promising these folks to pay them well for their hospitality; and then he must prate about his portmanteau, earnestly beseeching them to take care of it, and put it at the head of his bed, for he wanted no other pillow. Ah, youth, youth! how art thou to be pitied! Cousin, they might have thought that we carried the diamonds of the crown: and yet the treasure in his portmanteau, which gave him so much anxiety, consisted only of some private letters.

Supper ended, they left us. Our hosts slept below; we on the story where we had been eating. In a sort of platform raised seven or eight feet, where we were to mount by a ladder, was the bed that awaited us-a nest into which ve had to introduce ourselves by jumping over barrels filled with provisions for all the year. My comrade seized upon the bed above, and was soon fast asleep, with his head upon the precious portmanteau. I was determined to keep awake, so I made a good fire, and sat myself down. The night was almost passed over tranquilly enough, and I was beginning to be comfortable, when just at the time it appeared to me that day was about to break, I heard our host and his wife talking and disputing below me; and, putting my ear into the chimney, which communicated with the lower room, I perfectly distinguished these exact words of the husband: "Well, well, let us see-must we kill them both?” To which the wife replied, "Yes!" and I heard no more.

How should I tell you the rest? I could scarcely breathe; my whole body was as cold as marble; had you seen me you could not have told whether I was dead or alive. Even now, the thought of my condition is enough. We two were almost without arms; against us, were twelve or fifteen persons who had plenty of weapons. And then my comrade was overwhelmed with sleep. To call him up, to make a noise, was more than I dared; to escape alone was an impossibility. The window was not very high; but under it were two great dogs, howling like wolves. Imagine, if you can, the distress I was in. At the end of a quarter of an hour, which seemed to be an age, I heard some one on the staircase, and through the chink of the door, I saw the old man with a lamp in one hand, and one of his great knives in the other.

The crisis was now come. He mounted-his wife followed him; I was behind the door. He opened it; but before he entered he put down the lamp, which his wife took up, and coming in, with his feet naked, she being behind him, said in a smothered voice, hiding the light partially with her fingers-"Gently, go gently." On reaching the ladder he mounted, with his knife between his teeth, and going to the head of the bed where that poor young man lay with his throat uncovered, with one hand he took the knife, and with the other-ah, my cousin!-he SEIZED-a ham which hung from the roof,-cut a slice, and retired as he had come in!

When the day appeared, all the family, with a great noise, came to arouse us as we had desired. They brought us plenty to eat; they served us up, I assure you, a capital breakfast. Two chickens formed a part of it, the hostess saying, “You must eat one, and carry away the other." When I saw them, I at once comprehended the meaning of those terrible words, "Must we kill them both?"

INDEMBERANCE.-CARL PRETZEL

"Vill der times efer come, vill dot day efer break,
When der peobles forefer dot trinking forsake?"

-BAYRUM.

Der many wrecks of human peobles vat efery tay we see, as we walk dot shtreet ofer, should been a shtrong incendif to bring to your minds der trooth of dot old atferb vich did said, "nefer don'd put dot teif in your mouth vot veuld shteal your prains right avay gwick oud." Dose vas a dhrue remarks in some inshdances, und in odders it don'd abbly to der cases; for der man vat vould trink himself dot fatal combounds, commonly called vhisky, vas mitout sences, und der man mitout sences he could fool dot teif, on ackound he got no prains to shteal right avay gwick oud.

How many young mans hafe been cut down, shust as der brightest brosbects vas looming him ub, by a kobious use of dot fatal fire waters; und vat shtronger incendif do you

vant, dhen to saw der young mans trunk like a post-hole, mitout a fife or dhree-cent pieces in der dwo-dimes National Pank, or a rag of a new bair of clothes to his backs.

