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He had a hearty hatred of oppression,

And righteous words for sin of every kind;
Alas, that the transgressor and transgression
Were linked so closely in his honest mind!

He could see naught but vanity in beauty,
And naught but weakness in a fond caress,
And pitied men whose views of Christian duty
Allowed indulgence in such foolishness.

Yet there were love and tenderness within him;
And I am told that when his Charley died,
Nor nature's need nor gentle words could win him
From his fond vigils at the sleeper's side.

And when they came to bury little Charley,
They found fresh dew-drops sprinkled in his hair,
And on his breast a rosebud gathered early,

And guessed, but did not know who placed it there.

Honest and faithful, constant in his calling,
Strictly attendant on the means of grace,
Instant in prayer, and fearful most of falling,
Old Daniel Gray was always in his place.

A practical old man, and yet a dreamer,

He thought that in some strange, unlooked-for way His mighty Friend in Heaven, the great Redeemer, Would honor him with wealth some golden day.

This dream he carried in a hopeful spirit
Until in death his patient eye grew dim,
And his Redeemer called him to inherit

The heaven of wealth long garnered up for him.

So, if I ever win the home in Heaven

For whose sweet rest I humbly hope and pray, In the great company of the forgiven

I shall be sure to find old Daniel Gray.




THE whole continental struggle exhibited no sublimer spectacle than the last great effort of Napoleon to save his sinking empire. Europe had been put upon the plains of Waterloo to be battled for. The greatest military energy and skill the world possessed had been tasked to the utmost during the day. Thrones were tottering on the ensanguined field, and the shadows of fugitive kings flitted through the smoke of battle. Bonaparte's star trembled in the zenith, now blazing out in its ancient splendor, now suddenly paling before his anxious eye.

At length, when the Prussians appeared on the field, he resolved to stake Europe on one bold throw. He committed himself and France to Ney, and saw his empire rest on a single charge. The intense anxiety with which he watched the advance of the column, the terrible suspense he suffered when the smoke of battle concealed it from sight, and the utter despair of his great heart when the curtain lifted over a fugitive army, and the despairing shriek rang out on every side, “ La garde recule, La garde recule," make us, for the moment, forget all the carnage, in sympathy with his distress.

Ney felt the pressure of the immense responsibility on his brave heart, and resolved not to prove unworthy

of the great trust committed to his care. Nothing could be more imposing than the movement of the grand column to the assault. That guard had never yet recoiled before a human foe; and the allied forces beheld with awe its firm and terrible advance to the final charge.

For a moment the batteries stopped playing, and the firing ceased along the British lines, as, without the beating of a drum, or the blast of a bugle, they moved in dead silence over the plain. The next moment the artillery opened, and the head of the gallant column seemed to sink down; yet they neither stopped nor faltered. Dissolving squadrons and whole battalions disappearing, one after another, in the destructive fire, affected not their steady courage. The ranks closed up as before, and each, treading over his fallen comrade, pressed firmly on. The horse which Ney rode fell under him, and he had scarcely mounted another, before it also sank to the earth. Again and again did that unflinching man feel his steed sink down, till five had been shot under him. Then, with his uniform riddled with bullets, and his face singed and blackened with powder, he marched on foot, with drawn sabre, at the head of his


In vain did the artillery hurl its storm of fire and lead into that living mass; up to the very muzzles they pressed, and, driving the artillerymen from their places, pushed on through the English lines. But at that moment a file of soldiers, who had lain flat on the ground behind a low ridge of earth, suddenly rose, and poured a volley into their very faces. Another and another followed, till one broad sheet of flame rolled on their bosoms, and in such a fierce and unexpected flow,

that human courage could not withstand it. They reeled, shook, staggered back, then turned and fled.

The fate of Napoleon was writ. The star that had blazed so brightly over the world went down in blood; and the Bravest of the Brave had fought his last battle. T. J. HEADLEY.


OFT I've heard a gentle mother,

As the twilight hours began,

Pleading with a son, of duty,
Urging him to be a man ;
But unto her blue-eyed daughter,
Though with love's words quite as ready,

Points she out this other duty,

“Strive, my dear, to be a lady."

What's a lady? Is it something
Made of hoops and silks and airs,
Used to decorate the parlor,

Like the fancy mats and chairs?
Is it one who wastes on novels
Every feeling that is human?
If 't is this to be a lady,

'T is not this to be a woman.

Mother, then, unto your daughter
Speak of something higher far
Than to be mere fashion's lady-
Woman is the brightest star.

If you in your strong affection
Urge your son to be a true man,
Urge your daughter no less strongly
To arise and be a woman.

Yes, a woman-brightest model
Of that high and perfect beauty
Where the mind and soul and body
Blend to work out life's great duty.
Be a woman! naught is higher
On the gilded list of fame;
On the catalogue of virtue

There's no brighter, holier name.

Be a woman! on to duty!

Raise the world from all that's low; Place high in the social heaven

Virtue's fair and radiant bow;

Lend thy influence to each effort

That shall raise our nature human;

Be not fashion's gilded lady,

Be a brave, whole-souled, true woman!

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AH, the buxom girls that helped the boys

The nobler Helens of humbler Troys

As they stripped the husks with rustling fold
From eight-rowed corn as yellow as gold,

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