I often read to him in the BIBLE, and as he loved to hear a little at a time, and then to talk it over, it became to me a new book. It gained a personal, familiar character, as I saw how eagerly he appropriated it to himself, how it sustained and cheered him. One day, when I had been reading in the fourteenth chapter of John, of the peace which the world can neither give nor take away, he raised his beautiful eyes to mine and said: 'Margaret, have you this peace?'

I burst into tears; and when he took my hand in his thin fingers, and spoke tenderly of the peace which had so long been his, and of HIM whom, as he said, he followed, 'feebly and afar off,' I begged him to lead me to those still waters.

From that time, our intercourse was deeper and nearer.

We read no more of poetry or travels; the BIBLE and the Hymn-book were our daily study. He was the teacher, and I the scholar; and day by day as I drank from these living fountains he became more exalted in my eyes. Out of school-hours I was ever at his side-by turns his scholar and his nurse. In all this time he had many hours of pain, but was always so cheerful, that I do not think of them when I remember the heavenly days in which he sojourned with us. I grew daily more gentle and peaceful, and began to care more for those around me. My mother was astonished at my happy but thoughtful face, and I knew from the pleasant smiles that were returned to my greetings, that my own had been warmer than of old. I now and then went, at Arthur's request, to see some poor people whom he had aided, and carried them his alms, and so I learned to know the very poor, and give them such aid as my scanty purse would allow. And so they passed, those days of happiness, and I said to myself, with a thankful heart: 'My cup runneth over.'

But sorrow was at hand, though my heart did not feel its coming shadow. Love, strong and true, had sprung up in my heart for him, who lay helpless beneath our roof, yet in his helplessness was so much stronger and wiser than I. And no troubling doubts crossed my mind whether he loved me, as might have vexed me had he been well, and mingling in the society of others. Now he was all my own, and I thought not of the days of separation that might At last the time came, and we were severed, but not by his altered heart, nor forever.

come.

Gradually the doctor grew graver when he came. Strange symptoms began to show themselves in Arthur. Though his limb healed, he seemed to gain no strength; his cough, which we had hardly noticed when he first came, grew more alarming, and one morning the fit of coughing resulted in a violent hemorrhage. I was away at the time, and as I had tried to shut my eyes to his daily increasing weakness, which was not hard when the spirit within burned so bright, when the smile was ever ready on his lips, on my return, I was shocked at his pallor and his prostrate condition. For several days he was forbidden to speak, and I sat by him, while at home, with a heavy heart; though when he smiled his thanks for any little attention, I forced myself to smile too. Once when he raised my hand to his lips, as I handed him a glass of water, I left the room, and in my own chamber gave way to my uncontroll

able grief. But dreading to lose sight of him, I soon subdued my emotion, and returned again to minister to the patient and gentle sufferer.

For some time after he was allowed to speak, he seemed to have something on his mind that he could not trust himself to say, but would follow me with his eyes around the room, or lay gazing at me as I sat at work, till it seemed as if I must give way myself, and allow the pent-up feelings to burst forth. But I restrained myself for his sake. Only at night, when I should have slept, watering my pillow with tears, I besought GOD to spare him to me yet a little while.

One afternoon I had thrown open the blinds to let into his room the golden rays of the setting sun, and resumed my place at his side, when he stretched out his hand for mine, and holding it. tenderly in his own, he said to me in broken sentences:

'Margaret, my sun is almost set. I am going fast. At first it seemed so hard-Life has been so sweet since I knew you—I had such bright visions. We shall meet in heaven, shall we not, darling? I love you more than you know but I leave you in GoD's hands He knows best-love HIM, and we

shall meet, and never part, in heaven.'

I could not answer, but bending down, I kissed him passionately many times, while my fast-flowing tears wet his cheek. He smiled so sweetly, and looked so like an angel as he lay there, that I could not stay. I went to my own room, and prayed in an agony for strength, till strength came. I sat with him all that night, but he seemed to sleep. As morning dawned, he roused again, and stretching out his arms to me, said: 'Good-by, darling!'

For a moment he held me to his heart with supernatural strength, then fell back on his pillow. So he lay for some time, with my hand clasped in his, and then said softly, with a radiant smile:

'I will arise and go to my FATHER! In my FATHER's house are many mansions !' And then all was over.

For a day or two I was very calm, but after the funeral was over, and the house was quiet again, the loneliness seemed intolerable. For many weeks the world seemed very dark, and life a terrible burden, but I repeated over and over to myself Arthur's dear words. I read again and again in the BIBLE the texts and passages he loved, and at last a sweet peace entered my heart, never to depart. I have had many troubles since then, but nothing could shake that abiding sense of rest. All seemed light after that one great sorrow, and life has never been to me the gloomy, weary thing it was before I knew him. In living for others' comfort, I have found happiness myself. He left me in his will (a few words written with difficulty, while he was ill, but which no one disputed) a small sum to carry out some charitable plans he had formed, and this gave me employment for some time, which was very sweet, for it seemed as if his spirit ever hovered over me, while I fulfilled his wishes. My scholars were more interesting to me because he had cared for them, and all life seemed thus brightened with him. How often I repeated to myself the words graven on his headstone: 'He being dead, yet speaketh!'

