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dressed to Freddy, Johnnie, things in gen- to tell the truth, she was very inexpert-uneral. Miss Wodehouse pondered over the ready-deeply embarrassed with the unusual handle of her parasol. She had absolutely necessity. Nettie's case, so wonderfully difnothing to say; but, thoroughly unconvinced ferent from any thing she could have conand exasperated at Nettie's logic, could not ceived, lay on her mind, and oppressed her yet retire from the field.
as she went home to Grange Lane, “ It is all very well to talk just now," said As for Nettie herself, she took her work the gentle woman at last, retiring upon that and her children indoors after awhile, and potent feminine argument, “but Nettie, tried on the new frock, and scolded and rethink! If you were to marry
habilitated the muddy hero of the brook. Miss Wodehouse paused, appalled by the Then, with those light, fairy motions of hers, image she herself had conjured up. she spread the homely table for tea, called
Marrying is really a dreadful business, in Susan, sought Fred in his room up-stairs anyhow,” she added with a sigh ; “80 few with a stinging word which penetrated even people, you know, can, when they might. his callous mind, and made him for the moThere is poor Mr. Wentworth, who brought ment ashamed of himself. Nettie bit her me here first; unless he gets preferment, red lip till it grew white and bloodless as poor fellow~. And there is Dr. Rider. she turned from Fred's door. It was not Things are very much changed from what hard to work for the children-to support they used to be in my young days.” and domineer over Susan; but it was hard
o' Is Dr. Rider in the same dilemma? I for such an alert uncompromising little soul suppose, of course, you mean Dr. Edward,” to tolerate that useless hulk—that heavy cried Nettie, with a little flash of mischiev- encumbrance of a man, for whom hope and ous curiosity: “Why? He has nobody life were dead. She bit her lip as she disbut himself. I should like to know why he charged her sharp, stinging arrow at him can't marry—that is, if anybody would have through the half-opened door, and then went him—when he pleases. Tell me; you know down singing, to take her place at the table he is my brother-in-law."
which her own hands had spread—which her Miss Wodehouse had been thinking of own purse supplied with bread. Nobody Bessie Christian. She paused, partly for there showed the least consciousness of that Dr. Rider's sake, partly because it was quite latter fact; nobody fancied it was any thing contrary to decorum, to suppose that Bessie, but natural to rely upon Nettie. The strange now Mrs. Brown, might possibly a year ago household demeaned itself exactly as if things have married somebody else. She faltered were going on in the most regular and ordia little in her answer. “A professional man nary course. No wonder that spectators never marries till he has a position," said outside looked on with a wonder that could Miss Wodehouse, abstractedly. Nettie lifted scarcely find expression ; and, half exasperup her eyes that danced with mischief and glee. ated, half admiring, watched the astonish
“A profession is as bad as a family, then," ing life of the colonial girl. said the little Australian. “I shall remem- Nobody watched it with half the amount ber that next time you speak to me on this of exasperation which concentrated in the subject. I am glad to think Dr. Edward, bosom of Dr. Rider. He gazed and noted with all his prudence, is disabled too." and observed every thing with a secret rage,
When Nettie had made this unguarded indignation, and incredulity impossible to despeech, she blushed ; and suddenly in a scribe. He could not believe it even when it threatening and defiant manner, raised her went on before his very eyes. Doctor though eyes again to Miss Wodehouse's face. he was, and scientific, to a certain extent, Why? Miss Wodehouse did not under- Edward Rider would have believed in witchstand the look, nor put any significance into craft-in some philtre or potion acting upon! the words. She rose up from the grass, and her mind, rather than in Nettie's voluntary said it was time for her to go. She went folly. Was it folly ? was it heroism ? was away, pondering in her own mind those sin- it simple necessity, as she herself called it! gular new experiences of hers. She had Nobody could answer that question. The never been called upon to do any thing par- matter was as incomprehensible to Miss ticular all her gentle life. Another fashion | Wodehouse as to Dr. Rider, but not of such of woman might have found a call to action engrossing interest. Bessie Christian, after in the management of her father's house, or all, grew tame in the Saxon composure of the education of her motherless young sister. her beauty before this brown, sparkling, selfBut Miss Wodehouse had contented herself willed, imperious creature. To see her with loving Lucy-had suffered her to grow among her self-imposed domestic duties up very much as she would, without inter- filled the doctor with a smouldering wrath ference had never taken a decided part in against all surrounding her, which any moher life. When any thing had to be done, mentary spark might set aflame.
