Stood and watched it at the doorway,
That it might not be extinguished,
Might not leave her in the darkness.

"Farewell!" said he, " Minnehaha;
Farewell, O my Laughing Water!
All my heart is buried with you,
All my thoughts go onward with you!
Come not back again to labor,
Come not back again to suffer,
Where the Famine and the Fever
Wear the heart and waste the body.
Soon my task will be completed,
Soon your footsteps I shall follow
To the Islands of the Blessed,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter!"

SCOTT AND THE VETERAN.-BAYARD TAYLOR.

An old and crippled veteran to the War Department came, He sought the Chief who led him on many a field of fameThe Chief who shouted "Forward!" where'er his banner rose, And bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes.

Have you forgotten, General," the battered soldier cried, "The days of eighteen hundred twelve, when I was at your side? Have you forgotten Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane? 'Tis true, I'm old and pensioned, but I want to fight again." "Have I forgotten?" said the Chief: "my brave old soldier, no! And here's the hand I gave you then, and let it tell you so; But you have done your share, my friend; you're crippled, old, and gray,

And we have need of younger arms and fresher blood to-day." "But, General," cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow, "The very men who fought with us, they say, are traitors now: They've torn the flag of Lundy's Lane, our old red, white, and blue,

And while a drop of blood is left, I'll show that drop is true. "I'm not so weak but I can strike, and I've a good old gun, To get the range of traitors' hearts, and prick them,one by one. Your Minie rifles and such arms, it ain't worth while to try; I couldn't get the hang o' them, but I'll keep my powder dry!" "God bless you, comrade!" said the Chief,-"God bless your loyal heart!

But younger men are in the field, and claim to have a part; They'll plant our sacred banner firm, in each rebellious town, And woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it down!"

་

"But, General!"-still persisting, the weeping veteran cried, "I'm young enough to follow, so long as you're my guide; And some you know, must bite the dust, and that, at least,can I; So give the young ones place to fight, but me a place to die! "If they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in command Put me upon the rampart with the flag-staff in my hand: No odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shell may fly, I'll hold the Stars and Stripes aloft, and hold them till I die! "I'm ready, General; so you let a post to me be given, Where Washington can look at me, as he looks down from Heaven,

And say to Putnam at his side, or, may be, General Wayne,"There stands old Billy Johnson, who fought at Lundy's Lane!' "And when the fight is raging hot, before the traitors fly, When shell and ball are screeching, and bursting in the sky, If any shot should pierce through me, and lay me on my face, My soul would go to Washington's, and not to Arnold's place!"

THE GHOST.

'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law,

A short, round-favored, merry

Old soldier of the Revolutionary

War,

Was wedded to

A most abominable shrew.

The temper, sir, of Shakspeare's Catharine
Could no more be compared with hers,
Than mine

With Lucifer's.

Her eyes were like a weasel's; she had a harsh
Face, like a cranberry marsh,

All spread

With spots of white and red;

Hair of the color of a wisp of straw,

And a disposition like a cross-cut saw.

The appellation of this lovely dame
Was Nancy; don't forget the name.
Her brother David was a tall,
Good-looking chap, and that was all;
One of your great, big nothings, as we say
Here in Rhode Island, picking up old jokes

And cracking them on other folks.

Well, David undertook one night to play

The Ghost, and frighten Abel, who,

He knew,

Would be returning from a journey through

The house some distance,-half a mile or so.

With a long taper

Cap of white paper,
Just made to cover

A wig, nearly as large over

As a corn-basket, and a sheet

With both ends made to meet

Across his breast,

(The way in which ghosts are always dressed,)

He took

His station near

A huge oak-tree,

Whence he could overlook

The road and see

Whatever might appear.

It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel Had left the table

Of an inn, where he had made a halt,

With horse and wagon,

To taste a flagon

Of malt

Liquor, and so forth, which, being done,

He went on,

Caring no more for twenty ghosts,

Than if they were so many posts.

