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of the great trust committed to his care. Nothing could be more imposing than the movement of the grand column to the assault. That guard had never yet recoiled before a human foe; and the allied forces beheld with awe its firm and terrible advance to the final charge.

For a moment the batteries stopped playing, and the firing ceased along the British lines, as, without the beating of a drum, or the blast of a bugle, they moved in dead silence over the plain. The next moment the artillery opened, and the head of the gallant column seemed to sink down; yet they neither stopped nor faltered. Dissolving squadrons and whole battalions disappearing, one after another, in the destructive fire, affected not their steady courage. The ranks closed up as before, and each, treading over his fallen comrade, pressed firmly on. The horse which Ney rode fell under him, and he had scarcely mounted another, before it also sank to the earth. Again and again did that unflinching man feel his steed sink down, till five had been shot under him. Then, with his uniform riddled with bullets, and his face singed and blackened with powder, he marched on foot, with drawn sabre, at the head of his

men.

In vain did the artillery hurl its storm of fire and lead into that living mass ; up to the very muzzles they pressed, and, driving the artillerymen from their places, pushed on through the English lines. But at that moment a file of soldiers, who had lain flat on the ground behind a low ridge of earth, suddenly rose, and poured a volley into their very faces. Another and another followed, till one broad sheet of flame rolled on their bosoms, and in such a fierce and unexpected flow,

that human courage could not withstand it. They reeled, shook, staggered back, then turned and fled.

The fate of Napoleon was writ. The star that had blazed so brightly over the world went down in blood; and the Bravest of the Brave had fought his last battle.

T. J. HEADLEY.

BE A WOMAN.

OF T I've heard a gentle mother,

As the twilight hours began,
Pleading with a son, of duty,

Urging him to be a man;
But unto her blue-eyed daughter,

Though with love's words quite as ready,
Points she out this other duty,-

"Strive, my dear, to be a lady."

What's a lady? Is it something

Made of hoops and silks and airs,
Used to decorate the parlor,

Like the fancy mats and chairs ?
Is it one who wastes on novels

Every feeling that is human?
If 't is this to be a lady,

'T is not this to be a woman.

Mother, then, unto your daughter

Speak of something higher far
Than to be mere fashion's lady-

Woman is the brightest star.

If you in your strong affection

Urge your son' to be a true man, Urge your daughter no less strongly

To arise and be a woman.

Yes, a woman-brightest model

Of that high and perfect beauty Where the mind and soul and body

Blend to work out life's great duty. Be a woman! naught is higher

On the gilded list of fame; On the catalogue of virtue

There's no brighter, holier name.

Be a woman! on to duty !

Raise the world from all that's low; Place high in the social heaven

Virtue's fair and radiant bow;
Lend thy influence to each effort

That shall raise our nature human;
Be not fashion's gilded lady,-
Be a brave, whole-souled, true woman!

EDWARD BROOKS.

MONEY MUSK.

Abridged for Public Reading.

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The nobler Helens of humbler TroysAs they stripped the husks with rustling fold From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold,

By the candle-light, in pumpkin bowls, And the gleams that showed fantastic holes In the quaint old lantern's tattooed tin, From the hermit glim set up within ;

By the rarer light in girlish eyes
As dark as wells, or as blue as skies.
I hear the laugh when the ear is red,
I see the blush with the forfeit paid,

The cedar cakes with the ancient twist,
The cider cup that the girls have kissed ;
And I see the fiddler through the dusk
As he twangs the ghost of "Money Musk !"

The boys and girls in a double row
Wait face to face till the magic bow
Shall whip the tune from the violin,
And the merry pulse of the feet begin.

MONEY MUSK.

In shirt of check, and tallowed hair,
The fiddler sits in the bulrush chair
Like Moses' basket stranded there

On the brink of Father Nile.
He feels the fiddle's slender neck,
Picks out the note, with thrum and check;
And times the tune with nod and beck,

And thinks it a weary while. All ready! Now he gives the call, — Cries, “Honor to the ladies !” All The jolly tides of laughter fall

And ebb in a happy smile.

“ Begin.” Do-w-n comes the bow on every string. “First couple join hands and swing !" As light as any blue-bird's wing

“Swing once and a half times round”-
Whirls Mary Martin all in blue
Calico gown and stockings new,
And tinted eyes that tell you true,

Dance all to the dancing sound.
She flits about big Moses Brown,
Who holds her hands to keep her down
And thinks her hair a golden crown,

And his heart turns over once!
His cheek with Mary's breath is wet, -
It gives a second somerset !
He means to win the maiden yet,

Alas, for the awkward dance ! Your stoga boot has crushed my toe!

I'd rather dance with one-legged Joe!
You clumsy fellow !" "Pass below!"

And the first pair dance apart.
Then "Forward six !" advance, retreat,
Like midges gay in sunbeam street.
'Tis Money Musk by merry feet

And the Money Musk by heart !
“ Three quarters round your partner swing !"
“ Across the set !” The rafters ring,
The girls and boys have taken wing

And have brought their roses out!
'Tis “ Forward six !" with rustic grace,
Ah, rarer far than—"Swing to place !"-
Than golden clouds of old point-lace

They bring the dance about.

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