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I thought of Willie's clear blue eye,
His wavy hair of gold,
Of purest Saxon mold;
And eagle glance of pride;
And left their mother's side;
And blessings on the way—
Another 'ueath the gray.
The dead, with white and folded hands,
That hushed our village homes, I've seen laid calmly, tenderly,
Within their darkened rooms;
And many an eye aglare,
The thunder-smitten air;
In ghastly ranks they lay,
And blood upon the gray.
I looked and saw his blood, and his',
A swift and vivid dream
Like some cold shadow, came
The same that seizes one
Who overstare the sun;
That swept my soul, I lay,— They buried Willie in his blue,
And Harry in his gray.
The shadows fall upon their graves;
They fall upon my heart;
Like dew the tears will start,—
And lingers where they rest;
And shines within my breast.
Smiles with eternal day,
Why Harry wore the gray.
MTJRILLO'S TRANCE—Margaret J. Presto*.
"Here, Pedro, while I quench these candles, hold
And (mindful still
So shuffling on, he neared
"Why, Pedro, only see!
As moveless as the statues Niched round, a youth before the picture knelt, His hands tight clenched, and his moist forehead strewn
With tossings of dank hair. Upon his arm
Slow on the questioner a face was turned
—" I wail,—I wait" he said,
FATHER, LEAD ON.
My Father God, lead on!
Just as thou wilt; lead on!
I ask not why; lead on!
With thee is light ; lead on!
The gloom with dawn hath fled!
Thy way is peace; lead on!
Thou givest strength; lead on!
Twill soon be o'er; lead on!
And when of griefs and tears
A VENTRILOQUIST ON A STAGE-COACH.
"Now then, look alive there!" shouted the coachman from the booking-office door, as Valentine and his Uncle John approached. "Have yow got that are mare's shoe made comfor'ble, Simon?"
"All right, sir," said Simon, and he went round to see if it were so, while the luggage was being secured.
"Jimp up, genelmen!" cried the coachman, as he waddled from the office with his whip in one hand and his huge way-bill in the other; and the passengers accordingly proceeded to arrange themselves on the various parts of the coach,—Valentine, by the particular desire of Uncle John, having deposited himself immediately behind the seat of the coachman.
"If you please," said an old lady, who had been standing in the gateway upwards of an hour, " will you be good enow, please, to take care of my darter?"
"All safe," said the coachman, untwisting the reins. "She shaunt take no harm. Is she going all the way?"
"Yes, sir," replied the old lady; "God bless her! She's got a place in Lunnun, an' I'm told—"
"Hook on them ere two sacks o' whoats there behind," cried the coachman ; "I marn't go without 'em this time.— Now, all right there?"
"Good-by, my dear," sobbed the old lady, " do write to me soon, be sure you do,—I only want to hear from you often. Take care of yourself."
"Hold hard!" cried the coachman, as the horses were dancing, on the cloths being drawn from their loins. "Whit, whit!" and away they pranced, as merrily as if they had known that their load was nothing when compared with the load they left behind them. Even old Uncle John, as ho cried " Good-by, my dear boy," and waved his hand for the last time, felt the tears trickling down his cheeks.
The salute was returned, and the coach passed on.
The fulness of Valentine's heart caused him for the first hour to be silent; but after that, the constant change of scene and the pure bracing air had the effect of restoring his spirits, and he felt a powerful inclination to sing. Just, however, as he was about to commence for his own amusement, the coach stopped to change horses. In less than two minutes they started again, and Valentine, who then felt ready for anything, began to think seriously of the exercise of his power as a ventriloquist.
"Whit, whit!" said Tooler, the coachman, between a whisper and a whistle, as the fresh horses galloped up the hill.
"Stop! hoa!» cried Valentine, assuming a voice, the sound of which appeared to have traveled some distance.
"You have left, some one behind," observed a gentleman in black, who had secured the box seat.
"Oh, let un run a bit!" said Tooler. "Whit! I'll give un a winder up this little hill, and teach un to be up in time in future. If we was to wait for every passenger as chooses to lag behind, we shouldn't git over the ground in » fortnit."