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“ Dastard Prussian, lie there, die there! What care I fox

your sad plight? Think you, through the day I fought you, glad to succor you

at night? To my dying day I'll scorn you, spurn you til my sword : hall

rust! Glad were I if every Prussian by our arms should bite the

dust!' Mutely then the weak hand beckoned, feebly motioning to

take From his breast, that death was chilling, treasures kept "for

mother's sake.” Hearts are hearts, though men be foemen; and the Austrian,

kneeling down, Gently sought the sacred relic, dearer than a world's renown. Opening wide the cherished locket, lo, ho saw soft silver

hair; Read within,“ With mother's blessing,” s jeet words deftly

graven there. Gone all feuds and deadly striving; gonu the soldier; and

a son, Lost forever to his mother, now his dimmed eyes rested on. Quick he tore aside the doublet, fanned the pallid brow

again: What to him was Austrian feather; what was Prussjan eagle

then ? Prussian head on Austrian bosom-Austrian hand the pain

beguiled, For he knew a mother somewhere soon would mourn her

dear, dead child !




No song of a soldier riding down
To the raging fight of Winchester town;
No song of a time that shook the earth
With the nation's throe at a nation's birth ;
But the song of a brave man, free from fear
As Sheridan's self, or Paul Revere;
Who risked what they risked,-free from strife
And its promise of glorious pay, -his life.
The peaceful valley has waked and stirred,
And the answering echoes of life are heard ;

The dew still clings to the trees and grass,
And the earlier toilers smiling pass,
As they glance aside at the white-walled homes,
Or up ihe valley where merrily comes
The brook that sparkles in diamond rills
As the sun comes over the Hampshire hills.
What was it that passed like an ominous breath?
Like a shiver of fear or a touch of death?
What was it? The valley is peaceful still,
And the leaves are afire on the top of the hill;
It was not a sound, nor a thing of sense-
But a pain, like a pang in the short suspense
That wraps the being of those who see
At their feet the gulf of eternity.
The air of the valley has felt the chill;
The workers pause at the door of the mill;
The housewife, keen to the shivering air,
Arrests her foot on the cottage stair,
Instinctive taught by the mother-love,
And thinks of the sleeping ones above.
Why start the listeners? Why does the course
Of the mill-stream widen? Is it a horse-
“Hark to the sound of his hoofs,” they say,
That gallops so wildly Williamsburg way?
God! What was that, like a human shriek,
From the winding valley? Will nobody speak;
Will nobody answer those women who cry
As the awful warnings thunder by ?
Whence cove they? Listen! And now they hear
The sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near;
They watch the trend of the vale, and see
The rider, who thunders so menacingly,
With waving arms and warning scream
To the home-filled banks of the valley stream.
He draws no rein, but he shakes the street
With a shout and the ring of the galloping feet,
And this the cry that he flings to the wind :
To the hills for your lives! The flood is behind !
He cries and is gone; but they know the worst-
The treacherous Williamsburg dam has burst !
The basin that nourished their happy homes
Is changed to a demon-It comes! it comes !
A monster in aspect, with shaggy front
Of shattered dwellings to take the brunt
Of the dwellings they shatter,-white-maned and hoarse,
The merciless terror fills the course

Of the narrow valley, and rushing raves,
With death on the first of its hissing waves,
Till cottage and street and crowded mill
Are crumbled and crushed. But onward still,
In front of the roaring flood is heard
The galloping horse and the warning word.
Thank God, that the brave man's life is spared !
From Williamsburg town he nobly dared
To race with the flood and to take the road
In front of the terrible swath it mowed.
For miles it thundered and crashed behind,
But he looked ahead with a steadfast mind :
They must be warned !was all he said,
As away on his terrible ride he sped.
When heroes are called for, bring the crown
To this Yankee rider; send him down
On the stream of time with the Curtius old :
His deed, as the Roman's, was brave and bolel.
And the tale can as noble a thrill awake,
For he offered his life for the people's sake.

RELIGION AND DOCTRINE.-John HAY. “He answered and said, Whether he be a sinner or no, I know not: one thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see. John IX. 25."

He stood before the Sanhedrim;
The scowling rabbis gazed at him.
He recked not of their praise or blame;
There was no fear, there was no shame
For one upon whose dazzled eyes
The whole world poured its vast surprise.
The open heaven was far too near,
His first day's light too sweet and clear,
To let him waste his new-gained ken
On the hate-clouded face of men.
But still they questioned, Who art thou?
What hast thou been ? What art thou now?
Thou art not he who yesterday
Sat were and begged beside the way;
For he was blind.

- And I am he;
For I was blind, but now I see.
He told the story o’er and o'er;
It was his full heart's only lore:

A prophet on the Sabbath-day
Had touched his sightless eyes with clay,
And made him see who had been blind;
Their words passed by him like the wind
Which raves and howls, but cannot shock
The hundred-fathom-rooted rock.
Their threats and fury all went wide;
They could not touch his Hebrew pride.
Their sneers at Jesus and His band,
Nameless and homeless in the land, -
Their boasts of Moses and his Lord,
All could not change him by one word,
I know not what this man may be
Sinner or saint; but as for me,
One thing I know, that I am he
Who once was blind, and now I see.
They were all doctors of renown,-
The great men of a famous town,
With deep brows, wrinkled, br ad, and wise,
Beneath their wide phylacteries;
The wisdom of the east was theirs,
And honor crowned their silver hairs.
The man they jeered and laughed to scorn
Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born;
But he knew better far than they
What came to him that Sabbath-day ;
And what the Christ had done for him
He knew, and not the Sanhedrim.


A Journal of Misery.

Rolling and pitching. Not hungry as usual.
Kept on deck, except sundry visits to Neptune.
A. M., sick. P. M., sicker.
Accounts continually cast; never balanced.
Went below. Will appear at Queenstown.


Warm water diet; not nutritious, but sufficiently so for the purpose designed.

Ate no food. Want to go home.

Sickness increasing. Gag and agag. Steward busy.
No conveniences for suicide.
Want to walk home.
B :ef tea and crackers. Down, and then up.
P. M., worse.

Moans and groans.
Why did they let me go!

Ciulf stream, temp. 80. Stateroom stilling. Going home loy riil.

Warm water diet continued.

Doctor appeared. Administered tar pill. Very choice. Ileld it five minutes.

Bandages and plasters. Arrowroot tea. Quite soothing.

First drink came up on time; second remained. Felt encouraged.


Better, but weak. Slept on galley loft from 4 to 10 a. m. Hard tack for breakfast. Appeared convalescent.

Congratulations from those who knew how it was thema selves.

Many had been there; others were going.

L-'s turn next. Accounts rendered on time, and in perfect order.

A model of precision. Neatness exemplified.
Wanted to go back. Disgusted with life.

Inward emotions overpowering. Steward said, fight against it.

Tried to, but couldn't.
Mental determination insufficient.
Victory of matter over mind.
Meals at a discount. Dining-room kept aloof.
Lemons and remedies of no use.
Beef tea a failure. Seidlitz powders of no avail.
Surgeon at loss. Says will be better soon.
Don't want to be better. Prefer extermination.
Steward calm and serene. Smiles ghastly.
Holds on to the door. Says, “This is a calm."
Proffers the basin. Empties contents.
Says "Sea is smooth as a bowl of milk.” Very consoling.
Groans from A flat to G sharp.
Up notes the worst.
Adjoining rooms melodious.

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