ing, covetous old sinner! Hard and sharp as flint, from which no steel had ever struck out generous fire; secret and self-contained, and solitary as an oyster. The cold within him froze his old features, nipped his pointed nose, shriv eled his cheek, stiffened his gait; made his eyes red, his thin lips blue; and spoke out shrewdly in his grating voice. A frosty rime was on his head, and on his eyebrows, and his wiry chin. He carried his own low temperature always about with him; he iced his office in the dog-days; and didn't thaw it one degree at Christmas.

External heat and cold had little influence on Scrooge. No warmth could warm, nor wintry weather chill him. No wind that blew was bitterer than he, no falling snow was more intent upon its purpose, no pelting rain less open to entreaty. Foul weather didn't know where to have him. The heaviest rain, and snow, and hail, and sleet, could boast of the advantage over him in only one respect. They often "came down" handsomely, and Scrooge never did.

Nobody ever stopped him in the street to say, with gladsome looks, "My dear Scrooge, how are you? when will you come to see me?" No beggars implored him to bestow a trifle, no children asked him what it was o'clock, no man or woman ever once in all his life inquired the way to such and such a place, of Scrooge. Even the blind-men's dogs appeared to know him; and when they saw him coming on, would tug their owners into doorways and up courts; and then would wag their tails as though they said, "No eye at all is better than an evil eye, dark master!"

But what did Scrooge care? It was the very thing he liked. To edge his way along the crowded paths of life, warning all human sympathy to keep its distance, was what the knowing ones call "nuts" to Scrooge. CHARLES DICKENS

THE RELIEF OF LUCKNOW.

H! that last day in Lucknow fort;

We knew that it was the last,

That the enemy's mines had crept surely in,
And the end was coming fast.

To yield to that foe meant worse than death,
And the men and we all worked on;
It was one day more of smoke and roar,
And then it would all be done.

There was one of us, a corporal's wife,
A fair young gentle thing,

Wasted with fever in the siege,

And her mind was wandering.

She lay on the ground, in her Scottish plaid,
And I took her head on my knee;

"When my father comes hame frae the pleugh," she said, "Oh! please then waken me."

She slept like a child on her father's floor,

In the flecking of woodbine shade,

When the house dog sprawls by the half open door,
And the mother's wheel is stayed.

It was smoke and roar and powder stench,
And hopeless waiting for death;

But the soldier's wife, like a full tired child,
Seemed scarce to draw her breath.

I sank to sleep and I had my dream
Of an English village lane

And wall and garden-till a sudden scream
Brought me back to the rear again,

There Jessie Brown stood listening,
And then a broad gladness broke
All over her face, and she took my hand,
And drew me near and spoke:

"The Highlanders! O dinna ye hear
The slogan far awa?

The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel;
It is the grandest of them a'.

"God bless the bonny Highlanders;

We're saved! we're saved!" she cried; And fell on her knees, and thanks to God Poured forth like a full flood tide.

Along the battery line her cry

Had fallen among the men;

And they started; for they were there to die, Was life so near them then?

They listened, for life, and the rattling fire
Far off, and the far-off roar

Were all, and the colonel shook his head,
And they turned to their guns once more.

Then Jessie said, "The slogan's dune,
But can ye no hear them, noo?

The Campbells are comin! It's nae a dream,
Our succors hae broken through!"

We heard the roar and the rattle afar,
But the pipers we could not hear;
So the men plied their work of hopeless war,
And knew that the end was near.

It was not long ere it must be heard,
A shrilling, ceaseless sound;

It was no noise of the strife afar,

Or the sappers under ground.

It was the pipe of the Highlanders,

And now they played "Auld Lang Syne;"
It came to our men like the voice of God;
And they shouted along the line.

And they wept and shook each other's hands,
And the women sobbed in a crowd;
And every one knelt down where we stood,
And we all thanked God aloud.

That happy day, when we welcomed them in,
Our men put Jessie first;

And the General took her hand; and cheers
From the men like a volley burst.

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed,
Marching round and round our line;
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
As the pipers played "Auld Lang Syne."
ROBERT LOWEL

I

THE BRIDGE.

STOOD on the bridge at midnight,

As the clocks were striking the hour And the moon rose o'er the city,

Behind the dark church tower.

I saw her bright reflection
In the waters under me,
Like a golden goblet falling
And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,

And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,

And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,

In the days that had gone by,
I nad stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide!