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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 REPUBLIC.

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 !”
To Freedom's radiant home;
The sad waves die away,

The waves rolled on,
Along the ocean strand,

And, dying, murmured forth, “No more! ” And whisper low, “No more!

The low, sad winds,
No more! O glorious land !”

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,
Through fierce baptismal fires,

The solemn pulses beat, “No more !”
Through nights that have no ray,
God's people oft must pass,

“O Prophet of the world's deep woe!
To win unclouded day.

Is this the answer from thy shrine ?
O Prophet of the world's deep woe!

Wait till the morrow—thou shalt know
O Prophet at the gloomy shrine !

That Freedom hath a life divine !
Invoke its mystery, and show

The sun shall stand in heaven to-day,
The future, if thou canst divine!”

Nor set once more on hill or plain,

While freemen strike, and toil, and pray,
A solemn tone,

Till Freedom lives in bliss again!”
That died along the New World's shore,
Brought back alone

And still the Prophet said,
The Prophet's words, “No more! ”

“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 ;
Thy strength shall perish through the bloody

The flag was trailed in dust;
Mars.

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.
We bury nations like the loved and dear,
O’er whom we linger while we stand and weep. “ To arms! to arms ! ” they cry;

“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 !'
“In deep, dark caves where despots long have Swept o'er the freeman's land;
lain,

It leaped from hill to hill,
And chains have rusted with the added years, It shook the mountain crag,
We lay her down, no more to rise again,

For love's electric thrill
Nor make our visions restless with our fears. Still kept the starry flag;

“ 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-
“ Onward for aye!”

Beyond the conflict is a glorious dawn,
From the forge, old
and grim,

A rapturous birth of Freedom out of woe;
From the mine, dark and dim,

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-
And to their arms they sprung,

It still will live, for Truth shall never die !
Freedom on every tongue,
True to the songs they sung,

Filling the sky :-
“Arm, brothers, arm ! for the foe is before us,
Filled with deep hate to the Union we love :

THE WARRIORS TO THE WOMEN. Onward we press, with the loud-swelling chorus

Shaking the earth, and the heaven above.
CHORUS— Arm, brothers arm !

O WOMEN at home!-list awhile, we implore
For the strife be ye ready!

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 !

tire;

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

shall

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,

Union,
And thrilled the waking land,

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,

ARMS!”
And glory's quenchless fire.

-Advertiser

foe ;

woman

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POETRY.--Civile Bellum, 338. Not Yet, 338. Doubting Heart, 338. Autumn, 364.
The Deserted, 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.

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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.

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1

CIVILE BELLUM.

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,
Ring me a ball in the glittering spot
That shines on his breast like an amulet ! ”

Will dry the tears the sorrowing night hath

shed;

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

alone; snatch

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.
Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold,
Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.” Why must the flowers die ?

Prisoned they lie
“Ha! Rifleman, fling me the locket !'Tis she, In the cold tomb, needless of tears or rain.
My brother's young bride—and the fallen

O doubting heart ! dragoon

They only sleep below
Was her husband-Hush! soldier, 'twas Heav The soft white ermine snow,
en's decree,

While winter winds shall blow,
We must bury him, there, by the light of the To breathe and smile upon you soon again.

moon!
“But, hark! the far bugles their warnings

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
-Once a Week.

That soon (for spring is nigh)
Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.

Fair hope is dead, and light
NOT YET. .

Is quenched in night.
What sound can break the

silence of despair ?
Not yet, not yet. Ah! let me gaze once more O doubting heart !
Into those eyes, those earnest truthful eyes,

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.

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