rekindled the officer's anger and intercepted any disposition which might be rising within him toward a sentiment of remorse; and thus the irritation between the two young men grew hotter than before, still alive, he was to all intents and purposes | wearing the shape of a menace, naturally imperceptible. He could now only be heard; he was reduced to a mere essence-the very echo of human existence, vox et præterea nihil. It is true the schoolmaster asserted that he occasionally caught passing glimpses of him, but that was because he had been himself nearly spiritualized by affliction and his visual ray purged in the furnace of domestic tribulation. By and by Neal's voice ened, got fainter and more indistinct, until at length nothing but a doubtful murmur could be heard, which ultimately could scarcely be distinguished from a ringing in the ears. Such was the awful and mysterious fate of the tailor, who, as a hero, could not, of course, die he merely dissolved like an icicle, wasted into immateriality, and finally melted away beyond the perception of mortal sense. Some weeks after this a partial action took place with the enemy. Suppose yourself a spectator and looking down into a valley ocless-cupied by the two armies. They are facing each other, you see, in martial array. But it is no more than a skirmish which is going on, in the course of which, however, an occasion suddenly arises for a desperate service. A redoubt which has fallen into the enemy's hands must be recaptured at any price, and under circumstances of all but hopeless difficulty. A strong party has volunteered for the service. There is a cry for somebody to head them; you see a soldier step out from the ranks to assume this dangerous leadership. The party moves rapidly forward; in a few minutes it is swallowed up from your eyes in clouds of smoke. For one half hour, from behind these clouds you receive hieroglyphic reports of bloody strife-fierce repeating signals, flashes from the guns, rolling musketry and exulting hurrahs advancing or mat-receding Mr. O'Connor is still living, and once more in the fulness of perfect health and strength. His wife, however, we may as well hint, has been dead more than two years. WILLIAM CARLETON. A NOBLE REVENGE. A YOUNG officer-in what army no mat- receding, slackening or redoubling. ter-had so far forgotten himself in a moment of irritation as to strike a private soldier full of personal dignity, as sometimes happens in all ranks, and distinguished for his courage. The inexorable laws of military discipline forbade to the injured soldier any practical redress: he could look for no retaliation by acts. Words only were at his command, and in a tumult of indignation, as he turned away, the soldier said to his officer that he would make him repent it. This, At length all is over; the redoubt has been recovered; that which was lost is found again; the jewel which had been made captive is ransomed with blood. Crimsoned with glorious gore, the wreck of the conquering party is relieved and at liberty to return. From the river you see it ascending. The plume-crested officer in command rushes forward, with his left hand raising his hat in homage to the blackened fragments of what was once a flag, whilst with his right hand he seizes that of the leader, though no more than a private from the ranks. That perplexes you not, mystery you see none in that; for distinctions of order perish, ranks are confounded, "high" and "low" are words without a meaning, and to wreck goes every notion or feeling that divides the noble from the noble or the brave man from the brave. But wherefore is it that now, when suddenly they wheel into mutual recognition, suddenly they pause? This soldier, this officer-who are they? O reader, once before they had stood face to face-the soldier that was struck, the officer that struck him. Once again they are meeting, and the gaze of armies is upon them. If for a moment a doubt divides them, in a moment the doubt has perished. Once glance exchanged between them publishes the forgiveness that is sealed for ever. As one who recovers a brother whom he has accounted dead the officer sprang forward, threw his arms around the neck of the soldier, and kissed him as if he were some martyr glorified by that shadow of death from which he was returning; whilst, on his part, the soldier, stepping back and carrying his open hand through the beautiful motions of the military salute to a superior, makes this immortal answer-that answer which shut up for ever the memory of the indignity offered to him, even while for the last time alluding to it. "Sir," he said, "I told you before that I would make you repent it.' Evening shall darken on the earth, and o'er | Return! Alas, my Arab steed! what shall the sandy plain thy master do Some other steed with slower step shall bear When thou who wast his all of joy hast vanme home again. ished from his view When the dim distance cheats mine eyes, and through the gathering tears Yes, thou must go! The wild, free breeze, Thy bright form for a moment like the false the brilliant sun and sky, mirage appears? Thy master's home,-from all of these my Slow and unmounted shall I roam with weary exiled one must fly; step alone Thy proud dark eye will grow less proud, thy Where with fleet step and joyous bound thou step become less fleet, oft hast borne me on, And vainly shalt thou arch thy neck thy And, sitting down by that green well, I'll master's hand to meet. pause and sadly think, Only in sleep shall I behold that dark eye "It was here he bowed his glossy neck when glancing bright Only in sleep shall hear again that step so firm and light; And when I raise my dreaming arm to check or cheer thy speed, Then must I starting wake to feel thou'rt sold, my Arab steed! Ah! rudely then, unseen by me, some cruel hand may chide last I saw him drink." When last I saw thee drink? Away! the fevered dream is o'er: I could not live a day and know that we should meet no more. They tempted me, my beautiful, for hunger's power is strong; They tempted me, my beautiful, but I have loved too long. Who said that I had given thee up? Who said that thou wast sold? Till foam-wreaths lie like crested waves along Tis false, 'tis false, my Arab steed! I fling thy panting side, them back their gold! Thus, thus, I leap upon thy back and scour the distant plains; Away! who overtakes us now shall claim thee for his pains. CAROLINE E. S. NORTON. I SAW TWO CLOUDS. I SAW two clouds at morning Tinged by the rising sun, JOHN G. C. BRAINARD. |