And now I shall not wait much longer. I am not strong, and age creeps

upon me fast. The children whom Arthur knew, are grown up now, and their children now fill the benches where they sat in my little school-room. With every year that passes, I rejoice that I am nearer heaven. Mother went long ago, and I am only waiting the LORD's will, knowing I shall soon see him I have loved so long. When I look back upon my life I am thankful to God for that great joy which has left its shining through all my days, notwithstanding the dark cloud of sorrow that came with it. The cloud has grown lighter with every passing year, and now, as I come nearer to the brightness of heaven, the two glories meet, and life is a sweet peace, a calm waiting. Thus I dwell in the land of Beulah; feeling every night when I lie down, that ere the morning, may come the summons, and every morning, that the evening may find me lying on my death-bed. Then, then I shall find him waiting for me!

THE red-lipped summer has ceased to smile,

The birds have forgotten their song;

The skeleton forest is bloomless, while
The north wind cometh along!

'Tis night: and the night is dark and chill,

There's a helmet of sleet on the mountain's crest;

The Kelpie sprites are plotting ill,

And the Nymphs are seeking rest.

Oh! never before has such a night
Descended on Wachuset's height!

The clarion winds, in clamorous notes,

Are answered back from the tongueless throats

Which gape from the cavernous precipice,

That pouts its lips for the stormy kiss.

'Tis the noon of night; and the sentinel pines

Rustle in tune with the forest-vines;

And the moody owl, with solemn eyes,

Has sheltered himself from the turbulent skies,
In the dusky holes of the birchen tree,
And responds, Tu-whoo! to the jubilee.
Each answers the other with right good-will,
From the boisterous air and the groaning hill;
Each answers the other with all his might,
Shrieking and croaking the noon of night!
And there's a darksome, demon clan,

That dwelleth on the bleak hill's brow,

Whose only joy is hate of man,

Whose bliss is to work him woe!

Their eyes are black, and their hearts are chill
As the clouds that brood the reeking hill:

And they are glib and they are glad,
And have been many a day,
For a blue-eyed maiden has been sad,
And the Kelpies kenned her raving mad,
As she wandered the woodland way!
And they giggle and grin in mad delight,
And they harass her soul with all their might,
And chime and chant to the storm-king's rant,
In a horrible roundelay!

I.

Hark! hark! the night is dark,

And the night is chilly and drear;
Mortals may dream by the fire's red gleam,
But never may venture here:

For we are the demons who proudly dare
To brook the breath of the stormy air!

II.

'Tis a gala night on the mountain's height, Old Boreas bellows with right good-will; Oh! never before has the choral roar

Of the Stormy Minstrels been so shrill. How the pines careen with their ringlets of green, As they bow to the storm with a haughty mien ! How their long trunks creak a staccatoed shriek, To the chorus that comes o'er the mountain peak; And the tenor that rolls from their whistling limbs Is the lordly night-owl's chordless hymns!

III.

The earth is soaked and the pathways choked,
And the fountains are seething, but not with heat:
Caves echo the tones of the forest groans,

And the tremulous trees are bathed in sleet;
While down from their tops, how the frozen drops
Are sifted aslant through the midnight gloom!
Oh! where is the mortal dares enter the portal

Of the mountain gorge, to his living tomb? The gloom is our cheer, and if mortal is here, We will harass his soul with a terrible fear! For it is our delight in the gloom of night,

To torture man with a fancied fright;

And the visions that pass through his wildering brain Shall be dark as the phantoms of Death's domain.

Hark! hark! the night is dark,

And the night is frantic and wofully drear; Mortals may dream by the fire's red gleam, But never may venture here:

For we are the demons who deftly dare

To buffet the breath of the mountain-air!

BEFORE AND AFTER THE BATTLE:

A DAY AND NIGHT IN 'DIXIE.'

BY G. P. PUTNAM.

'WHAT donkeys you Americans are! How can you be so pertinaciously humbugged by that slow old man! Why is n't Lyon or McClellan in the right place? After all the dilly-dallying, you are going to be thrashed at Manassas!'

Such were the very first greetings I met, as I emerged from Willard's, after breakfast, on Saturday, July 20th. Who could they be from but that amiable old sinner, the polyglot philosopher, Count Growlowsski?

'But,' I ventured very mildly to suggest, 'has not the General been waiting for sundry things, such as wagons and ambulances, and for needful drilling of raw recruits?'

'Nonsense.

Napoleon did n't wait for wagons when he crossed the Alps, and did n't he whip the Austrians?'

'Oh! of course you know best about these things. I am no warrior. But they say we are to have a battle in earnest to-morrow!'

'Yes.'

I am not used to battles. Indeed, it has always seemed to me that bullets, shells and cannon-balls, whistling about one's ears, would be unpleasant. I have even imagined that if such music should come near me, I might prove to be a coward, and might be tempted to change my position. Then, again, what right has a man with personal and other responsibilities to go near the range of such missiles? Further, and especially, the morrow was the Sabbath. If our generals will fight battles on that day, of all others, they may monopolize the responsibility. Other suggestions rapidly occurred to me. I knew that good and true men were with our army, in the hope of doing good in the moment when personal aid and sympathy are most needed, namely, after a battle, whether of victory or defeat. [The latter word, by the way, I had not noticed in our dictionary.] Well, if they are in the right place for usefulness, and I can join them, may I not be useful too? And is it curiosity merely which draws me there?

My motives may or may not be thoroughly scrutinized; but the above and some other considerations satisfied me that, with a suitable opportunity, I should and would be near the battle-field. If our men are to be led prematurely and needlessly to a bloody conflict on that day, there will be suffering, none the less. So I walked up to General Mansfield's office.

'NO PASSES TO VIRGINIA TO-DAY.'

This was the notice to Mr. Public. In my special favor, as I naïvely imagined, a distinguished autograph was presented to me, reading thus: