He raised on high the glittering blade; then first I found a tongue, "Hold, madman! stay thy frantic deed!" I cried, and forth I sprung; He heard me but he heeded not; one glance around he gave; And ere I could arrest his hand, he had begun to shave! SEARCHING FOR THE SLAIN. Hold the lantern aside, and shudder not so; There's more blood to see than this stain on the snow; In a ditch with the rest, while my arms can bear More! more! Ah! I thought I could nevermore know Hark, a groan! there another, here in this line A message to give To any beloved one? I swear, if I live, To take it for sake of the words my boy said, "Home,” “mother," "wife," ere he reeled down 'mong the dead. But, first, can you tell where his regiment stood? Speak, speak, man, or point; 'twas the Ninth. Oh, the blood Is choking his voice! What a look of despair! I cannot! I cannot! How eager you are! One might think you were nursed on the red lap of War. He's not here, and not here. What wild hopes flash through My thoughts, as foot-deep I stand in this dread dew, And cast up a prayer to the blue quiet sky! Was it you, girl, that shrieked? Ah! what face doth lie O God, my brain reels! 'Tis a dream. My old sight He was yours, too; he loved you? Yes, yes, you're right. How quiet you are! Has she fainted?-her cheek Is cold as his own. Say a word to me,-speak! Am I crazed? Is she dead? Has her heart broke first? I'm afraid, I'm afraid, all alone with these dead; I'll sit by my children until the men come THE BARON'S LAST BANQUET.-ALBERT G. GREENE. O'er a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray, By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent. "They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er; That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more; They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, Their own liege lord and master born, that I,-ha! ha!must die. "And what is death? I've dared him oft, before the Paynim spear; Think ye he's entered at my gate,-has come to seek me here? I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging hot; I'll try his might, I'll brave his power; defy, and fear him not. "Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin; An hundred hands were busy then; the banquet forth was spread, And rung the heavy oaken floor with many a martial tread; While from the rich, dark tracery, along the vaulted wall, Lights gleamed on harness, plume, and spear, o'er the proud old Gothic hall. Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured, On through the portal's frowning arch, and thronged around the board; While at its head, within his dark, carved oaken chair of state, Armed cap-a-pie, stern Rudiger, with girded falchion, sate. "Fill every beaker up, my men; pour forth the cheering wine; There's life and strength in every drop;-thanksgiving to the vine! Are ye all there, my vassals true? mine eyes are waxing dim; Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim. "Ye're there, but yet I see you not; draw forth each trusty sword, -And let me hear your faithful steel clash once around my board; I hear it faintly;-louder yet! What clogs my heavy breath? Up, all! and shout for Rudiger, 'Defiance unto death!'" Bowl rang to bowl, steel clanged to steel, and rose a deafen ing cry That made the torches flare around, and shook the flags on high. "Ho! cravens! do ye fear him? Slaves; traitors! have ye flown? Ho! cowards, have ye left me to meet him here alone? "But I defy him; let him come!" Down rang the massy cup While from its sheath the ready blade came flashing halfway up; And, with the black and heavy plumes scarce trembling on his head, There, in his dark, carved, oaken chair, old Rudiger sat,dead! DEATH OF LITTLE JO.-CHARLES DICKENS. Jo is very glad to see his old friend; and says, when they are left alone, that he takes it uncommon kind as Mr. Sangsby should come so far out of his way on accounts of sich as him. Mr. Sangsby, touched by the spectacle before him, immediately lays upon the table half-a-crown; that magic balsam of his for all kinds of wounds. "And how do you find yourself, my poor lad?" inquires the stationer, with his cough of sympathy. "I'm in luck, Mr. Sangsby, I am," returns Jo, "and don't want for nothink. I'm more cumfbler nor you can't think, Mr. Sangsby. I'm wery sorry that I done it; but I didn't go for to do it, sir." The stationer softly lays down another half-crown, and asks him what it is that he is sorry for having done. "Mr. Sangsby," says Jo, "I went and giv a illness to the lady as wos and yet as war'nt the t'other lady, and none of em never says nothink to me for having done it, on accounts of their being so good and my having been s'unfortnet. The lady come herself and see me yes'day, and she ses, 'Ah Jo!' she ses. 'We thought we'd lost you, Jo!' she ses. And she sits down a smilin so quiet, and don't pass a word nor yit a look upon me for having done it, she don't, and I turns agin the wall, I doos, Mr. Sangsby. And Mr. Jarnders, I see him a forced to turn away his own self. And Mr. Woodcot, he come fur to give me somethink fur to ease me, wot he's allus a doin on day and night, and when he come a bendin over me and a speakin up so bold, I see his tears a fallin, Mr. Sangsby." The softened stationer deposits another half-crown on the table. Nothing less than a repetition of that infallible remedy will relieve his feelings. "Wot I wos thinkin on, Mr. Sangsby," proceeds Jo, "wos, as you wos able to write wery large, p'raps?” "Yes, Jo, please God," returns the stationer. "Uncommon precious large, p'raps?" says Jo, with eager Jo laughs with pleasure. "Wot I was thinkin on then, Mr. Sangsby, wos, that when I wos moved on as fur as ever I could go, and couldn't be moved no furder, whether you might be so good, p'raps. as to write out, wery large, so that anyone could see it anywheres, as that I wos wery truly hearty sorry that I done it, and that I never went fur to do |