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Not there!—Where, then, is he?
The form I used to see
Thft grave that now doth press
Upon that cast-off dress,
He lives!—In all the past
He lives; nor; to the last,
In dreams I see him now,
And on his angel brow
Yes, we all live to God!
Father, thy chastening rod
That, in the spirit land,
Meeting at thy right hand,
CHARITY.—Thomas N. Talfottrd.
The blessings which the weak and poor can scatter
Have their own season. T is a little thing
To give a cup of water; yet its draught
Of cool refreshment, dramed by fevered lips,
May give a shock of pleasure to the frame
More exquisite than when nectarean juice
Renews the life of joy in happiest hours.
It is a little thing to speak a phrase
Of common comfort, which, by daily use,
Has almost lost its sense; yet on the ear
Of him who thought to die unmourned, 't will fid]
Like choicest music; fill the glazing eye
With gentle tears; relax the knotted hand
To know the bonds of fellowship again,—
And shed on the departing soul a sense
More precious than the benison of friends
About the honored death-bed of the rich,—
To him who else were lonely, that anothw
Of the great family is near, andfeelt.
THE YANKEE AND THE DUTCHMAN'S DOG.
Hiram was a quiet, peaceable sortof a Yankee, who lived on the same farm on which his fathers had lived before him, and was generally considered a pretty cute sort of a fellow,— always ready with a trick, whenever it was of the least utility; yet, when he did play any of his tricks, 'twas done in such an innocent manner, that his victim could do no bettei than take it all in good part.
Now, it happened that one of Hiram's neighbors sold a farm to a tolerably green specimen of a Dutchman,—one of the real unintelligent, stupid sort.
Von Vlom Schlopsch had a dog, as Dutchmen often have, who was less unintelligent than his master, and who had, since leaving his "faderland," become sufficiently civilized not only to appropriate the soil as common stock, but had progressed so far in the good work as to obtain his dinners from the neighbors' sheepfold on the same principle.
When Hiram discovered this propensity in the canine department of the Dutchman's family, he walked over to his new neighbor's to enter complaint, which mission he accomplished iii the most natural method in the world.
"Wall, Von, your dog Blitzen's been killing my sheep."
"Ya! dat ish bace—bad. He ish von goot tog: ya I dat ishbadl"
"Sartin, it's bad; and you'll have to stop 'im."
"Ya! dat ish alias goot; but ich weis nicht."
"What's that you say? he was niched t Wall, now look here, old fellow I nickin's no use. Crop 'im; cut his tail ofl close, chock up to his trunk ; that'll cure 'im."
"Vat ish dat?" exclaimed the Dutchman, whil« a faint ray of intelligence crept over his features. "Ya! dat ish goot. Dat cure von sheep steal, eh?"
"Sartin it will: he'll never touch sheep-meat again in this world," said Hiram gravely.
"Den come mit me. He von mity goot tog; all the way from Yarmany: I not take von five dollar—but come mit me, and hold his tail, eh? Ich chop him off."
"Sartin," said Hiram: "I'll hold his tail if you want m« lew; but ycu must cut it up close."
■ Yal dat ish right. Ich make 'im von goot tog. There, Blitzeri, Blitzen I come right here, you von sheep steal rashtull: I chop your tail in von two pieces."
The dog obeyed the summons; and the master tied hi» feet fore and aft, for fear of accident, and placing the tail in the Yankee's hand, requested him to lay it across a larga block of wood.
"Chock up," said Hiram, as he drew the butt of the tail close over the log.
"Yal dat ish right. Now, you von tief sheep, I learns rou better luck," said Von Vlom Schlopsch, as he raised the axe.
It descended; and as it did so, Hiram, with characteristic presence of mind, gave a sudden jerk, and brought Blitzen's neck over the log; and the head rolled over the other side.
"Wall, I swow!" said Hiram with apparent astonishment, as he dropped the headless trunk of the dog: "that was a \eetle too close."
"Mine cootness!" exclaimed the Dutchman, " you thutt cut "uuqff de wrong end I"
THE MOTHER'S Sacrifice.—seba Smith.
The cold wind swept the mountain height,
And pathless was the dreary wild,
A mother wandered with her child,—
And colder yet the winds did blow,
And deeper grew the drifts of snow—
"O God!" she cried, in accents wild,
"If I must perish, save my child."
8he stripped her mantle from her breast,
And bared her bosom to the storm,
And smiled to think the babe was warm:
At dawn a traveler passed by,
The frost of death was on her eye,
He moved the robe from off the child —
The babe looked up, and sweetly smiled.
THE ENSIGN BEARER.
Never mind me, Uncle Jared! never mind my bleeding breast!
They are charging in the valley and you're needed with the
restAll the day long from its dawning till you saw your kinsman fall,
You have answered fresh and fearless to our brave commander's call;
And I would not rob my country of your gallant aid to-night, Though vour presence and your pity stay my spirit in its flight.
All along (hat quivering column see the death steed trampling down
Men whose deeds this day are worthy of a kingdom and a crown.
Prithee hasten, Uncle Jared ! what's the bullet in my breast To that murderous storm of fire raining tortures on the rest? See! the bayonets flash and falter—look! the foe begins to win;
See! oh, see our falling comrades! God! the ranks are clos' ing in.
Hark! there's quickening in the distance and a thundering in the air.
Like the roaring of a lion just emerging from his lair. There's a cloud of something yonder fast unrolling like a scroll—
Quick! oh, quick! if it be succor that can save the cause a soul!
Look! a thousand thirsty bayonets are flashing down the vale,
And a thousand thirsty riders dashing onward like a gale I
Raise me higher, Uncle Jared? place the ensign in my hand! I am strong enough to float it while you cheer that flying band;
Louder! louder! shout for Freedom with prolonged and
vigorous breath— Shout for Liberty and Union, and the victory over death!— See! they catch the stirring numbers and they swell them
to the breeze— Cap and plume and starry banner waving proudly through
Mark our fainting comrades rally, see that drooping column rise!
I can almost see the fire newly kindled in their eves. Fresh for conflict, nerved to conquer, see them charging on the foe—
Face to face with deadly meaning—shot and shell and trusty blow.
See the thinned ranks wildly breaking—see them scatter to the sun—
I can die now, Uncle Jared, for the glorious day is won!
But there's something, something pressing with a numbness on my heart,
And my lips with mortal dumbness fail the burden to impart.
Oh ! I tell you, Uncle Jared, there is something back of all That a soldier cannot part with when ho heeds his country's call.
Ask the mother what, in dying, sends her yearning spirit back
Over life's rough, broken marches, where she's pointed out the track.
Ask the dear ones gathered nightly round the shining household hearth,
>Vhat to them is dearer, better, than the brightest things of earth.
Ask that dearer one whose loving, like a ceaseless vestal flame,
Sets my very soul a glowing at the mention of her name; Ask her why the loved in dying feels her spirit linked with his
In a union death but strengthens, she will teil you what it is.
And there's something, Uncle Jared, you may tell her if you will—
fh*t the precious flag she gave me, T have kept unsullied still