Only her little hand reaching

Up, for some one to save;

And she sank down in the darkness,
I never saw her again,

And this world is a chaos of blackness

And darkness and grief since then.
No more playing together

Down on the pebbly strand;
Nor building our doll's stone castles
With halls and parlors grand;

No more fishing with bent pins,
In the little brook's clear waves;
No more holding funerals

O'er dead canaries' graves;
No more walking together

To the log school-house each morn;

No more vexing the master

With putting his rules to scorn;
No more feeding of white lambs
With milk from the foaming pail;

No more playing "see-saw"
Over the fence of rail;
No more telling of stories

After we've gone to bed;

Nor talking of ghosts and goblins
Till we fairly shiver with dread;
No more whispering fearfully

And hugging each other tigat,
When the shutters shake and the dogs howl
In the middle of the night;
No more saying "Our Father,"
Kneeling by mother's knee-
For, Maggie, I struck sister!

And mother is dead, you sce;

Maggie, sister's an angel,

Isn't she? Isn't it true?
For angels have golden tresses
And eyes like sister's, blue?
Now my hair is n't golden,

My eyes aren't blue, you see—
Now tell me, Maggie, if I were to die,
Could they make an angel of me?
You say, "Oh, yes;" you think so?
Well, then, when I come to die,
We'll play up there, in God's garden—
We'll play there, sister and I.
Now, Maggie, you need n't eye me,
Because I'm talking so queer;
Because I'm talking so strangely;
You need n't have the least fear.
I'm feeling to-night, Maggie,
As I never felt before—

I'm sure, I'm sure of it, Maggie,
I never shall rave any more.
Maggie, you know how these long years
I've heard her calling, so sad,
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so mournful?

It always drives me mad!

How the winter wind shrieks down the chimney,

'Bessie, oh, Bessie, oh! oh!"

How the south wind wails at the casement,

'Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so low.

But most of all, when the May days

Come back, with the flowers and the sun,

How the night bird, singing, all lonely,

"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" doth moan;

You know how it sets me raving

For she moaned, "Oh, Bessie!" just 80,

That time I struck little sister,
On the May day long ago!

Now Maggie, I've something to tell you-
You know May day is here-
Well, this very morning, at sunrise,

The robins chirped "Bessie!" so clear-
All day long the wee birds, singing,
Perched on the garden wall,

Called "Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so sweetly,
I could n't feel sorry at all.

Now Maggie, I've something to tell you-
Let me lean up to you close-

Do you see how the sunset has flooded
The heavens with yellow and rose?
Do you see o'er the gilded cloud mountains
Sister's golden hair streaming out?
Do you see her little hand beckoning?

Do you hear her little voice calling out
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so gladly,
"Bessie, oh, Bessie! Come, haste?"

Yes, sister, I'm coming; I'm coming,
To play in God's garden at last!

NELS

THE DEATH OF NELSON.

[ELSON, having despatched his business at Portsmouth, endeavored to elude the populace by taking aby-way to the beach; but a crowd collected in his train, pressing forward to obtain a sight of his face; many were in tears, and many knelt down before him and blessed him as he passed. England has had many heroes, but never one who so entirely possessed the love

of his fellow-countrymen as Nelson. All men knew that his heart was as humane as it was fearless; that there was not in his nature the slightest alloy of selfishness or cupidity; but that, with perfect and entire devotion, he served his country with all his heart, and with all his soul, and with all his strength; and therefore they loved him as truly and as fervently as he loved England.

It had been part of Nelson's prayer that the British fleet might be distinguished by humanity in the victory which he expected. Setting an example himself, he twice gave orders to cease firing on the "Redoubtable," supposing that she had struck, because her guns were silent; for, as she carried no flag, there were no means of instantly ascertaining the fact. From this ship, which he had thus twice spared, he received his death. A ball, fired from her mizzen-top, which, in the then situation of the two vessels, was not more than fifteen yards from that part of the deck where he was standing, struck the epaulette on his left shoulder, about a quarter after one, just in the heat of action. He fell upon his face, on the spot which was covered with his poor secretary's blood. Hardy, who was a few steps from him, turning round, saw three men raising him up.

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They have done for me at last, Hardy," said he. "I hope not," cried Hardy.

"Yes," he replied; "my back-bone is shot through." Yet even now, not for a moment losing his presence of mind, he observed, as they were carrying him down the ladder, that the tiller ropes, which had been shot away, were not yet replaced, and ordered that new ones should be rove immediately; then, that he might not be seen by the crew, he took out his handkerchief and covered his face and his stars. It was soon perceived, upon

examination, that the wound was mortal. This, however, was concealed from all except Captain Hardy, the chaplain, and the medical attendants. He himself being certain, from the sensation in his back and the gush of blood he felt momently within his breast, that no human care could avail him, insisted that the surgeon should leave him and attend to those to whom he might be useful; "for," said he, "you can do nothing for me."

All that could be done was to fan him with paper, and frequently to give him lemonade to alleviate his intense thirst. He was in great pain, and expressed much anxiety for the event of the action, which now began to declare itself. As often as a ship struck, the crew of the "Victory" hurrahed; and at every "hurrah!" a visible expression of joy beamed in the eyes and marked the countenance of the dying hero. But he became impatient to see Hardy; and as that officer, though often sent for, could not leave the deck, Nelson feared that some fatal cause prevented him, and repeatedly cried: "Will no one bring Hardy to me? he must be killed! he is surely dead!" An hour and ten minutes elapsed from the time Nelson received his wound before Hardy could come to him. They shook hands in silence, Hardy in vain struggling to suppress the feelings of that most painful and yet sublimest moment.

"Well, Hardy," said Nelson, "how goes the day with us?"

Very well," replied Hardy; "ten ships have struck, but five of the van have tacked, and show an intention to bear down upon the 'Victory.' I have called two or three of our fresh ships round, and have no doubt of giving them a drubbing."

"I hope," said Nelson, "none of our ships have struck?"