722 The Sergeant heard the shrill hurrahs, He saw a little maid sit weeping. A moment pausing to regard her; "Why weepest thou, my little chit?" And then she only cried the harder. “And how is this, my little chit," The sturdy trooper straight repeated, That you, in tears, apart are seated? And glorify the soldier's duty." "It's very, very grand, I know," The little maid gave soft replying; "And Father, Mother, Brother, too, All say 'Hurrah' while I am crying; "But think, O Mr. Soldier, think How many little sisters' brothers Are going all away to fight; 66 And may be killed, as well as others." ""Tis left for little ones like you To find that war's not all a blessing." And "bless thee," once again he cried, Then cleared his throat and looked indignant, And marched away with wrinkled brow To stop the struggling tear benignant. And still the ringing shouts went up From doorway, thatch, and fields of tillage; The pall behind the standard seen By one alone, of all the village, The oak and cedar bend and writhe When roars the wind through gap and braken; But 'tis the tenderest reed of all That trembles first when earth is shaken. "FALL IN." SEE, see! yon gleaming line of light, Under the woods of frozen larch, Fall in! No bivouac to-night; Beneath the stars so still and bright, Fall in! We're hungry, bruised and torn; A second for dreams! Under our eyes, One sigh for home, for the fair face pressed Fall in! O say, for a flash shall the brown face pale, Fall in! The storm of shells, the bullet's whir, Ever with steady step we go, With rifles ready in serried row, Into the face of the insolent foe, Fall in! Our hearts up-leap in passionate pain, Fall in the eager bugles beat; Fall in March on with prescient feet, To front! Its ranks are red and thin, Fall in! MARY CLEMMER. MYSTERIOUS RAPPINGS. LATE one evening I was sitting, gloomy shadows round me flitting Mrs. Partington, a-knitting, occupied the grate before; Suddenly I heard a patter, a slight and very trifling matter, As if it were a thieving rat or mouse within my closet door; A thieving and mischievous rat or mouse within my closet door Only this, and nothing more. Then all dreaminess forsook me; rising up, I straightway shook me, A light from off the table took, and swift the rat's destruc tion swore. Mrs. P. smiled approbation on my prompt determination, And without more hesitation, oped I wide the closet door; Boldly, without hesitation, opened wide the closet door; Darkness there, and nothing more. As upon the sound I pondered, what the deuce it was I wondered; Could it be my ear had blundered, as at times it had before? But scarce again was I reseated, ere I heard the sound re peated, The same dull patter that had greeted me from out the closet door; The same dull patter that had greeted me from out the closet door; A gentle patter, nothing more. 66 Then my rage arose unbounded What," cried I, "is this confounded Noise with which my ear is wounded-noise I've never heard before ? If 'tis presage dread of evil, if 'tis made by ghost or devil, I call on ye to be more civil-stop that knocking at the door!' Stop that strange, mysterious knocking there, within my closet door; Grant me this, if nothing more." Once again I seized the candle, rudely grasped the latchet's handle, Savage as a Goth or Vandal, that kicked up rumpuses of yore "What the dickins is the matter," said I, "to produce this patter ?" To Mrs. P., and looked straight at her. “I don't know," said she, 66 I'm shore; Lest it be a pesky rat, or something, I don't know, I'm shore." This she said, and nothing more. Still the noise kept on unceasing; evidently 'twas increasing; Like a cart-wheel wanting greasing, wore it on my nerves full sore; Patter, patter, patter, patter the rain the while made noisy clatter, My teeth with boding ill did chatter, as when I'm troubled by a bore Some prosing, dull, and dismal fellow, coming in but just to bore; Only this, and nothing more. All night long it kept on tapping; vain I laid myself for napping, Calling sleep my sense to wrap in darkness till the night was o'er; A dismal candle, dimly burning, watched me as I laid there turning, In desperation wildly yearning that sleep would visit me once more; Sleep, refreshing sleep, did I most urgently implore; This I wished, and nothing more. With the day I rose next morning, and, all idle error scorning, Went to finding out the warning that annoyed me so before; When straightway, to my consternation, daylight made the revelation Of a scene of devastation that annoyed me very sore, The rotten roof had taken leaking, and the rain, a passage seeking, Through the murky darkness sneaking, found my hat-box on the floor: There, exposed to dire disaster, lay my bran-new Sunday castor, And its hapless, luckless master ne'er shall see its beauties more Ne'er shall see its glossy beauty, that his glory was before; It is gone, for evermore! B. P. SHILLABER. KELLY'S FERRY. HAVE you read in any book, heard anybody tell, Ah! they loved the River Danger, as Satan loves to sin; ing breath; No halting for an order, nor touch of hat to death! "Go in!" and "Third Ohio!" their battle-cry and faith. Their talk was rough as boulders are, and when they named the flag, They christened it " Old Glory," or just "That blessed rag;" |