Who ish der reason of dot decay, und how is der matter mit dot lowness down of der yooth? Yoost look you back und say, who makes oben der flood-gates of all dot zin und unhabbiness. Vas dot der drinker? nein; vas dot der dea ler? nein; vas dot der manufackdure? vell, I baed you. He vas der feller, und mine brayer vos dot he should been combelled to look down indo his deep shtills, filled shucpfull of dheir outsites in mit dher tears of wifes, modhers and sisders, und been made to feel himself der hefy emotions of greif und sorrows, vat causes each leedle dear-drob to drickle dheir feadures down. I yoost dink dot der zin of Mister Kain vould been notting, in kombarison to der afflictions of his soul, on dot periods.

Young mans, nefer don'd trink some tings. Demberanco vas der froot of goot tings. Indemberance vas ids destroyer. Der first makes you habby like der deuce; vhile der seckond brings on your head misery und crime, und in der eshtimation of your friends you vas a toadshtool, mitout one redeeming feadures. Enyhow, your feadures would soon brove It, of you shduck to it.

HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S.

Bo you beg for a story, my darling, my brown-eyed Leopold, And you, Alice, with face like morning, and curling locks of gold;

Then come, if you will, and listen-stand close beside my knee

To a tale of the Southern city, proud Charleston by the sea.

It was long ago, my children, ere ever the signal gun
That blazed above Fort Sumpter had wakened the North

as one;

Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire

Had marked where the unchained millions marched on to their hearts' desire.

On the roofs and the glittering turrets, that night, as the sun went down,

The mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jeweled crown; And, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted their eyes,

They saw the pride of the city, the spire of St Michael's rise

High over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden ball, That hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward fall,-First glimpse of home to the sailor who made the harborround,

And last slow-fading vision d'ear to the outward bound.

The gently gathering shadows shut out the waning light; The children prayed at their bedsides, as you will pray tonight;

The noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was gone; And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumbered on.

But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping street; For a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of trampling feet;

Men stared in each other's faces through mingled fire and smoke,

While the frantic bells went clashing, clamorous stroke on stroke.

By the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless mother fled, With the babe she pressed to her bosom shrieking in nameless dread,

While the fire-king's wild battalions scaled wall and capstone high,

And planted their flaring banners against an inky sky.

For the death that raged behind them, and the crash of ruin loud,

To the great square of the city, were driven the surging crowd;

Where yet, firm in all the tumult, unscathed by the fiery flood, With its heavenward-pointing finger the Church of St. Mich ael stood.

But e'en as they gazed upon it there rose a sudden wail,—
A cry of horror, blended with the roaring of the gale,
On whose scorching wings up-driven, a single flaming brand
Aloft on the towering steeple clung like a bloody hand.

"Will it fade?" The whisper trembled from a thousand whitening lips;

Far out on the lurid harbor, they watched it from the ships.

A baleful gleam that brighter and ever brighter shone, Like a flickering, trembling will-o'-wisp to a steady beacon grown.

"Uncounted gold shall be given to the man whose brave right hand,

For the love of the periled city, plucks down yon burning brand'"

So cried the mayor of Charleston, that all the people heard; But they looked each one at his fellow; and no man spoke

a word.

Who is it leans from the belfry, with face upturned to the sky,

Clings to a column,and measures the dizzy spire with his eye? Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible sickening height?

Or will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins at the sight?

But see! he has stepped on the railing; he climbs with his feet and his hands;

And firm on a narrow projection, with the belfry beneath him, he stands;

Now once, and once only, they cheer him,-a single tempestuous breath,

And there falls on the multitude gazing a hush like the stillness of death.

Slow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the goal of the fire,

Still higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face of the spire.

He stops! Will he fall? Lo! for answer, a gleam like a meteor's track,

And, hurled on the stones of the pavement, the red brand lies shattered and black.

Once more the shouts of the people have rent the quivering air:

At the church-door mayor and council wait with their feet on the stair;

And the eager throng behind them press for a touch of his hand,

The unknown savior, whose daring could compass a deed so grand.

But why does a sudden tremor seize on them while they gaze? And what meaneth that stifled murmur of wonder and a

maze?
OCC*