ever, but as if he felt sorry for his poor, sinful, brokenhearted child, and would take me to be with him and my Saviour in a better,-better life."

A deep sigh burst from Mr. Owen's heart. he said solemnly, "Amen."

"Amen,"

"To-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows all coming home from pasture, and precious little Blossom stand on the back stoop, waiting for me; but I shall never, never come! God bless you all! Forgive your poor Bennie."

Late that night the door of the "back stoop" opened softly, and a little figure glided out, and down the footpath that led to the road by the mill. She seemed rather flying than walking, turning her head neither to the right nor to the left, looking only now and then to Heaven, and folding her hands, as if in prayer. Two hours later, the same young girl stood at the Mill Depot, watching the coming of the night train; and the conductor, as he reached down to lift her into the car, wondered at the tear-stained face that was upturned toward the dim lantern he held in his hand. A few questions and ready answers told him all; and no father could have cared more tenderly for his only child, than he for our little Blossom. She was on her way to Washington, to ask President Lincoln for her brother's life. She had stolen away, leaving only a note to tell her where and why she had gone. She had brought Bennie's letter with her; no good, kind heart, like the President's, could refuse to be melted by it. The next morning they reached New York, and the conductor hurried her on to Washington. Every minute, now, might be the means of saving her brother's life. And so, in an incredibly short time, Blossom reached the Capital, and hastened immediately to the White House.

The President had but just seated himself to his morning's task, of overlooking and signing important papers, when, without one word of announcement, the door softly opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes and folded hands, stood before him.

Well, my child," he said, in his pleasant, cheerful tones, "what do you want, so bright and early in the morning?"

"Bennie's life, please, sir," faltered Blossom.

"Bennie?

Who is Bennie?"

'My brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for sleeping at his post."

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Oh, yes;" and Mr. Lincoln ran his eye over the papers before him. "I remember. It was a fatal sleep. You see, child, it was at a time of special danger. Thousands of lives might have been lost for his culpable negligence."

"So my father said," replied Blossom, gravely, "but poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so weak. He did the work of two, sir, and it was Jemmie's night, not his; but Jemmie was too tired, and Bennie never thought about himself, that he was tired too."

What is this you say, child? Come here; I do not understand," and the kind man caught eagerly, as ever, at what seemed to be a justification of an offence.

Blossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on her shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face towards his. How tall he seemed! and he was President of the United States, too. A dim thought of this kind passed for a moment through Blossom's mind; but she told her simple and straightforward story, and handed Mr. Lincoln Bennie's letter to read.

He read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote a few hasty lines, and rang his bell.

Blossom heard this order given: "Send this dispatch at once."

The President then turned to the girl and said, "Go home, my child, and tell that father of yours, who could approve his country's sentence, even when it took the life of a child like that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too precious to be lost. Go back, or wait until to-morrow; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely faced death; he shall go with you."

"God bless you, sir," said Blossom; and who shall doubt that God heard and registered the request?

Two days after this interview, the young soldier came to the White House with his little sister. He was called into the President's private room, and a strap fastened upon the shoulder. Mr. Lincoln then said: The soldier hat could carry a sick comrade's baggage, and die

66

for the act so uncomplainingly, deserves well of his country." Then Bennie and Blossom took their way to their Green Mountain home. A crowd gathered at the Mill Depot to welcome them back; and, as farmer Owen's hand grasped that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he was heard to say fervently: "The Lord be praised!"

THE COMET.

Among professors of astronomy,
Adepts in the celestial economy,

The name of Herschel's very often cited;
And justly so, for he is hand in glove
With every bright intelligence above;
Indeed, it was his custom so to stop,
Watching the stars, upon the house's top,
That once upon a time he got benighted.