“The temple crumbles, and the pillars fall!
The altar passes, and the worship dies ! « The great Republic is no more." - London Times. The millions
gather as they bear the pall,
And Freedom seeks her refuge in the skies. BY WM. OLAND BOURNE. “No more!”
“In peaceful slumber let her pass away! Thus sigh the eastern winds,
'Tis vain the ancient spirit to restore ! As o'er the sea they come,
The sun is set, and peaceful let the day And waft their murmurs deep
Close on the mighty nation now no more !”
The waves rolled on,
And, dying, murmured forth, “No more! ” And whisper low, “No more!
The low, sad winds,
Breathed, as they lulled to rest, “No more !"
The ancient cliff, “No more ?” a voice replied ;
In muttered echoes, said, “No more ! » “What meaning words are these?
And in my heart, A nation oft may pass
Where Hope was dying on the shore Through red and bloody seas !
Of Doubt and Death,
The solemn pulses beat, “No more !”
“O Prophet of the world's deep woe!
Is this the answer from thy shrine ?
Wait till the morrow—thou shalt know
That Freedom hath a life divine !
The sun shall stand in heaven to-day,
Nor set once more on hill or plain,
While freemen strike, and toil, and pray,
Till Freedom lives in bliss again!”
And still the Prophet said,
“The nation now is dead !
The great Republic is no more ! ” “No more, Columbia, shall thy banner wave
In lustrous azure with its peerless stars ; Thy glory now has found a lasting grave
Star after star went down ;
The flag was trailed in dust;
And chiefs of old renown
Forsook their ancient trust; “No more the nations of the world shall sigh
It seemed too true, For Freedom's vision, when they learn thy
As the Prophet said, dream,
That the life had sped. But watching where they see the mighty die,'
And the soul was dead, Shall hopeless wait while flows the sullen And the nation lived no more! stream.
And e'en when Sumter fell,
The heart beat silent with its doubt, “Come up, O millions ! gather round the bier, A moment only-for the spell
Where lies the great Republic in its sleep ; Was broken by the freeman's shout.
“Defend that flag, or die ! “Unlock the sepulchres of ancient Time!
“ To arms !” amid their tears; Turn back the bolts that keep the realms of “To arms !” as in the years gloom!
When heroes saw the field of battle nigh; For now we bury in an age sublime
“To arms!” replied the hills; A nation glorious in her early doom.
“ To arms!” the mountains grand;
“To arms, let him who wills !'
It leaped from hill to hill,
For love's electric thrill
“ To arms !” replied the plains, " In awful shadows and the sacred urn, The hot blood throbbing through the veins,
Her place shall be remembered, but no more For millions rallied with the vow, Shall Freedom's name make human hearts to “We strike for Freedom surely now; burn,
In Heaven's great name the damning wrong Or swell in grandeur from the Western shore. shall bow!"
From the steep mountain side,
10 toiling millions on the Old World's shore ! From the deep flowing tide,
Look up, rejoicing, for she is not dead ! From the green prairies wide,
The soul is living as it lived before, “Forward !” they cry;
When sainted heroes spurned the tyrant's From the far eastern hills,
tread; From the pure flowing rills,
The strife is earnest, and the day wears on, From the great busy mills,
And ages tremble at the mighty blow-
Beyond the conflict is a glorious dawn,
A rapturous birth of Freedom out of woe;
The clouds may gather, and the storm be long, Swelled the bold hero-hymn,
And lightnings leap across the darkened sky, “Onward or die !”
But Freedom lives to triumph over wrong-
It still will live, for Truth shall never die !
Filling the sky :-
THE WARRIORS TO THE WOMEN. Onward we press, with the loud-swelling chorus
Shaking the earth, and the heaven above.
O WOMEN at home!-list awhile, we implore
ye, With an eye ever steady!
To us as we tell the sad tale of our woes; Arm, brothers, arm !
Though 'tis chilly and damp out, we forced are
to camp out, On, brothers, on! For they haste to the bat
And march o'er rough roads in the thinnest tle!
of hose; The treason is theirs, whom we trusted so While in comfort you're sitting-thick stockings long;
be knitting, For Freedom we fight, and not a mere chattel ;
For Winter is coming on, bitter and drear; The Union and Peace—the Right over Wrong. Through benevolent channels, send blankets and
flannels, CHORUS-Arm, brothers, arm !
And show that our welfare to women is dear! “ Haste, brothers, haste! for the moments are flying!
