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But as soon as my head got clearer, and accustomed to

hear 'em speak, I knew as I'd lain like that, sir, for many a long, long

week. I guessed what the lads was hidin', for their poor old

shipmate's sake. I could see by their puzzled faces they'd got some news

to break; So I lifts my head from the pillow, and I says to old

Ben, “Look here!
I'm able to bear it

now,
lad-tell

me,

and never fear.”

Not one on 'em ever answered, but presently Ben goes

out, And the others slinks away like, and I says,

“ What's this about? Why can't they tell me plainly as the poor old wife is

dead ?” Then I fell again on the pillows, and I hid my achin'

head;

I lay like that for a minute, till I heard a voice cry

“ John!" And I thought it must be a vision as my weak eyes

gazed upon ; For there by the bedside, standin' up and well was my

wife. And who do ye think was with her? Why, Jack, as

large as life.

It was him as I'd saved from drownin' the night as the

lifeboat went To the wreck of the Royal Helen ; 'twas that as the They'd brought us ashore together, he'd knelt by his

vision meant.

mother's bed, And the sudden joy had raised her like a miracle from

the dead; And mother and son together had nursed me back to

life, And my old eyes

woke from darkness to look on my son and wife. Jack? He's our right hand now, sir ; 'twas Providence

pulled him throughHe's allus the first aboard her when the lifeboat wants

a crew.

GEORGE R. SIMS.

THE GREAT ISSUE.

, I

JCH

great issues before the country-nothing less, in a word, than whether the work of our noble fathers of the revolutionary and constitutional age shall perish or endure ; whether this great experiment in national polity, which binds a family of free republics in one united government—the most hopeful plan for combining the homebred blessings of a small state with the stability and power of great empire-shall be treacherously and shamefully stricken down, in the moment of its most successful operation, or whether it shall be bravely, patriotically, triumphantly maintained. We wage no war of conquest and subjugation ; we aim at nothing but to protect our loyal fellow-citizens, who, against fearful odds, are fighting the battles of the Union in the disaffected States, and to re-establish, not for ourselves alone, but for our deluded fellow-citizens, the mild sway of the Constitution and the laws. The result cannot be doubted. Twenty millions of freemen, forgetting their divisions, are rallying as one man in support of the righteous cause--their willing hearts and their strong hands, their fortunes and their lives, are laid upon the altar of the country. We contend for the great inheritance of constitutional freedom transmitted from our revolutionary fathers. We engage in the struggle forced upon us, with sorrow, as against our misguided brethren, but with high heart and faith, as we war for that Union which our sainted Washington commended to our dearest affections. The sympathy of the civilized world is on our side, and will join us in prayers to Heaven for the success of our arms.

EDWARD EVERETT, 1861.

BILL AND JOE.

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COWE
YOME, dear old comrade, you and I

Will steal an hour from days gone by-
The shining days when life was new,
And all was bright as morning dew-
The dusty days of long ago,
When you were Bill and I was Joe.

“ Your name may flaunt a titled trail,

Proud as a cockerel's rainbow tail;
And mine as brief appendix wear
As Tam O'Shanter's luckless mare;
To-day, old friend, remember still
That I am Joe and you are Bill !

“ You've won the great world's envied prize

And grand you look in people's eyes,
With H. O. N. and LL.D.,
In big, brave letters fair to see!

Your fist, old fellow !” off they go ! “ How are you,

Bill ?” “How are you, Joe pro

“You've worn the judge's ermine robe;

You've taught your name to half the globe;
You've sung mankind a deathless strain ;
You've made the dead past live again.
The world may call you what it will,
But
you

and I are Joe and Bill.”

The chaffing young folks stare and say,
See those old buffers, bent and gray ;
They talk like fellows in their teens.
Mad, poor old boys! That's what it means
And shake their heads. They little know
The throbbing hearts of Bill and Joe!

How Bill forgets his hour of pride
While Joe sits smiling at his side ;
How Joe, in spite of time's disguise,
Finds the old schoolmate in his eyes
Those calm, stern eyes that melt and fill
As Joe looks fondly up at Bill.

Ah! pensive scholar, what is fame?
A fitful tongue of leaping flame-
A giddy whirlwind's fickle gust
That lifts a pinch of mortal dust!
A few swift years, and who can show
Which dust was Bill, and which was Joe?

The weary idol takes his stand,
Holds out his bruised and aching hand,
While gaping thousands come and go-
How vain it seems, this empty show!
Till all at once his pulses thrill-
'Tis
poor

old Joe's “ God bless you, Bill!”

And shall we breathe in happier spheres
The names that pleased our mortal ears,
In some sweet lull of harp and song,
For earth-born spirits none too long,
Just whispering of the world below,
Where this was Bill, and that was Joe ?

No matter; while our home is here
No sounding name is half so dear.
When fades at length our lingering day,
Who cares what pompous tombstones say ?
Read on the hearts that love us still :
Hic jacet Joe! Hic jacet Bill!

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

MR. WINKLE PUTS ON SKATES.

From the Pickwick Papers.

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COW,

,” said Wardle, after a substantial lunch,

“what say you to an hour on the ice? We shall have plenty of time.”

“Capital !” said Mr. Benjamin Allen.
“Prime !" ejaculated Mr. Bob Sawyer.
You skate, of course, Winkle ?” said Wardle.

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