THE THREE FISHERS.-CHARLES KINGSLEY.

Three fishers went sailing out into the west-
Out into the west as the sun went down;

Each thought of the woman who loved him the best,
And the children stood watching them out of the town;
For men must work, and women must weep;

And there's little to earn, and many to keep,

Though the harbor bar be moaning.

Three wives sat up in the light-house tower,

And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down;

They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower,
And the night-rack came rolling up, ragged and brown;
But men must work, and women must weep,
Though storms be sudden, and waters deep,
And the harbor bar be moaning.

Three corpses lay out on the shining sands

In the morning gleam as the tide went down,
And the women are weeping and wringing their hands,
For those who will never come back to the town;
For men must work, and women must weep,—
And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep,-
And good-by to the bar and its moaning.

COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD.-GEO. H. BOKER.

"The King of Aragon now entered Castile, by way of Soria and Osma, with a powerful army; and, having been met by the queen's forces, both parties encamped near Sepulveda, and prepared to give battle.

"This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, (de la Espina,) is one of the most famous of that age. The dastardly Count of Lara fled at the first shock, and joined the queen at Burgos, where she was anxiously awaiting the issue; but the brave Count of Candespina (Gomez Gonzalez) stood his ground to the last, and died on the field of battle. His standard-bearer, a gentleman of the house of Olea, after having his horse killed under him, and both hands cut off by sabre-strokes, fell beside his master, still clasping the standard in his arms, and repeating his war-cry of Olea!'"-ANNALS OF THE QUEENS OF SPAIN.

Scarce were the splintered lances dropped,
Scarce were the swords drawn out,

Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear,
Had wheeled his steed about:

His courser reared, and plunged, and neighed,
Loathing the fight to yield;

But the coward spurred him to the bone,
And drove him from the field.

Gonzalez in his stirrups rose:

"Turn, turn, thou traitor knight! Thou bold tongue in a lady's bower, Thou dastard in a fight!"

But vainly valiant Gomez cried
Across the waning fray:
Pale Lara and his craven band
To Burgos scoured away.

"Now, by the God above me, sirs,
Better we all were dead,
Than a single knight among ye all
Should ride where Lara led!

"Yet ye who fear to follow me,
As yon traitor turn and fly;
For I lead ye not to win a field;
I lead ye forth to die.

"Olea, plant my standard here-
Here on this little mound;
Here raise the war-cry of thy house,
Make this our rallying ground.

"Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace,
The last care I shall have
Will be to hear thy battle-cry,
And see that standard wave."

Down on the ranks of Aragon
The bold Gonzalez drove,
And Olea raised his battle-cry,
And waved the flag above.
Slowly Gonzalez' little band

Gave ground before the foe;
But not an inch of the field was won
Without a deadly blow;

And not an inch of the field was won
That did not draw a tear

From the widowed wives of Aragon,
That fatal news to hear.

Backward and backward Gomez fought,

And high o'er the clashing steel,

Plainer and plainer rose the cry, "Olea for Castile!"

Backward fought Gomez, step by step,

Till the cry was close at hand,

Till his dauntless standard shadowed him;

And there he made his stand.

Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail,
Yet he moved not where he stood,
Though each gaping joint of armor ran
A stream of purple blood.

As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell,
The standard caught his eye,

And he smiled, like an infant hushed asleep, To hear the battle-cry.

Now one by one the wearied knights

Have fallen, or basely flown;

And on the mound where his post was fixed

Olea stood alone.

"Yield up thy banner, gallant knight!

Thy lord lies on the plain;

Thy duty has been nobly done;
I would not see thee slain."

"Spare pity, King of Aragon!
I would not hear thee lie:

My lord is looking down from heaven
To see his standard fly."

"Yield, madman, yield! thy horse is down,
Thou hast nor lance nor shield;
Fly-I will grant thee time." "This flag
Can neither fly nor yield!"

They girt the standard round about,

A wall of flashing steel;

But still they heard the battle-cry,

"Olea for Castile!"

And there, against all Aragon,

Full-armed with lance and brand,

Olea fought until the sword

Snapped in his sturdy hand.

Among the foe with that high scorn
Which laughs at earthly fears,
He hurled the broken hilt, and drew
His dagger on the spears.