Let the long needles flash 'mid the drawingAn hour now lost may undo all the past !
room's splendor, And millions of mourners now burdened are And gleam in the light of the cottage's fire, sighing,
Laps of matron and maiden, with worsted be And, terror-struck, bow in the force of the laden, blast !
And the fair hands that knit never falter nor CHORUS—Arm, brothers, arm !
Such labors delight in, when we are out fight“Come, brothers, come! It is time for the
ing, starting !
They'll give us fresh vigor to strike at the We pray on the field! At the altar they pray while the garments may warm us, the donors Who mourn for our loss-nor wait for the parting
charm us, Our children shall bless us for valor to-day!
For our hearts like our bodies shall feel the CHORUS-Arm, brothers, arm !
rich glow. Swear, brothers, swear! For the Union for- Then knit away, mothers, wives, sisters and ever!
daughters ; Resting not now till each traitor is riven ! Our sweethearts (of course) will their fingers God for our land, and of freedom the giver,
employ; Onward we haste in the sunshine of heaven." And when this inhuman war's over each CHORUS-Arm, brothers, arm !
We'll thank for remembering the “bold sol“She lives !” the freeman cried ;
dier boy.” “She lives !” my heart replied ; Thus in active communion, defending the “She lives !” rolled o'er the plain,
A Needle Brigade will support with their That caught it back again
charms, From mountains old and grand ; And the Rebels confounded-our weapons all And starry banners waved
grounded, From peak, and domo, and spire, We'll swiftly obey your sweet order—" To The flag of love and peace,
POETRY.--Civile Bellum, 338. Not Yet, 338. Doubting Heart, 338. Autumn, 364.
SHORT ARTICLES.—Her Majesty's Crown, 352. An American Examination of Essays and Reviews, 360. The Tools Great Men Work With, 384. Rev. J. W. Cunningham, Vicar of Harrow, 384.
United States Service and embodying the Report of Observations in Europe during the Crimean War, as Military Commissioner from the United States Government, in 1855–56. Originally published under the direction of the War Department, by order of Congress.' Illustrated with several hundred Engravings. By George B. M Clellan, Major-General U. S. Army. Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott & Co.
The Cloister and the Hearth; or, Maid, Wife, and Widow. A Matter-of-Fact Romance. By Charles
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See, in the west, the sun grows broad and red;
His golden glory rests upon thy brow, “In this fearful struggle between North and And makes a halo round thy down-bent head, South, there are hundreds of cases in which
And glimmers o'er thy soft dark locks that fathers are arrayed against sons, brothers against flow brothers.-American Paper.
In waves of light above, in waves of shade be
low. “RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot
Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette, That setting sun will rise again in might,
Will dry the tears the sorrowing night hath
Will wake the world to gladness and to light, “Ay, Captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead,
What sun, the summer of the heart once filed, There's music around when my barrel's in Can brighten into spring its winter, cold and tune!”
dead? Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon.
The red light fades: go forth upon thy way,
Through the dimeve, and leave me here "Now, Rifleman, steal through the bushes, and
A deeper night than follows after day From your victim some trinket to handsel first Will darken o'er my soul when thou art blood;
goneA button, a loop, or that luminous patch A night no wakening dawn will ever rise That gleams in the moon like a diamond upon. stud!”
-Once a Week. “O Captain, I staggered, and sunk on my
track, When I gazed on the face of the fallen vidette,
A DOUBTING HEART. For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back,
WHERE are the swallows filed ? That my heart rose upon me, and masters me Frozen and dead, yet.
Perchance, upon some bleak and stormy shore.
O doubting heart ! “But I snatched off the trinket—this locket of Far over purple seas, gold
They wait, in sunny ease, An inch from the centro my lead broke its The balmy southern breeze, way,
To bring them to their northern home once more.
Prisoned they lie
O doubting heart ! dragoon
They only sleep below
While winter winds shall blow,
The sun has hid its rays unite;
These many days : War is a virtue-weakness a sin :
Will dreary hours never leave the earth ? There's lurking and loping around us to-night;
O doubting heart ! Load again, Rifleman, keep your hand in!”
The stormy clouds on high
Veil the same sunny sky
That soon (for spring is nigh)
Fair hope is dead, and light
Is quenched in night.
silence of despair ?
The sky is overcast, A little while, and then my dream is o'er;
Yet stars shall rise at last, And I, a wanderer under alien skies,
Brighter for darkness past, Shall see thy face no more, nor hear thy low And angel's silver voices stir the air. replies.
-ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTOR.