And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before!

Arm! arm! it is-it is the cannon's opening roar!

3. Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro,
And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress,
And cheeks all pale which but an hour ago
Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness;
And there were sudden partings, such as press
The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs
Which ne'er might be repeated; — who could guess
If ever more should meet those mutual eyes,
Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could
rise?

4. And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed,
The mustering squadron and the clattering car
Went pouring forward with impetuous speed,
And swiftly forming in the ranks of war,
And the deep thunder, peal on peal afar;
And near, the beat of the alarming drum
Roused up the soldier ere the morning star;
While thronged the citizens with terror dumb
Or whispering with white lips, "The foe! They
come! they come!"

5. And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves,
Dewy with nature's tear-drops, as they pass,
Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves,
Over the unreturning brave,- alas!

Ere evening to be trodden like the grass

Which now beneath them, but above shall grow
In its next verdure, when this fiery mass

Of living valor, rolling on the foe

And burning with high hope, shall molder cold

and low.

6. Last noon beheld them full of lusty life,
Last eve in beauty's circle proudly gay,

The midnight brought the signal sound of strife,
The morn the marshaling in arms, the day
Battle's magnificently-stern array!

The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent
The earth is covered thick with other clay,

Which her own clay shall cover, heaped and pent
Rider and horse,- friend, foe,-in one red burial
blent!

LORD (GEORGE GORDON) BYRON.

CXXI.-DEATH OF LITTLE PAUL.

1. "Floy," said Paul," what is that?" "Where, dearest?" "There! at the bottom of the bed." "There's nothing there except papa!" The figure lifted up its head and rose, and, coming to the bedside, said, "My own boy, don't you know me?" Paul looked it in the face, and thought, was this his father?

2. But the face, so altered to his thinking, thrilled while he gazed, as if it were in pain; and, before he could reach out both his hands to take it between them and draw it toward him, the figure turned away quickly from the little bed and went out at the door.

3. Paul looked at Florence with a fluttering heart; but he knew what she was going to say, and stopped her with his face against her lips. The next time he observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, he called to it, "Don't be so sorry for me, dear papa; indeed, I am quite happy!"

4. His father coming and bending down to him (which he did quickly, and without first pausing by the bedside), Paul held him around the neck, and repeated these words

to him several times, and very earnestly; and Paul never saw him again in his room at any time, whether it were day or night, but he called out, "Don't be so sorry for me; indeed, I am quite happy." This was the beginning of his always saying in the morning that he was a great deal better, and that they were to tell his father so.

5. How many times the golden water danced upon the wall — how many nights the dark, dark river rolled toward the sea in spite of him- Paul never counted, never sought to know. If their kindness, or his sense of it, could have increased, they were more kind, and he more grateful, every day; but whether they were many days or few, appeared of little moment now to the gentle boy.

6. One night he had been thinking of his mother and her picture in the drawing-room down-stairs, and had thought she must have loved sweet Florence better than his father did to have held her in her arms when she felt that she was dying; for even he, her brother, who had such dear love for her, could have no greater wish than that.

7. The train of thought suggested to him to inquire if he had ever seen his mother; for he could not remember whether they had told him yes or no- the river running very fast and confusing his mind. "Floy, did I ever see mamma?"

8. "No, darling; why?" "Did I ever see any kind face, like mamma's, looking at me when I was a baby, Floy?" he asked incredulously, as if he had some vision of a face before him. "O, yes, dear." "Whose, Floy?" "Your old nurse's, often." "And where is my old nurse?” said Paul; "is she dead, too? Floy, are we all dead, except you?"

9. There was a hurry in the room for an instantlonger, perhaps, but it seemed no more-then all was

still again; and Florence, with her face quite colorless, but smiling, held his head upon her arm. Her arm trembled very much. "Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please." "She is not here, darling. She shall come to-morrow." "Thank you, Floy." *

* *

10. "And who is this? Is this my old nurse?” said the child, regarding with a radiant smile a figure coming in. Yes, yes! No other stranger would have shed those tears at sight of him, and called him her dear boy, her pretty boy, her own poor blighted child. No other woman would have stooped down by his bed, and taken up his wasted hand and put it to her lips and breast, as one who had some right to fondle it.

11. No other woman would have so forgotten every body there but him and Floy, and been so full of tenderness and pity. "Floy, this is a kind, good face!" said Paul. "I am glad to see it again. Don't go away, old nurse! stay here." "Now lay me down," he said; "and, Floy, come close to me and let me see you."

12. Sister and brother wound their arms around each other, and the golden light came streaming in and fell upon them, locked together. "How fast the river runs between its green banks and the rushes, Floy! But it's very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said

13. Presently he told her that the motion of the boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest. How green the banks were now! how bright the flowers growing on them! and how tall the rushes! Now the boat was out at sea, but gliding smoothly on; and now there was a shore before them. Who stood on the bank?

14. He put his hands together, as he had been used to do at his prayers. He did not remove his arms to do it; but they saw him fold them so, behind her neck. "Mamma is like you, Floy: I know her by the face. But tell them

that the print upon the stairs at school is not divine enough. The light about the head is shining on me as I go."

15. The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. 16. The old, old fashion-Death! O, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged when the swift river bears us to the

ocean.

CHARLES DICKENS.

CXXII. THERE ARE NO DEAD.

1. There is no death! The stars go down
To rise upon some fairer shore;

And bright in heaven's jeweled crown
They shine for evermore.

2. There is no death! The dust we tread
Shall change, beneath the summer showers,
To golden grain or mellow fruit,

Or rainbow-tinted flowers.

3. There is no death! An angel form
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread;
He bears our best-loved things away;
And then we call them dead.

4. Born into that undying life,

They leave us but to come again;

With joy we welcome them, the same,
Except in sin and pain.