Ah!' said he 'you have forgotten the New Uniform to-night, Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o'clock to-night!' "And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there, and I Doctor! did you hear a footstep? Hark!-God bless you all! Good-bye! Doctor! please to give my musket and my knapsack, when I die, To my Son-my Son that's coming,-he won't get here till I die! "Tell him his old father bless'd him as he never did before, And to carry that old musket door! Till the Union Hark! a knock is at the See! it opens!"—" Father! Father! speak once more! "— "Bless you!"-gasp'd the old gray Sergeant, and he lay and said no more! THE LAST WATCH. 1. THE stars shine down through the shivering boughs Save one that burneth low, And seemeth almost spent! With shadowy forms in dark attire As if in pain and doubt And heads bow'd down in tears! Hark! Was there not lament ? Behold, behold the light burns out! The picture disappears! 2. Ye who with such sleepless sleight, Your swift needles secretly 3. "Hark! hark! Heard ye not the sounds aloof, As of winds or wings that swept the roof? 4. "Away! away! Behold, behold it is the day! THE ESTRAY. "Now tell me, my merry woodman ! Why standest so aghast? "My lord!-'twas a beautiful creature That hath but just gone past!"— "A creature-what kind of a creature?" 66 66 Nay, now, but I do not know!". Humph!-what did it make you think of?"— "The sunshine or the snow." "I shall overtake my horse then." The woodman open'd his eye: The gold fell all around him, And a rainbow spann'd the sky. AUTUMN SONG. IN Spring the Poet is glad, For the Wind moans in the Wood, And the Leaf drops from the Tree ; And the cold Rain falls on the graves of the Good, And the Autumn Songs of the Poet's soul WILLIAM DEAN HOWELLS. BEFORE THE GATE. THEY gave the whole long day to idle laughter, To fitful song and jest, To moods of soberness as idle, after, And silences, as idle too as the rest. But when at last upon their way returning, Taciturn, late, and loath, Through the broad meadow in the sunset burning, They reach'd the gate, one sweet spell hinder'd them both. Her heart was troubled with a subtil anguish Such as but women know That wait, and lest love speak or speak not languish, Till he said,-man-like nothing comprehending That women won win themselves with, and bending "Ah, if beyond this gate the path united And I might open it!"-His voice, affrighted Then she-whom both his faith and fear enchanted Feeling her woman's finest wit had wanted The art he had that knew to blunder so well Shyly drew near, a little step, and mocking, "Shall we not be too late For tea?" she said. "I'm quite worn out with walking; Yes, thanks! your arm! And will you-open the gate?" THE POET'S FRIENDS. THE Robin sings in the elm; Sedate and grave, with great brown eyes, They listen to the flatter'd bird, FRANCIS BRET HARTE. THE HEATHEN CHINEE. WHICH I wish to remark- The Heathen Chinee is peculiar, Which the same I would rise to explain. Ah-Sin was his name; And I shall not deny What that name might imply: It was August the third; And quite soft was the skies : Which it might be inferr'd That Ah-Sin was likewise; Yet he play'd it that day upon William Which we had a small game, He did not understand; But he smiled as he sat by the table, With the smile that was childlike and bland. Yet the cards they were stock'd In a way that I grieve; And my feelings were shock'd At the state of Nye's sleeve,— Which was stuff'd full of aces and bowers, And the same with intent to deceive. But the hands that were play'd By that Heathen Chinee, And the points that he made, Were quite frightful to see, Till at last he put down a right bower, Then I look'd up at Nye, And he gazed upon me; And he rose with a sigh, And said "Can this be? We are ruin'd by Chinese cheap labour," |