Look above! 'tis burning brighter

Than the very stars in heaven;
And to light thy dangerous pathway,
All its new found glory's given.
With the sons of earth commingling,
Thou the loved one may'st forget;
Bright eyes flashing, tresses waving,
May have power to win thee yet;
But e'en then that guardian spirit
Oft will whisper in thine ear,
And in silence, and at midnight,

Thou wilt know she hovers near.

Orphan, thou most sorely stricken
Of the mourners thronging earth,
Clouds half veil thy brightest sunshine;
Sadness mingles with thy mirth.
Yet although that gentle bosom,
Which has pillowed oft thy head,
Now is cold, thy mother's spirit
Cannot rest among the dead;
Still her watchful eye is o'er thee
Through the day, and still at night
Her's the eye that guards thy slumber,
Making thy young dreams so bright.
Oh the friends, the friends we've cherished,
How oft we weep to see them die!
All unthinking they're the angels
That will guide us to the sky!

Emily Judson.

THE MISER FITLY PUNISHED.

IN the year 1762, a miser, of the name of Foscue, in France, having amassed enormous wealth by habits of extortion and the most sordid parsimony, was requested by the government to advance a sum of money as a loan. The miser demurred, pretending that he was poor. In order to hide his gold effectually, he dug a deep cave in his cellar, the descent to which was by a ladder, and which was entered by means of a trap-door, to which was attached a springlock.

He entered this cave, one day, to gloat over his gold, when the trap-door fell upon him, and the spring-lock, the key to which he had left on the outside, snapped, and held him a prisoner in the cave, where he perished miserably. Some months afterwards a search was made, and his body was found in the midst of money-bags, with a candlestick lying beside it on the floor. In the following lines the miser is supposed to have just entered his cave, and to be soliloquizing.

So, so! all safe! Come forth, my pretty sparklers,-
Come forth, and feast my eyes! Be not afraid!

No keen-eyed agent of the government

Can see you here. They wanted me, forsooth,

To lend you, at the lawful rate of usance,

For the state's needs. Ha, ha! my shining pets,
My yellow darlings, my sweet golden circlets!
Too well I loved you to do that,—and so

I pleaded poverty, and none could prove
My story was not true.

Ha! could they see

These bags of ducats, and that precious pile
Of ingots, and those bars of solid gold,
Their eyes, methinks, would water.
Is it to see my moneys in a heap

All safely lodged under my very roof!

What a comfort

Here's a fat bag-let me untie the mouth of it.

What eloquence! What beauty! What expression!
Could Cicero so plead? Could Helen look

One half so charming?

Ah! what sound was that?—

(The trap-door falls.)

The trap-door fallen;-and the spring-lock caught!
Well, have I not the key?-Of course I have.

'Tis in this pocket,-No. In this? No. Then

I left it at the bottom of the ladder.

Ha! 'tis not there.

Where then ?-Ah! mercy, Heaven!

'Tis in the lock outside!
What's to be done?
Help, help! Will no one hear? Oh! would that I
Had not discharged old Simon !-but he begged
Each week for wages-would not give me credit.
I'll try my strength upon the door.-Despair!
I might as soon uproot the eternal rocks
As force it open. Am I here a prisoner,
And no one in the house? no one at hand,
Or likely soon to be, to hear my cries?
Am I entombed alive?-Horrible fate!

I sink--I faint beneath the bare conception!

(Awakes.) Darkness? Where am I?—I remember now, This is a bag of ducats-'tis no dream

No dream! The trap-door fell, and here am I
Immured with my dear gold-my candle out—
All gloom-all silence-all despair! What, ho!
Friends-Friends ?--I have no friends. What right have 1
To use the name? These money-bags have been
The only friends I've cared for-and for these

I've toiled, and pinched, and screwed, shutting my heart
To charity, humanity and love!

Detested traitors! since I gave you all,

Ay, gave my very soul,-can ye do naught

For me in this extremity?-Ho! Without there!

A thousand ducats for a loaf of bread!

Ten thousand ducats for a glass of water!

A pile of ingots for a helping hand!

Was that a laugh?-Ay, 'twas a fiend that laughed
To see a miser in the grip of death.

