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"Give me thy strong hand; lain would I cling, comrade, ta

thee;

I feel a chill air blown from a far-off shore;
My sight revives; Death stands and looks at me.
What waits he for?

"Keep back my ebbing pulse till I be bolder grown;

I would know somethmg of the Silent Land; It's hard to struggle to the front, aloneComrade, thy hand.

"The reveille calls! be strong my soul, and peaceful;

The Eternal City bursts upon mv sight!
The ringing air with ravishing melody is full—
I've won the fight!

"Nay, comrade, let me go; hold not my hand so steadfast;

I am commissioned—under marching orders—
I know the Future—let the Past be past—
I cross the borders."

ANGER AND ENUMERATION.—James M. Bailey. "The Danrury News Man."

A Danbury man named Reubens, recently saw a statement that counting one hundred when tempted to speak an angry word would save a man a great deal of trouble. This statement sounded a little singular at first, but the more he read it over the more favorably he became impressed with it,and finally concluded to adopt it.

Next door to Reubens lives a man who has made five distinct attempts in the past fortnight to secure a dinner of green peas, by the first of July, and every time has been retarded by Reuben's hens. The next morning after Reubens made his resolution this man found his fifth attempt to have miscarried. Then he called on Reubens. He said,—

"What in thunder do you mean by letting your hens teai up my garden?"

Reubens was prompted to call him a mud-snoot, a new name just coming into general use, but he remembered his resolution, put down his rage, and meekly observed,—

"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—"

Then the mad neighbor who had been eyeing this answer wit h a great deal of suspicion, broke in again,—

"Why don't you answer my question, you rascal?"

But still Reubens maintained his equanimity, and went on with the test.

"Nine ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, six' teen—"

The mad neighbor stared harder than ever. "Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one—." "You're a mean skunk," said the mad neighbor, backing toward the fence. Reubens's face flushed at this charge, but he only said,— "Twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six—"

At this figure the neighbor got up on the fence in some haste, but suddenly thinking of his peas, he opened his mouth,—

"You mean, low-lived rascal; for two cents I could knock your cracked head over a barn, and J would—"

"Twenty-seven, twenty-eight," interrupted Reubens, "twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three—"

Here the neighbor broke for the house, and entering it violently slammed the door behind him; but Reubens did not dare let up on the enumeration, and so he stood out there alone in his own yard, and kept on counting, while his burning cheeks and flashing eyes eloquently affirmed his judgment. When he got up into the eighties his wife came to the door in some alarm.

"Why, Reubens, man, what is the matter with you?" she said. "Do come into the house."

But he didn't let up. She came out to him, and clung tremblingly to him, but he only looked into her eyes, and said,—

"Ninety-three, ninety-four, ninety-five, ninety-six, ninetyseven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, one hundred—go into the house, old woman, or I'll bust ye."

And she went.
Fry*

THE SHADOW ON THE WALL.

There is a shadow on the wall,

Which comes between my rest and me; No sound upon mine ear doth fall,

There is no living form to see;
But there's the shadow in my way,
Which never leaves me night or day.

I strive to shut it from my sight,
But conscience tells me it is there;

I kneel beside my bed at night—
Nor heart—nor tongue—can utter prayer;

For there's the shadow in my way,

Which will not let me sleep "or pray.

I wander, listless, through the street,
I sit upon this lowly tomb:

There, many a well-known face I meet-
Here, all is solitude and gloom;

But there and here, by night and day,

That shadow rises pale and gray.

It is her shadow that I see.

Her shadow! Oh, so young and fair I
She was too angel-pure for me,

My heart too black for her to share;
But yet I strove her love to win,
And striving, steeped my soul in sin.

How many years! how many years

(I dare not count them if I could;)
Has the remembrance of her tears

Come up before me like a flood!
But ah! nor dove, nor brightening sky,
Brings peace or promisa from on high.

» * * * *

We stood upon (he river's edge,

He, she, and I—we three alone;
A lily blossomed near the sedge,

The sunlight on its petals shone;
He forward stepped—the dazzling light,
The treach'rous sedge, deceived his sight.

He slipped and fell: he could not swim:
And thus entangled by the weeds

Which grew all round and under him,
He snatched in vain the bending reed*:

Then deeper—deeper—deeper sank,

While she stood helpless on the bank.

I might have rushed into the flood—
I'd breasted many a deeper tide;

I might have saved him if I would:
Saved him—that she might be his bride?

A demon whispered passing by,

"She May Re Tuine, If Hk Rut Die I"

I turned from her appealing eyes,
But saw her shadow in the wave:

With arms uplifted to the skies
She called on Heaven and me to save:

I heard her dismal, piercing cry,

"Oh! do not leave him there to die t

"I come to thee, belov'd, I come—
Since other aid has been denied—

To save thee, or to share thy doom:
Life is not life, but by thy side!

Nay, let me leave this cheerless place:

Tis worse than death to miss his facel*

I know not how I drew her out,
For I was maddened by my grief;

A moment more I heard a shout,
And others came to my relief.

They bore her silently away,

And left me in my mute dismay.

All night I lingered near her door,
While pale forms flitted to and fro;

I questioned each one o'er and o'er,
And met their looks of silent woe:

Yes—she was dying—close to heaven,

And I was living—unforgiven!

Oh, how I longed that voice to hear,

If only for a moment's space!
Though bitter words I well might fear,

And scorn and hatred in her face.
I thought 'twere better bear that pain,
Than never look on her again.

When weary night withdrew her shroud,
And careless grief left doors unlocked,

I stole amid the tearful crowd,
That near the loved one's chamber flocked:

How could I dare to stand among

Those bleeding hearts—that stricken throng?

They let me pass without a word,

As if unconscious I was there;
To warn me backward no one stirred;

They did not see, or did not care.

I came and stood beside her bed-
Sorrow of sorrows!—she was dead!

But there's her shadow evermore.

Just as I saw it in the wave; With arms uplifted to implore

Her lover's rescue from the grave: And still I hear her mournful cry— "Oh, do not leave him there to die I"

It rings forever in my ear,

Twill haunt me downward to the grar«:

Oh, welcome death !—if death be near—

As freedom to the tortured slave—
Welcome to me, as friend to friend,
So let this weary struggle end.

But when I've left this world of strife—
When all things earthly fade away—

"Will the dark shadow of my life
Dissolve before the Eternal Day—

That day whose light is bright as seven?

No S1IADE OF SIN CAN ENTER H.EAVEN.

DRINK! DRINK! DRINK I—Louise S. Upham.

Drink! drink! drink!

And feel hunger, and want, and strife, And the wild despair of a drunkard's heart, And his God-forsaken life!

There was once a happy home,

And a smile that cheered you on;
But a sad heart broke at the drunkard's curs*,

And the light of home is gone.

Oh ! well for the drunkard's child,

If with his mother he lie,
Beneath the turf that covers the mold,

Where the daisies look up to the sky I

For with ribaldry, jest, and shout,

The cup to the brim is filled, Though he sigh, as he drinks, for a vanished form,

And a voice that his passion has stilled.

Drink! drink! drink!

Till you've never a home or friend!
And drink till with liquor your brain is crazed,

Then in madness vour life shall end!

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