They hewed the hauberk from his breast,

The hemlet from his head;

They hewed the hands from off his limbs;

From every vein he bled.

Clasping the standard to his heart,

He raised one dying peal,

That rang as if a trumpet blew,—

"Olea for Castile!"

MY FRIEND'S SECRET.-B. P. SHILLABER.

I found my friend in his easy chair,

With his heart and his head undisturbed by a care;
The smoke of a Cuba outpoured from his lips,
His face like the moon in a semi-eclipse;
His feet, in slippers, as high as his nose,
And his chair tilted back to a classical pose.
I marveled much such contentment to see-
The secret whereof I begged he'd give me.
He puffed away with re-animate zest,
As though with an added jollity blest;-
"I'll tell you my friend," said he in a pause,
"What is the very 'identical' cause.

"Don't fret!-Let this be the first rule of your life;Don't fret with your children, don't fret with your wife; Let every thing happen as happen it may,

Be cool as a cucumber every day;

If favorite of fortune or a thing of its spite,
Keep calm, and believe that all is just right.

'If you're blown up abroad or scolded at home,
Just make up your mind to let it all come;
If people revile you or pile on offence,
Twill not make any odds a century hence;
For all the reviling that malice can fling,
A little philosophy softens the sting.
"Run never in debt, but pay as you go;
A man free from debt feels a heaven below;
He rests in a sunshine undimmed by a dun,
And ranks 'mid the favored as A No. 1.

It needs a great effort the spirit to brace

'Gainst the terror that dwells in a creditor's face.

"And this one resolve you should cherish like gold,
-It has ever my life and endeavor controlled,--
If fortune assail, and worst comes to worst,
And business proves bad, its bubbles all burst,
Be resolved, if disaster your plans circumvent,
That you will, if you fail, owe no man a cent."

There was Bunsby's deep wisdom revealed in his tone,
Though its depth was hard to fathom I own;
"For how can I fail," I said to myself,
"If to pay all my debts I have enough pelf?"
Then I scratched my sinciput, battling for light,
But gave up the effort, supposing 'twas right;
And herein give out, as my earnest intent,
Whenever I fail to owe no man a cent.

SNYDER'S NOSE.-"OUR FAT CONTRIBUTOR."

Snyder kept a beer-saloon some years ago "over the Rhine." Snyder was a ponderous Teuton of very irascible temper,— "sudden and quick in quarrel,”—get mad in a minute. Nevertheless his saloon was a great resort for "the boys,"-partly because of the excellence of his beer, and partly because they liked to chafe "old Snyder" as they called him; for, although his bark was terrific, experience had taught them that he wouldn't bite.

One day Snyder was missing; and it was explained by his “frau," who “jerked "the beer that day that he had "gone out fishing mit der poys." The next day one of the boys, who was particularly fond of " roasting" old Snyder, dropped in to get a glass of beer, and discovered Snyder's nose, which was a big one at any time, swollen and blistered by the sun, until it looked like a dead-ripe tomato.

"Why, Snyder, what's the matter with your nose?" said the caller.

"I peen out fishing mit der poys," replied Snyder, laying his finger tenderly against his proboscis: "the sun it pese hot like ash never vas, und I purns my nose. Nice nose, don't it?" And Snyder viewed it with a look of comical sadness in the little mirror back of his bar. It entered at once into the head of the mischievous fellow in front of the bar to play a joke upon Snyder; so he went out and collected half a dozen of his comrades, with whom he arranged that they should drop in at the saloon one after another, and ask Snyder, "What's the matter with that nose?" to see how long he would stand it. The man who put up the job went in first with a companion, and seating themselves at a table called for beer. Snyder brought it to them; and the new-comer exclaimed as he saw him, "Snyder, what's the matter with your nose?"

"Iyust dell your frient here I peen out fishin' mit der poys, unt de sun he purnt 'em-zwi lager-den cents--all right." Another boy rushes in. "Halloo, boys, you're ahead of me this time: s'pose I'm in, though. Here, Snyder, bring me a glass of lager and a pret"-(appears to catch a sudden glimpse of Snyder's nose, looks wonderingly a moment, and