A perfect angel of a wife, And gold enough to last a life There never yet was mortal man So blest as Monsieur Nick Van Stann!" Next day the Frenchman chanced to meet The Frenchman sighed and shook his head, AFTER THE BATTLE. THE drums are all muffled, the bugles are still; There's a voice in the wind like a spirit's low cry; With eyes fixed so steadfast and dimly, As they wait the last trump, which they may not defy! Whose hands clutch the sword-hilt so grimly. The brave heads late lifted are solemnly bowed, As the riderless chargers stand quivering and cowed- The groans of the death-stricken drowning, There is no mocking blazon, as clay sinks to clay; Nor coffins nor shroudings are here; Only relics that lay where thickest the fray- Far away, tramp on tramp, sounds the march of the foe, Shall darken with sorrow the land where they flow They are fled they are gone; but oh! not as they came; In the pride of those numbers they staked on the game, Never more shall they stand in the vanguard of fame, Never lift the stained sword which they drew ; Never more shall they boast of a glorious name, Never march with the leal and the true. Where the wreck of our legions lay stranded and torn, From the flash of the steel a new day-break seemed born, is we sprang up to conquer or die. The tumult is silenced; the death-lots are cast, And the heroes of battle are slumbering their last: P Do you dream of yon pale form that rode on the blast? Would ye see it once more, oh ye brave! Yes the broad road to honor is red where ye passed, And of glory ye asked-but a grave! CATO'S SOLILOQUY ON IMMORTALITY.—ADDISON. IT must be so.- -Plato, thou reasonest well; Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Eternity!-thou pleasing, dreadful thought! Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! And that there is, all Nature cries aloud But when? or where? This world was made for Cæsar. Thus am I doubly armed. My death and life, * The dagger. Plato's Treatise. The stars shall fade away, the sun himself The wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. "AM I MY BROTHER'S KEEPER?"-EDWards. When first the human heart-strings felt the touch In vain, in vain! that sleeper never woke. His murderer fled, but on his brow was fixed A stain which baffled wear and washing. As he fled A voice pursued him to the wilderness : "Where is thy brother, Cain ?" "Am I my brother's keeper?" O, black impiety that seeks to shun That cries with the ever-warning voice: Why judge the living for the dead one's fall?" in the wine-cup's ruddy glow sat Death, sible to that poor, trembling slave. seized the cup, he drank the poison down hed forth into the streets-home had he nonegered and fell and miserably died. y buried him-ah! little recks it where bloated form was given to the worms. stone marked that neglected, lonely spot; mourner sorrowing at evening came, pray by that unhallowed mound; no hand ted sweet flowers above his place of rest. rs passed, and weeds and tangled briers grew ve that sunken grave, and men forgot O slept there. Once had he friends, appy home was his, and love was his. big "Old Bible" lay upon the stand, |