To the Islands of the Blessed.
From his door-way Hiawatha
Saw it burning in the forest,
Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks;
From his sleepless bed uprising,
From the bed of Minnehaha,

Stood and watch'd it at the door-way,
That it might not be extinguish'd,
Might not leave her in the darkness.

"Farewell!" said he,

"Minnehaha ;

Farewell, O my Laughing Water!
All my heart is buried with you,
All my thoughts go onward with you!
Come not back again to labour,
Come not back again to suffer,
Where the Famine and the Fever
Wear the heart and waste the body.
Soon my task will be completed,
Soon your footsteps I shall follow
To the Islands of the Blessèd,
To the Kingdom of Ponemah,
To the Land of the Hereafter!"

HAVE

KATE SHELLY.

EUGENE J. HALL.

you heard how a girl saved the lightning express, Of Kate Shelly, whose father was kill'd on the road?

Were he living to-day, he'd be proud to possess

Such a daughter as Kate. Ah! 'twas grit that she show'd On that terrible evening when Donahue's train

Jump'd the bridge and went down, in the darkness and rain!

She was only eighteen, but a woman in size,

With a figure as graceful and lithe as a doe; With peach-blossom cheeks, and with violet eyes, And teeth and complexion like new-fallen snow;

With a nature unspoil'd and unblemish'd by art,
With a generous soul, and a warm, noble heart!

'Tis evening; the darkness is dense and profound:
Men linger at home by their bright-blazing fires;
The wind wildly howls with a horrible sound,

And shrieks through the vibrating telegraph wires;
The fierce lightning flashes along the dark sky;
The rain falls in torrents; the river rolls by.

The scream of a whistle! the rush of a train !
The sound of a bell! a mysterious light
That flashes and flares through the fast-falling rain!
A rumble! a roar! shrieks of human affright!
The falling of timbers! the space of a breath!
A splash in the river! then darkness and death!

Kate Shelly recoils at the terrible crash;

The sounds of destruction she happens to hear ;
She springs to the window, she throws up the sash,
And listens and looks, with a feeling of fear:
The tall tree-tops groan, and she hears the faint cry
Of a drowning man down in the river near by!
Her heart feebly flutters, her features grow wan;
And then through her soul in a moment there flies
A forethought that gives her the strength of a man:
She turns to her trembling old mother and cries,
"I must save the express; 'twill be here in an hour!"
Then out through the door disappears in the shower.

She flies down the track through the pitiless rain;
She reaches the river; the water below

Whirls and seethes through the timbers. She shudders again : "The bridge! To Moingona God help me to go!"

Then closely about her she gathers her gown,

And on the wet ties with a shiver sinks down.

Then carefully over the timber she creeps

On her hands and her knees, almost holding her breath.
The loud thunder peals and the wind wildly sweeps,
And struggles to hurry her downward to death;
But the thought of the train to destruction so near
Removes from her soul every feeling of fear.

With the blood dripping down from each torn, bleeding limb,
Slowly over the timbers her dark way she feels;
Her fingers grow numb and her head seems to swim ;

Her strength is fast failing; she staggers, she reels,
She falls! Ah! the danger is over at last,

Her feet touch the earth, and the long bridge is pass'd!

In an instant new life seems to come to her form;
She springs to her feet and forgets her despair:
On, on to Moingona! She faces the storm,

She reaches the station - the keeper is there.
"Save the lightning express! No,
There's death on the bridge at the river to-night!"

hang out the red light!

Out flashes the signal-light, rosy and red;

Then sounds the loud roar of the swift-coming train, The hissing of steam; and there, brightly ahead,

The gleam of a headlight illumines the rain.

"Down brakes!" shrieks the whistle, defiant and shrill: She heeds the red signal, she slackens! she's still!

Ah! noble Kate Shelly, your mission is done;

Your deed that dark night will not fade from our gaze;
An endless renown you have worthily won:

Let the Nation be just, and accord you its praise;
Let your name, let your fame, and your courage declare
What a woman can do, and a woman can dare.

THE GAMBLER'S WIFE.

R. COATES.

DARK is the night, how dark! No light, no fire!
Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire!
Shivering, she watches by the cradle-side

For him who pledged her love, — last year a bride!

"Hark! 'tis his footstep. No! 'tis past, 'tis gone!”
Tick, tick!"How wearily the time crawls on!
Why should he leave me thus? He once was kind;
And I believed 'twould last! - How mad, how blind!

"Rest thee, my babe, rest on! - 'Tis hunger's cry: Sleep! for there is no food, - the fount is dry:

Famine and cold their wearying work have done:
My heart must break! And thou!”.

the clock strikes one.

"Hush! 'tis the dice-box! Yes, he's there, he's there!
For this, for this he leaves me to despair!

Leaves love, leaves truth, his wife, his child! for what?
The wanton's smile, the villain, — and the sot!

Yet I'll not curse him: no! 'tis all in vain :
'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again;
And I could starve, and bless him, but for you,

My child! his child! O fiend!"— The clock strikes two.

"Hark, how the sign-board creaks! The blast howls by. Moan! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky. Ha, 'tis his knock! he comes! - he comes once more!" 'Tis but the lattice flaps :- thy hope is o'er.

"Can he desert us thus ?

He knows I stay, Night after night, in loneliness, to pray

For his return,

and yet he sees no tear.

No, no! it cannot be: he will be here!

Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart!

Thou'rt cold! thou'rt freezing! But we will not part.
Husband! I die! - Father! -It is not he!

O God, protect my child!"-The clock strikes three.

They're gone, they're gone! the glimmering spark hath fled: The wife and child are number'd with the dead:

On the cold hearth, outstretch'd in solemn rest,

The babe lay frozen, on its mother's breast.

The gambler came at last,

but all was o'er;

:

Dread silence reign'd around:

- the clock struck four!

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JOHN MAYNARD, THE HERO-PILOT.

JOHN B. GOUGH.

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JOHN MAYNARD was well known in the Lake district as a God-fearing, honest, intelligent man. He was a pilot on a steamer from Detroit to Buffalo, one summer afternoon. At that time those steamers seldom carried boats. Smoke was seen ascending from below, and the captain called out, Simpson, go down and see what that smoke is." Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, Captain, the ship is on fire!" Then, "Fire! fire! fire! fire on shipboard!" All hands were called up. Buckets of water were dashed upon the fire, but in vain. There were large quantities of rosin and tar on board, and it was useless to attempt to save the ship. Passengers rushed forward and inquired of the pilot, "How far are we from Buffalo?" "Seven miles." "How long before we reach it?" Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam." Is there Danger here, any danger?" see the smoke bursting out! Go forward, if you would save your lives!" gers and crew, men, women, and children, crowded the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire, clouds of smoke arose; the captain cried out through his trumpet, "John Maynard!' Ay, ay, sir.” "Are you at the helm?" “Ay, ay, sir.” "How does she head?"

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Passen

Southeast by

east, sir." "Head her southeast and run her on shore." Nearer, nearer, yet nearer she approached the shore. Again the captain cried out, "John Maynard!" The response came feebly," Ay, ay, sir." "Can you hold on five minutes longer, John?" By God's help I can." The old man's hair was scorched from the scalp; one hand disabled, his knee upon the stanchion, and his teeth set, with his other hand upon the wheel, he stood firm as a rock. He beached the ship, — every man, woman, and child was saved, as John Maynard dropped, and his spirit took its flight to his God.