In his observatory thus coquetting,

With Venus or with Juno gone astray,
All sublunary matters quite forgetting
In his flirtations with the winking stars,
Acting the spy, it might be, upon Mars,—
A new Andre;

Or, like a Tom of Coventry, sly peeping
At Dian sleeping;

Or ogling through his glass

Some heavenly lass,

Tripping with pails along the Milky way;

Or looking at that wain of Charles, the Martyr's.
Thus was he sitting, watchman of the sky,

When lo! a something with a tail of flame

Made him exclaim,

"My stars!"-he always puts that stress on my,— "My stars and garters!

"A comet, sure as I'm alive!

A noble one as I should wish to view;

It can't be Halley's though, that is not due

Till eighteen thirty-five.

Magnificent! How fine his fiery trail!

Zounds! 'tis a pity, though, he comes unsought,
Unasked, unreckoned,-in no human thought;
He ought-he ought-he ought

To have been caught

With scientific salt upon his tail.

"I looked no more for it, I do declare,
Than the Great Bear!

As sure as Tycho Brahe is dead,
It really entered in my head
No more than Berenice's hair!"

Thus musing, heaven's grand inquisitor
Sat gazing on the uninvited visitor,

Till John, the serving man, came to the upper
Regions, with "Please your honor, come to supper."

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'Supper! good John, to-night I shall not sup, Except on that phenomenon,—look up.'

"Not sup!" cried John, thinking with consternation That supping on a star must be star-vation,

Or even to batten

On ignes fatui would never fatten.

His visage seemed to say, "that very odd is,"
But still his master the same tune ran on,
"I can't come down; go to the parlor, John,
And say I'm supping with the heavenly bodies."

"The heavenly bodies!" echoed John, "ahem!"
His mind still full of famishing alarms,
"Zounds! if your honor sups with them,

In helping, somebody must make long arms.”
He thought his master's stomach was in danger,
But still in the same tone replied the knight,
"Go down, John, go, I have no appetite;
Say I'm engaged with a celestial stranger."
Quoth John, not much au fait in such affairs,
"Wouldn't the stranger take a bit down stairs ?"

"No," said the master, smiling, and no wonder, At such a blunder,

"The stranger is not quite the thing you think;
He wants no meat or drink;

And one may doubt quite reasonably whether
He has a mouth,

Seeing his head and tail are joined together.
Beliold him! there he is, John, in the south."
John looked up with his portentous eyes,
Each rolling like a marble in its socket;
At last the fiery tadpole spies,

And, full of Vauxhall reminiscence, cries,
"A rare good rocket!"

"A what? A rocket, John! Far from it! What you behold, John, is a comet;

One of those most eccentric things

That in all ages

Have puzzled sages

And frightened kings;

With fear of change, that flaming meteor, John,
Perplexes sovereigns throughout its range."
"Do he ?" cried John;

"Well, let him flare on,

I haven't got no sovereigns to change!"

Thomas Hood.

TWENTY YEARS AGO.

I've wandered to the village, Tom, I've sat beneath the tree, Upon the school-house play-ground, that sheltered you and me; But none were left to greet me, Tom; and few were left to know,

Who played with us upon the green, some twenty years ago.

The grass is just as green, Tom; bare-footed boys at play Were sporting, just as we did then, with spirits just as gay. But the "master" sleeps upon the hill, which, coated o'er with snow,

Afforded us a sliding-place, some twenty years ago.

The old school-house is altered now; the benches are replaced By new ones, very like the same our penknives once defaced; But the same old bricks are in the wall, the bell swings to and

fro;

Its music's just the same, dear Tom, 'twas twenty years ago.

The boys were playing some old game, beneath that same old tree;

I have forgot the name just now,-you've played the same

with me,

On that same spot; 'twas played with knives, by throwing so and so;

The loser had a task to do,-there, twenty years ago.

The river's running just as still; the willows on its side
Are larger than they were, Tom; the stream appears less wide;
But the grape-vine swing is ruined now, where once we played

the beau,

And swung our sweethearts,-pretty girls,-just twenty years

ago.