"But, John, I can't leave baby."

child!" cried I;

"What! wife and

"Must I yield all! Ah, cruel fate! Better that I should

die.

Think of the long, sad, lonely hours, waiting in gloom for

me,

No wife to cheer me with her love, no babe to climb my

knee !

And yet you are her mother, and the sacred mother-love
Is still the purest, tenderest tie that Heaven ever wove.
Take her; but promise, Mary,—for that will bring no
shame,-

My little girl shall bear, and learn to lisp, her father's name!"

It may be, in the life to come, I'll meet my child and wife;
But yonder, by my cottage gate, we parted for this life;
One long hand-clasp from Mary, and my dream of love was
done!

One long embrace from baby, and my happiness was gone!

HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S.

Ir was long ago it happen'd, ere ever the signal gun
That blazed above Fort Sumpter had waken'd the North as

one;

Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire

Had mark'd where the unchain'd millions march'd on to their heart's desire.

On the roofs and the glittering turrets, that night, as the Sun went down,

The mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jewell'd crown; And, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted their

eyes,

They saw the pride of the city, the spire of St. Michael's

rise

High over the lesser steeples, tipp'd with a golden ball,

That hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward

fall,

First glimpse of home to the sailor who made the harbour

round,

And last slow-fading vision dear to the outward bound.

The gently gathering shadows shut out the waning light;
The children pray'd at their bedsides, as you will pray to-

night ;

The noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was gone; And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumber'd on.

But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping street; For a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of trampling

feet;

Men stared in each other's faces through mingled fire and

smoke,

While the frantic bells went clashing, clamorous stroke on stroke.

By the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless mother

fled,

With the babe she press'd to her bosom shrieking in nameless dread,

While the fire-king's wild battalions scaled wall and capstone

high,

And planted their flaring banners against an inky sky.

From the death that raged behind them, and the crash of ruin

loud,

To the great square of the city were driven the surging

crowd;

Where yet, firm in all the tumult, unscathed by the fiery flood,

With its heavenward-pointing finger the Church of St. Michael stood.

But e'en as they gazed upon it there rose a sudden wail,
A cry of horror, blended with the roaring of the gale,
On whose scorching wings up-driven, a single flaming brand
Aloft on the towering steeple clung like a bloody hand.

"Will it fade?" The whisper trembled from a thousand whitening lips;

Far out on the lurid harbour, they watch'd it from the ships,

A baleful gleam that brighter and ever brighter shone,

Like a flickering, trembling will-o'-wisp to a steady beacon

grown.

"Uncounted gold shall be given to the man whose brave right hand,

For the love of the perill'd city, plucks down yon burning brand!"

So cried the mayor of Charleston, that all the people heard ; But they look'd each one at his fellow; and no man spoke a

word.

Who is it leans from the belfry, with face upturn'd to the

sky,

Clings to a column, and measures the dizzy spire with his

eye?

Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible sickening

height?

Or will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins at the

sight?

But, see! he has stepp'd on the railing; he climbs with his feet and his hands;

And firm on a narrow projection, with the belfry beneath him, he stands;

Now once, and once only, they cheer him, a single tempestuous breath,

And there falls on the multitude gazing a hush like the stillness of death.

Slow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the goal of

the fire,

Still higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face of the spire.

He stops! Will he fall? Lo! for answer, a gleam like a meteor's track,

And, hurl'd on the stones of the pavement, the red brand lies shatter'd and black.

Once more the shouts of the people have rent the quivering air:

At the church-door mayor and council wait with their feet on the stair;

And the eager throng behind them press for a touch of his

hand,

The unknown hero, whose daring could compass a deed so

grand.

But why does a sudden tremor seize on them while they

gaze?

And what meaneth that stifled murmur of wonder and

amaze?

He stood in the gate of the temple he had perill'd his life

to save;

And the face of the hero undaunted was the sable face of a slave.

With folded arms he was speaking, in tones that were clear,

not loud,

And his eyes, ablaze in their sockets, burnt into the eyes of the crowd:

"You may keep your gold; I scorn it!—but answer me, ye who can,

If the deed I have done before you be not the deed of a man?"

He stepp'd but a short space backward; and from all the women and men

There were only sobs for answer; and the mayor call'd for

a pen,

And the great seal of the city, that he might read who ran : And the slave who saved St. Michael's went out from its

door, a man.

OURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT.

ROSE A. HARTWICK THORPE.

ENGLAND'S Sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away, Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day; And the last rays kiss'd the forehead of a man and maiden

fair,

He with step so slow and weaken'd, she with sunny, floating

hair;

He with sad bow'd head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold and white,

Struggling to keep back the murmur, "Curfew must not ring to-night."

66

Sexton,' Bessie's white lips falter'd, pointing to the prison old,

With its walls so dark and gloomy, walls so dark and damp

"I've a lover in that prison, doom'd this very night to die At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. Cromwell will not come till sunset"; and her face grew strangely white,

As she spoke in husky whispers, "Curfew must not ring tonight."

"Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton, every word pierced her young heart

Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly poison'd

"Long, long years I've rung the Curfew from that gloomy shadow'd tower;