David was nearly tired of waiting;

His patience was abating;

At length, he heard the careless tones
Of his kinsman's voice,

And then the noise

Of wagon-wheels among the stones.

Abel was quite elated, and was roaring

With all his might, and pouring

Out, in great confusion,

Scraps of old songs made in "The Revolution."

His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton;

And jovially he went on,

Scaring the whip-poor-wills among the trees

With rhymes like these :-[Sings ]

"See the Yankees leave the hill,

With baggernetts declining,

With lopped-down hats and rusty guns,
And leather aprons shining.

See the Yankees-Whoa! Why, what is that?"

Said Abel, staring like a cat,

As slowly on the fearful figure strode

Into the middle of the road.

"My conscience, what a suit of clothes!

Some crazy fellow, I suppose.

Hallo! friend, what's your name? by the powers of gin,

That's a strange dress to travel in."

"Be silent, Abel; for I now have come

To read your doom;

Then hearken, while your fate I now declare.
I am a spirit-"

"J suppose you are;

But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why:
Here is a fact which you can not deny ;—
All spirits must be either good

Or bad, that's understood,

And be you good or evil, I am sure

That I'm secure.

If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil,—

And I don't know but you may be the Devil,-
If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy,
That I am married to your sister Nancy!

OPPORTUNITY FOR WORK.-GEORGE R. RUSSELL.

Examples of greatness and goodness before us bid us work, and the changing present offers ample opportunity. Around us, everywhere, the new crowds aside the old. Improvement steps by seeming perfection. Discovery upsets theories and clouds over established systems. The usages of one generation become matters of tradition, for the amusement of the next. Innovation rises on the site of homes reverenced for early associations. Science can scarcely keep pace with the names of publications, qualifying or abrogating the past. Machinery becomes old iron, as its upstart successor usurps its place. The new ship dashes scornfully by the naval prodigy of last year, and the steamer laughs at them both. The railroad engine, as it rushes by the crumbling banks of the canal, screams out its mockery at the barge rotting piecemeal. The astronomer builds up his hypothesis, and is comforting himself among the nebulæ, when invention comes to the rescue; the gigantic telescope points upward, and lo! the raw material of which worlds are manufactured becomes the centres of systems blazing in the infinite heavens, and the defeated theorizer retreats into space, with his speculations,

to be again routed, when human ingenuity shall admit us one hair-breadth further into creation.

There is no effort of science or art that may not be exceeded; no depth of philosophy that cannot be deeper sounded; no flight of imagination that may not be passed by strong and soaring wing.

All nature is full of unknown things; earth, air, water, the fathomless ocean, the limitless sky, lie almost untouched before us. What has hitherto given prosperity and distinction, has not been more open to others than to us; to no one, past or present, more than to the student going forth from the school-room to-morrow.

Let not, then, the young man sit with folded hands, calling on Hercules. Thine own arm is the demigod. It was given thee to help thyself. Go forth into the world trustful, but fearless. Exalt thine adopted calling or profession. Look on labor as honorable, and dignify the task before thee, whether it be in the study, office, counting-room, work-shop, or furrowed field. There is an equality in all, and the reso lute will and pure heart may ennoble either.

THE BACHELOR'S SOLILOQUY.

To wed, or not to wed;-that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in a man to suffer

The slings and sorrows of that blind young archer;
Or fly to arms against a host of troubles,

And at the altar end them. To woo-to wed-
No more; and by this step to say we end
The heartache, and the thousand hopes and fears
The single suffer--'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wished. To woo—to wed ; —
To wed-perchance repent!-ay, there's the rub;
For in that wedded state, what woes may come
When we have launched upon that untried sea
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes celibacy of so long life;

For who would bear the quips and jeers of friends,
The husband's pity, and the coquette's scorn,
The vacant hearth, the solitary cell,

The unshared sorrow, and the void within,
When he himself might his redemption gain
With a fair damsel. Who would beauty shun
To toil and plod over a barren heath;

But that the dread of something yet beyond