his fallen foe, and his stiffening fingers closed over it, and his last look was a smile of forgiveness and peace. When the next morning's sun walked up the gray stairs of the dawn, it looked down and saw the two foes lying dead, with their hands clasped in each other, by the stream which ran close to the battle-field. And the little girl with golden hair, that watched under the plum tree among the hills of New Hampshire, and the little girl with bright brown hair, that waited by the roses among the green fields of Georgia, were fatherless.

THE JESTER CONDEMNED.-H. SMITH.

One of the kings of Scanderoon,

A royal jester

Had in his train, a gross buffoon,
Who used to pester

The court with tricks inopportune,
Venting on the highest folks his
Scurvy pleasantries and hoaxes.

It needs some sense to play the fool,
Which wholesome rule
Occurred not to our jackanapes,

Who consequently found his freaks
Lead to innumerable scrapes,

And quite as many kicks and tweaks,
Which only seemed to make him faster
Try the patience of his master.

Some sin, at last, beyond all measure,
Incurred the desperate displeasure

Of his serene and raging Highness;
Whether he twitched his most revered
And sacred beard,

Or had intruded on the shyness

Of the seraglio, or let fly

An epigram at royalty,

None knows: his sin was an occult one,

But record tells us that the Sultan,

Meaning to terrify the knave,

Exclaimed, ""Tis time to stop that breath;

Thy doom is sealed;-presumptuous slave!
Thou stand'st condemned to certain death
Silence, base rebel!—no replying;
But such is my indulgence still,
That, of my own free grace and will,
I leave to thee the mode of dying."

"Thy royal will be done,-'tis just,”
Replied the wretch, and kissed the dust;
"Since, my last moments to assuage,
Your majesty's humane decree

Has deigned to leave the choice to me,
I'll die, so please you, of old age!”

HEAVEN.-M. SOPHIE HOLMES.

Is it where the spiral stairway,
Set with gems, leads up the blue?
Are the gleams that pierce the ether
Eyes of angels looking through?
Is that great white road that stretches,
Paved with stars, across the skies,
The way beyond poor mortal reaches
That the ransomed spirit flies?

Is that land of wondrous glory
Undivined by human sight?
Like Creation's mystic story

Hieroglyphed on scroll of Night?
Ah! not so; faint heart, despair not,
Heaven is very near to you;

Though thy burden weighs, yet fear not,
With the Father's house in view.

For without the prophet's vision,
The mysterious lines to read,
That God, for man's blest intuition,
Writes in every guileless deed,
Ye may see-if not soul-fettered
By the blinding bands of sin-
Thy soul's wall sublimely lettered,
"Heaven's kingdom is within!"

NUMBER THREE.

If within be peace and gladness,
Love for all things, great and small,
Pity, nigh akin to sadness,

For an erring brother's fall,
For enemies a meek prayer, rather
Than revenge's fiendish due,
Lowly breathed, " Forgive them, Father,
For they know not what they do!"—

Humility, when wreath of laurel
Crowns thee conqueror, in a field
Where self stood trembling in the quarrel,
Urging thee to dastard yield;

But martyr firmness, when thy spirit
At life's fiery stake is tried,

Though no palm awards the merit

That has stemmed the raging tide;

And, withal, a hopeful nature,
Sifting out the grain of good,
The one redeeming better feature,
Found in every evil brood,
Feeding Hate and Falsehood only
With the sweet fruit of the true,
Loving, though unloved and lonely,→
Say, can Heaven be far from you?

Ah! nearer, nearer for the crosses
That have strewn thy way of life;
Nearer for the hallowing losses;
Nearer for the conquered strife;
Nearer for the wise ordeal

That leads thee rough-shod o'er the stone,

Till thou canst bravely bear the real;

And trusting say, "Thy will be done!"

Never upward look for Heaven,
If no Heaven's begun below;
Never onward look for Heaven,
For you pass it as you go;
Never outward look for Heaven,
Outward lies the slough of sin,
The old corrupt, fermenting leaven,→
Look for Heaven alone within

EUGENE ARAM'S DREAM.-THOMAS HOOD.

'Twas in the prime of summer-time,
An evening calm and cool,

And four-and-twenty happy boys
Came bounding out of school;

There were some that ran, and some that leapt
Like troutlets in a pool.

Away they sped, with gamesome minds,
And souls untouched by sin;

To a level mead they came, and there
They drave the wickets in:
Pleasantly shone the setting sun
Over the town of Lynn.

Like sportive deer they coursed about,
And shouted as they ran,-

Turning to mirth all things of earth,
As only boyhood can,

But the usher sat remote from all,
A melancholy man!

His hat was off, his vest apart,

To catch Heaven's blessed breeze;

For a burning thought was in his brow,

And his bosom ill at ease;

So he leaned his head on his hands, and read

The book between his knees.

Leaf after leaf he turned it o'er,

Nor ever glanced aside,

For the peace of his soul he read that book

In the golden eventide;

Much study had made him very lean,
And pale, and leaden-eyed.

At last he shut the ponderous tome;
With a fast and fervent grasp
He strained the dusky covers close,
And fixed the brazen hasp:

"O God! could I so close my mind,
And clasp it with a clasp!"

Then Leaping on his feet upright:
Some moody turns he took,-

Now up the mead, then down the mead,
And past a shady nook,—

And lo! he saw a little boy

That pored upon a book.

"My gentle lad, what is't you read,

Romance or fairy fable?

Or is it some historic page,

Of kings and crowns unstable ?" The young boy gave an upward glance,"It is "The Death of Abel'"

The usher took six hasty strides,
As smit with sudden pain,—
Six hasty strides beyond the place,
Then slowly back again;

And down he sat beside the lad,
And talked with him of Cain;

And, long since then, of bloody men
Whose deeds tradition saves;
Of lonely folk cut off unseen,
And hid in sudden graves;
Of horrid stabs, in groves forlorn,
And murders done in caves;

And how the sprites of injured men
Shriek upward from the sod,—
Ay, how the ghostly hand will point
To show the burial clod;

And unknown facts of guilty acts
Are seen in dreams from God;

He told how murderers walked the earth
Beneath the curse of Cain,

With crimson clouds before their eyes,

And flames about their brain;

For blood has left upon their souls

Its everlasting stain.

"And well," quoth he, "I know, for truth,

Their pangs must be extreme,

Woe, woe, unutterable woe,

Who spill life's sacred stream!

W