Some one seemed to go in quest of her. Perhaps it was Susan. Paul thought he heard her telling him, when he had closed his eyes again, that she would soon be back; but he did not open them to see. She kept her word-perhaps she had never been away— but the next thing that hpppened was a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then Paul woke-woke mind and body-and sat upright in his bed. He saw them now about him. There was no gray mist before them, as there had been sometimes in the night. He knew them every one, and called them by their names. And who is this? Is this my old nurse? said the child, regarding, with a radiant smile, a figure comng in. Yes, yes. No other stranger would have shed those tears at the 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. No other would have so forgotten everybody 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!" His senses were all quickened, and he heard a name he knew. "Who was that? who said Walter ?" he asked, looking round. "Some one said Walter. Is he here? I should like to see him very much." Nobody replied directly, but his father said to Susan, "Call him back, then : let him come up!" After a short pause of expectation, during which he looked with smiling interest and wonder on his nurse, and saw that she had not forgotten Floy, Walter was brought into the room. His open face and manner, and his cheerful eyes, had always made him a favorite with Paul; and when Paul saw him, he stretched out his hand, and said, "Good-by!" with which he had so often gazed upon her in his cor ner by the fire. "Ah, yes," he said, placidly, "goodby! Walter dear, good-by!" turning his head to where he stood, and putting out his hand again. "Where is papa?" He felt his father's breath upon his cheek, before the words had parted from his lips. "Remember Walter, dear papa," he whispered, looking in his face,- "remember Walter. I was fond of Walter!" The feeble hand waved in the air, as if it cried "good-by!" to Walter once again. "Now lay me down again," he said; "and Floy, come close to me, and let me see you!" 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 rushes, Floy! But its very near the sea. I hear the waves. They always said so!" 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 him. Who stood on the bank! 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!" 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. The old, old fashion-Death! O, thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion "Good-by, my child!" cried Mrs. Pipchin, hurry- yet, of immortality! And look upon us, angels of ng to his bed's head. "Not good-by?" young children, with regards not quite estranged, For an instant, Paul looked at her with the wistful face when the swift river bears us to the ocean! PERSONS AND PLACES TO THOMAS MOORE. Y boat is on the shore, the sea; But before I go, Tom Moore, Here's a double love me, health to thee? But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead We thought, as we hollowed his narrow ed That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, Here's a sigh to those who But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on And a smile to those who And, whatever skies above me, Here's a heart for any When the clock struck the hour for retiring; Slowly and sadly they laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; Though the ocean roar We carved not a line, we raised not a stone- around me, Yet it still shall bear me on; Were't the last drop in the well, Ere my fainting spirit fell, 'Tis to thee that I would drink, With that water, as this wine, 12 LORD BYRON. THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. OT a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart was hurried; We buried him darkly at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; Few and short were the prayers we said, CHARLES WOLFE DIRGE FOR A SOLDIER. MAJOR-GENERAL PHILIP KEARNEY, KILLED AT CHANTILLY, LOSE his eyes; work is done! What to him is friend or foeman, Rise of moon or set of sun, Hand of man or kiss of woman? Lay him low, lay him low, As man may, he fought his fight, Lay him low, lay him low, Fold him in his country's stars, Leave him to God's watching eye; Trust him to the hand that made him. God alone has power to aid him Lay him low, lay him lo In the clover or the sno: What cares he? he cannot know; Lay him low! GEORGE HENRY BOKER. WASHINGTON AS A CIVILIAN. OWEVER his military fame may excite tne wonder of mankind, it is chiefly by his civil magistracy that Washington's example will instruct them. Great generals have arisen in all ages of the world, and perhaps most in those of despotism and darkness. In times of violence and convulsion they rise, by the force of the whirlwind, high enough to ride in it and direct the storm. Like meteors, they glare on the black clouds with a splendor that, while it dazzles and terrifies, makes nothing visible but the darkness. The fame of heroes is indeed growing vulgar: they multiply in every long war; they stand in history, and thicken in their ranks almost as undistinguished as their own soldiers. But such a c! ief magistrate as Washington appears like the pole-star in a clear sky, to direct the skilful statesman. His presidency will form an epoch, and be distinguished as the age of Washington. Already it assumes its high place in the political region. Like the milky way, it whitens along its allotted portion of the hemisphere. The latest generations of men will survey, through the telescope of history, the space where so many virtues blend their rays, and delight to separate them into groups and distinct virtues. As the best illustration of them, the living monument to which the first of patrious would have chosen to consign his fame, it is our earnest prayer to Heaven that our country may subsist, even to that late day, in the plenitude of its liberty and happiness, and mingle its mild glory with Washington's. GEORGE