His voice grew faint and hoarser-his grasp was childish weakHis eyes put on a dying look-he sigh'd and ceased to speak: His comrade bent to lift him, but the spark of life had fled— The soldier of the Legion, in a foreign land-was dead!

And the soft moon rose up slowly, and calmly she looked down On the red sand of the battle-field, with bloody corpses strown; Yea, calmly on that dreadful scene her pale light seemed to shine,

As it shone on distant Bingen-fair Bingen on the Rhine!

WANTED, A MINISTER'S WIFE.

AT length we have settled a pastor:
I am sure I cannot tell why
The people should grow so restless,
Or candidates grow so shy;
But after a two years' searching

For the "smartest" man in the land,

In a fit of desperation

We took the nearest at hand.

And really, he answers nicely

To "fill up the gap," you know;

To "run the machine," and "bring up arrears,"
And make things generally go;.

He has a few little failings,

His sermons are common-place quite,

But his manner is very charming,

And his teeth are perfectly white.

And so, of all the "dear people,"
Not one in a hundred complains,
For beauty and grace of manner

Are so much better than brains.
But the parish have all concluded
He needs a partner for life,

never disgracing the parish By looking shabby in dress; ying the organ on Sunday Would aid our laudable strife save the society money: Wanted, a minister's wife!"

d when we have found the person,
We hope, by working the two,

lift our debt, and build a new church,
'hen we shall know what to do;
they will be worn and weary,
And we'll advertise: "Wanted,
A minister and his wife!"

HROUGH DEATH TO LIFE.-HARBAUGH,

VE you heard the tale of the Aloe plant, way in the sunny clime?

humble growth of a hundred years

t reaches its blooming time;

I then a wondrous bud at its crown reaks into a thousand flowers;

This floral queen, in its blooming seen,

Is the pride of the tropical bowers.
But the plant to the flower is a sacrifice,
For it blooms but once, and in blooming dies.

Have you further heard of this Aloe plant
That grows in the sunny clime,

How every one of its thousand flowers,
As they drop in the blooming time,
Is an infant plant that fastens its roots

In the place where it falls on the ground;
And, fast as they drop from the dying stem,
Grow lively and lovely around?

By dying it liveth a thousandfold

In the young that spring from the death of the old.

Have you heard the tale of the Pelican,

The Arab's Gimel el Bahr,

That lives in the African solitudes,

Where the birds that live lonely are?
Have you heard how it loves its tender young,
And cares and toils for their good?

It brings them water from fountains afar,
And fishes the seas for their food.

In famine it feeds them-what love can devise!—
The blood of its bosom, and feeding them dies.

Have you heard the tale they tell of the Swan,
The snow-white bird of the lake?

It noiselessly floats on the silvery wave,
It silently sits in the brake;

For it saves its song till the end of life,
And then, in the soft, still even,

'Mid the golden light of the setting sun,

It sings as it soars into heaven!

And the blessed notes fall back from the skies; 'Tis its only song, for in singing it dies.

the sultry summer-time, as War's red records show, riot armies rose to meet a fratricidal foe

om the North and East and West, like the upheaving

th Columbia's sons, to make our country truly free.

prison's dismal walls, where shadows veiled decayon a heap of straw, a youthful soldier lay: ken, hopeless, and forlorn, with short and feverish ath,

I but the appointed hour to die a culprit's death.

few brief weeks before, untroubled with a care, d at will, and freely drew his native mountain air— arkling streams leap mossy rocks, from many a woodad font,

ng elms, and grassy slopes, give beauty to Vermont !

welling in an humble cot, a tiller of the soil,

by a mother's love, he shared a father's toile upon the wailing winds, his suffering country's cry young heart with fervent zeal for her to live or die.