the children!
O, the anguish of the women!
All the earth was sick and famished,
Hungry was the air around them.
Hungry was the sky above them,

And the hungry stars in heaven

Like the eyes of wolves glared at them.

LONGFELLOW.

XXI.-ANECDOTES.

1. VERY SUGGESTIVE.

A CLERGYMAN, preaching a sermon on some particular patriarch, was extremely high in his panegyric, and spoke of him as far excelling every saint in the calendar. He took a view of the celestial hierarchy, but in vain; he could not assign to his saint a place worthy so many virtues as he possessed; every sentence ended thus: "Where, then, can we place this great patriarch?" One of the congregation, tired at last of the repetition, exclaimed, "As I am going away, you may put him in my pew."

2. FIRST EXPERIENCE.

1. A VERY intelligent Irishman tells the following incident of his experience in America: I came to this country several years ago, and, as soon as I arrived, hired out to a gentleman who farmed a few acres. He showed me over the premises, the stables, the cow, and where the corn, hay, oats, etc., were kept, and then sent me in to my supper. After supper, he said to me: "James, you may feed the cow, and give her corn in the ear." I went out and walked about, thinking, "what could he mean? Had I understood him?" I scratched my head, then resolved I would inquire again; so I went into the library where my master was writing very busily, and he answered without looking up: "I thought I told you to give the cow some corn in the ear." 2. I went out more puzzled than ever. What sort of an animal must this Yankee cow be? I examined her mouth and ears. The teeth were good, and the ears like those of kine in the old country. Dripping with sweat, I entered my master's presence once more. "Please, sir, you bid me give the cow some corn in the ear, but didn't you mean the mouth?" He looked at me a moment, and then burst into such a convulsion of laughter, that I made for the stable as fast as my feet could take me, thinking I was in the service of a crazy man.

3.-EASY TO MAKE SERMONS.

1. "It amazes me that ministers don't write better sermons; I am sick of the dull, prosy affairs," said a lady in the presence of Dr. Nesbit. "But it is no easy matter, my good woman, to write good sermons," suggested the Doctor. "Yes," rejoined the lady, "but you are so long about it. I could write one in half the time if I only had the text." "O, if a text is all you want," said Dr. Nesbit, "I will furaish that. Take this one from Solomon: 'It is better to dwell in a corner of a house top, than in a wide house with a brawling woman.' "Do you mean me, sir?" inquired the lady quickly. "O, my good woman," was the response, "you will never make a sermonizer; you are too quick in making your application."

4. THE FORCE OF IMAGINATION.

1 BUCKLAND, the distinguished geologist, one day, after dissecting a Mississippi alligator, asked a good many of the most distinguished of his class to dine with him. His guests congregated. The dinner-table looked splendid, with glass, china, and plate, and the meal commenced with excellent. soup. "How do you like the soup?" asked the doctor, after having finished his own plate, addressing a famous gourmand of the day. "Very good, indeed," answered the other; "turtle, is it not-I only ask because I find no green fat?” The doctor shook his head. "I think it has something of a musky taste," said another, "not unpleasant, but peculiar."

2. "All alligators have," replied Buckland, "the cayman particularly so. The fellow whom I dissected this morning, and whom you have just been eating There was a general rout of the whole guests. Every one turned pale. Half-a-dozen started up from the table. Two or three ran out of the room; and only two, who had stout stomachs, remained till the close of an excellent entertainment. what imagination can do!" said Buckland. "If I had told them it was turtle, or terrapin, or birds'-nest soup, they would have pronounced it excellent. Such is prejudice.' "But was it really an alligator?" asked a lady. "As good a calf's head as ever wore a coronet," answered Buckland

"See

XXII.-POETICAL SELECTIONS.

1. THE STREET WAS A RUIN.

1. THE street was a ruin, and night's horrid glare
Illumined with terror the face of despair,

While houseless, bewailing,

Mute pity assailing,

A mother's wild shrieks pierced the merciless air;
Beside her stood Edward, imploring each wind
To wake his loved sister, who lingered behind.
Awake, my poor Mary!

Oh! fly to me, Mary!

In the arms of your Edward a pillow you'll find.