then the two men gazed upon each other again in the dim light; for the moon had come over the hills now, and stood among the stars like a pearl of great price. And as they looked a soft feeling stole over the heart of each toward his fallen foe,-a feeling of pity for the strong manly life laid low, a feeling of regret for the inexorable necessity of war which made each man the slayer of the other; and at last one spoke: "There are some folks in the world that'll feel worse when you are gone out of it."

A spasm of pain was on the bronzed, ghastly features. "Yes," said the man, in husky tones, "there's one woman with a boy and girl, away up among the New Hampshire mountains, that it will well nigh kill to hear of this;" and the man groaned out in bitter anguish, "O God, have pity on my wife and children!"

And the other drew closer to him: "And away down among the cotton fields of Georgia, there's a woman and a little girl whose hearts will break when they hear what this day has done;" and then the cry wrung itself sharply out of his heart, "O God, have pity upon them!"

And from that moment the Northerner and the Southerner ceased to be foes. The thought of those distant homes on which the anguish was to fall, drew them closer together in that last hour, and the two men wept like little children.

And at last the Northerner spoke, talking more to himself than to any one else, and he did not know that the other was listening greedily to every word:

"She used to come,-my little girl, bless her heart!— every night to meet me when I came home from the fields; and she would stand under the great plum tree, that's just beyond the back door at home, with the sunlight making yellow brown in her golden curls, and the laugh dancing in her eyes when she heard the click of the gate,-I see her now,—and I'd take her in my arms, and she'd put up her little red lips for a kiss; but my little darling will never watch under the old plum tree by the well, for her father, again. I shall never hear the cry of joy as she catches a glimpse of me at the gate. I shall never see her little feet running over the grass to spring into my arms again!"

"And then," said the Southerner, "there's a little brown-eyed, brown-haired girl, that used to watch in the cool afternoons for her father, when he rode in from his visit to the plantations. I can see her sweet little face shining out now, from the roses that covered the pillars, and hear her shout of joy as I bounded from my horse, and chased the little flying feet up and down the verandah again."

And the Northerner drew near to the Southerner, and spoke now in a husky whisper, for the eyes of the dying men were glazing fast, "We have fought here, like men, together. We are going before God in a little while. Let us forgive each other."

The Southerner tried to speak, but the sound died away in a murmur from his white lips; but he took the hand of 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. 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.

And

THE JESTER CONDEMNED.

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!"

II. Smith.

HEAVEN.

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 foul-fettered
By the blinding bands of sin,—
Thy soul's wall sublimely lettered,
"Heaven's kingdom is within!”

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.

M. Sophie Holmes,

EUGENE ARAM'S DREAM

'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.