WASHINGTON. From "Under the Elm," read at Cambridge, July 3, 1875, on the hundredth anniversary of Washington's taking command of the American army. B ENEATH our consecrated elm A century ago he stood, Famed vaguely for that old fight in the wood. The life foredoomed to wield our rough-hewn helm. No need to question long; close-lipped and tall, Musing beneath the legendary tree, A stranger among strangers then, How art thou since renowned the great, the good, Familiar as the day in all the homes of men ! The winged years, that winnow praise and blame, Blow many names out: they but fan to flame The self-renewing splendors of thy fame. The announcement of the afflicting event of his O, for a drop of that terse Roman's ink death was made in the House of Representatives as Who gave Agricola cateless length of days, soon as the news reached Philadelphia, by John Mar- To celebrate him fitly, neither swerve shall, then a member of Congress from Virginia. Both To phrase unkempt, nor pass discretion's brink, houses immediately adjourned. The whole country With him so statuelike in sad reserve, was filled with gloom by the intelligence. Men of So diffident to claim, so forward to deserve! all parties in politics, and creeds in religion, united Nor need I shun due influence of his fame with Congress in paying honor to the memory of the citizen who, in the language of the resolution of Marshall adopted by the House, “was first in war, first in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen.” These manifestations were no mere outward sem-Than that grave strength so patient and so pure, blance of grief, but the natural outbursts of the hearts of the people, prompted by the loss of a father. He was indeed everywhere regarded as the "Father of His Country." His remains were deposited in a family vault, on his own estate, on the banks of the Potomac, where they still lie entombed. Who, mortal among mortals, seemed as now Calm in good fortune, when it wavered, sure, And if pure light, as some deem, be the force Fed from itself and shy of human sight, The hidden force that makes a lifetime strong, Soldier and statesman, rarest unison; Who was all this, and ours, and all men's-Washington. Minds strong by fits, irregularly great, That flash and darken like revolving lights, Of draperies theatric, standing there In perfect symmetry of self-control, Seems not so great at first, but greater grows Still as we look, and by experince learn How grand this quiet is, how nobly stern The discipline that wrought through life-long throes This energetic passion of repose. A nature too decorous and severe, Too self-respectful in its griefs and joys For ardent girls and boys, Who find no genius in a mind so clear His broad-built brain, to self so little kind Looms not like those that borrow height of haze: Of that ideal Rome that made a man for men. His will say "Here!" at the last trumpet's call, 66 SIR JOHN FRANKLIN, The ice was here, the ice was there,⚫ The ice was all around.-Coleridge. WHITHER sail you, Sir John Franklin?" Cried a whaler in Baffin's Bay. "To know if between the land and the pole I may find a broad sea-way.” "I charge you back, Sir John Franklin, But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, “O, whither sail you, brave Englishman?" My goodly vessels go." "Come down, if you would journey there," The little Indian said; "And change your cloth for fur clothing, But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, All through the long, long polar day, The vessels westward sped; Gave way with many a hollow groan, And with many a surly roar ; But it murmured and threatened on every side, "Ho! see ye not, my merry men, The broad and open sea? Bethink ye what the whaler said, Think of the little Indian's sled!" The crew laughed out in glee. "Sir John, Sir John, 'tis bitter cold, The scud drives on the breeze, "Bright summer goes, dark winter comes We cannot rule the year; But long ere summer's sun goes down, On yonder sea we'll steer." The dripping icebergs dipped and rose, And floundered down the gale; The ships were stayed, and yards were manned, And furled the useless sail. "The summer's gone, the winter's come, We sail not on yonder sea; Why sail we not, Sir John Franklin?" "The summer goes, the winter comes- I ween, we cannot rule the ways, The cruel ice came floating on, And closed beneath the lee, Till the thickening waters dashed no more'Twas ice around, behind. before My God! there is no sea! "What think of the whaler now? you What of the Esquimaux ! A sled were better than a ship, To cruise through ice and snow." The snow came down, storm breeding storm, the weary sailor, sick at heart, Sir John, the night is black and long, The hard, green ice is strong as death; The night is neither bright nor short, 'What hope can scale this icy wall, The summer went, the winter came- The winter went, the summer went, But the hard, green ice was atrong as death. Yet caught at every sound. "Hark! heard you not the noise of guns? As he turns in the frozen main.” "Hurrah! hurrah! the Esquimaux Across the ice-fields steal." 'Sir John, where are the English fields? Be still, be still, my brave sailors! And smell the scent of the opening flower The grass and the waving grain." "Oh! when shall I see my orphan child? My Mary waits for me." "Oh! when shall I see my old mother, And pray at her trembling knee?" "Be still, be still, my brave sailors, Think not such thoughts again!" But a tear froze slowly on his chee.. He thought of Lady Jane Ah! bitter, bitter grows the cold, The ice grows more and more; More settled stare the wolf and bear, More patient than before. "Oh! think you, good Sir John Franklin, We'll ever see the land? 'Twas cruel to send us here to starve Without a helping hand. "Twas cruel to send us here, Sir John, To starve and freeze on this lonely sea: "Oh! whether we starve to death alone, We have done what man has never done- GEORGE H. BOKUL |