Offended Heaven! have mercy!-I will give
In alms all this vile rubbish, aid me thou

-

In this most dreadful strait! I'll build a church, -
A hospital!-Vain! vain! Too late, too late!
Heaven knows the miser's heart too well to trust him!
Heaven will not hear!-Why should it? What have I
Done to enlist Heaven's favor,-to help on

Heaven's cause on earth, in human hearts and homes?
Nothing! God's kingdom will not come the sooner
For any work or any prayer of mine.

But must I die here-in my own trap caught?
Die-die?-and then! Oh! mercy! Grant me time--
Thou who cans't save--grant me a little time,
And I'll redeem the past-undo the evil

That I have done-make thousands happy with
This hoarded treasure-do thy will on earth

As it is done in heaven-grant me but time!

Nor man nor God will heed my shrieks! All's lost!

Osborne.

CESAR PASSING THE RUBICON.

A GENTLEMAN, speaking of Cæsar's benevolent dispo sition, and of the reluctance with which he entered into the civil war, observes, "How long did he pause upon the brink of the Rubicon ?" How came he to the brink of that river? How dared he cross it? Shall a private man respect the boundaries of private property, and shall a man pay no respect to the boundaries of his country's rights? How dared he cross that river?-Oh! but he paused upon the brink. He should have perished on the brink, ere he had crossed it! Why did he pause?—Why does a man's heart palpitate when he is on the point of committing an unlawful deed? Why does the very murderer, his victim sleeping before him, and his glaring eye taking the measure of the blow, strike wide of the mortal part? Because of conscience! 'Twas that made Cæsar pause upon the brink of the Rubicon!-Compassion! What compassion? The compassion of an assassin, that feels a momentary shudder, as his weapon begins to cut! -Cæsar paused upon the brink of the Rubicon! What was the Rubicon? The boundary of Cæsar's province.

No; it was cultivaIts sons were men of

From what did it separate his province? From his country. Was that country a desert? ted and fertile, rich and populous! genius, spirit, and generosity! Its daughters were lovely, susceptible, and chaste! Friendship was its inhabitant! Love was its inhabitant! Domestic affection was its inhabitant! Liberty was its inhabitant! All bounded by the stream of the Rubicon! What was Cæsar, that stood upon the brink of that stream? A traitor, bringing war and pestilence into the heart of that country! No wonder that he paused,-no wonder if, his imagination wrought upon by his conscience, he had beheld blood instead of water, and heard groans instead of murmurs! No wonder if some gorgon horror had turned him into stone upon the spot! But, no! he cried, "The die is cast!" plunged he crossed! and Rome was free no more! J. Sheridan Knowles.

Пе

"THE HEATHEN CHINEE'S" REPLY.*
(Ah Sin to Truthful James.)

Which my name is Ah Sin;

I don't want to call names,

But I must, to begin,

Say of this T. James:

That I am convinced he is rather
Well up in the sinfullest games.

Yes, Ah Sin is my name,

Which I need not deny ;

What it means is no shame,

You will find, if you try,

That its meaning is something Celestial,

And how is Celestial for High?

And about that small game

I did not understand,

So I made it my aim,

With a smile that was bland,

To keep my small eyes at their keenest
On Nye as he dealt the first hand.

See "The Heathen Chinee," in No. 3, page 169.

And the way that he dealt,
There could nothing be finer;
But somehow I felt,

"Mr. Al Sin, from China,
Because your smile is so child-like,
These fellows play you for a minor !"

But no slouch is Ah Sin,

And from the word" Go!"

I did play for to win,

And Nye-rather so;

And I played the new game as I learned him, Which showed level head, don't you know?

On my nails there was wax,
But that nothing proves,
When I state the real facts;

I was 'prenticed on shoes,

And the wax that was found on my fingers
Was the kind that our shoemakers use.

And the packs up my sleeve,

My oath I will take,

Were not there to deceive,

But got there by mistake;

I bought them for Ah Sin, the younger,
Who likes some card houses to make.

In my pockets they were

When I sat down that day;

But what with the stir

And excitement of play,

They worked up my sleeve from my pocket, And strange it was, too, I must say.

Was it right in Bill Nye

When the trump knave I led,

To blacken my eye,

And on me put a head'

Had I known James held the right bower

I'd have played something else in its stead

But I don't play no more,

For my lot now is cast

On a euchreless shore,

So I "stick" to my "last,"

And my smile, at North Adams, is pensive

At my heathenish days that are past.