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ground with bleeding blue and gray. Doubtful the battle hung and paused. Then a formidable bolt of war was forged on yonder wooded height, and launched with withering blasts and roar of fire against the foe. It reached and pierced the flaming line of the embattled blue. It was the supreme moment of the peril of the Union-the heroic crisis of the war. But the fiery force was spent. In one last wild tumultuous struggle, brave men dashed headlong against men as brave, and the next moment that awful bolt of daring courage was melted in the fervent heat of an equal valor, and the battle of Gettysburg was fought.

If the rising sun of the 4th of July, 1863, looked upon a sad and unwonted scene, a desolated battlefield, upon which the combatants upon either side had been American citizens, yet those combatants, could they have seen aright, would have hailed that day as more glorious than ever before. For from that smoking and blood-drenched field, they would have seen a more perfect union arising, with the Constitution at last immutably interpreted, and they would have heard anew the immortal pledge-government of the people, for the people, by the people, shall not perish from the earth.

The great question was settled. Other questions indeed remain which will greatly try our wisdom and our patriotism. But they will be appealed to the ordeal of battle no more, they will be settled in those peaceful, popular and parliamentary contentions which befit a patriotic and intelligent republican people. Then indeed the fleeting angel of this hour and the hallowed spirits of this consecrated ground will have yielded their most precious benediction; and in the field of Gettysburg as we now behold it, the blue and the gray blending in happy harmony, like the mingling hues of the summer landscape, we may see the radiant symbol of the triumphant America of our pride, our hope, and our joy.-George William Curtis.

JACK FROST'S LITTLE SISTER.

This morning when all the rest had gone down,
I stood by the window to see

The beautiful pictures which there in the night
Jack Frost had been making for me.

There were mountains and mills and bridges and boats,

Some queer-looking houses and trees,

A hammock that swung by itself in the air,
And a giant cut off at the knees.

Then there was a steeple so crooked and high,
I was thinking it surely must fall,

When right down below it I happened to spy
The loveliest thing of them all —

The cutest and cunningest dear little girl,
I looked at her hard as I could;

And she stood there so dainty, and looked back at

me

In a little white ulster and hood.

"Good morning," I whispered, for all in a flash
I knew 'twas Jack Frost's little sister;

I was so glad to have her come visiting me,
I reached up quite softly and kissed her.

There can you believe it?-the darling was gone,
Killed dead in that one little minute!

I never once dreamed that a kiss would do that,
Nor could there be any harm in it.

But I am so sorry! for though I have looked
Fifty times at the window since then,
Half hoping to see her once more, yet I know
She never can come back again.

And it may be foolish, but all through the day
I have felt-and I knew that I should-
Just as if I had killed her, that dear baby-girl
In a little white ulster and hood.

Youth's Companion.

A DEMOCRACY HATEFUL TO PHILIP.

There are those among you, Athenians, who think to confound a speaker by asking him, "What, then, is to be done?" To which I might reply, "Nothing that you are doing; everything that you leave undone !" And it would be an apt, a true reply. But I will be more explicit, and may these men, so ready to question, be equally ready to act!

In the first place, Athenians, admit the incontestable fact that Philip has violated his treaties and declared war against you. On that point let us have no further crimination or recrimination. And then

admit the fact that he is the mortal enemy of Athens, of its very soil, of all within its walls-ay, of those even who most flatter themselves that they are high in his good graces. What Philip most fears and abhors is our liberty, our free democratic system. For the destruction of that all his snares are laid, all his projects are shaped.

Is he not consistent in this? Truly, he is well aware that though he should subjugate all the rest of Greece, his conquest would be insecure so long as your democracy should stand. Well does he know that should he experience one of those reverses to which the lot of humanity is so liable, it would be into your arms that all of those nations now forcibly held under his yoke would rush. Is there a tyrant to drive back? Athens is in the field! Is there a people to be enfranchised? Lo. Athens, prompt to aid! What wonder, then, that Philip should be impatient so long as Athenian liberty is a spy upon his evil days? Be sure, O my countrymen, that Philip

is your irreconcilable foe; that it is against Athens he musters all his armaments; against Athens all his schemes are laid.

What, then, as wise men convinced of these truths, ought you to do? What but to shake off your fatal lethargy, contribute according to your means, summon your allies to contribute and take measures to maintain the troops already under arms, so that if Philip has an army prepared to attack and subjugate all the Greeks, you may have an army ready to succor them and to save? Tell me not of the trouble and expense which this will involve. I grant it all. But consider the dangers that beset you, and how much you will be the gainers by engaging heartily at once in the general cause.

Verily, should some god assure you that however inert and unconcerned you might remain, yet in the end you should not be molested by Philip, still it would be ignominious (bear witness, Heaven !), it would be beneath you, beneath the dignity of your State, beneath the glory of your ancestors, to sacrifice to your own selfish repose the interests of all the rest of Greece. Rather would I perish than recommend such a course. Let some other man urge it upon you, if he will; and listen to him, ye, if you can!

But if my sentiments are yours, if you foresee, as I do, that the more we leave Philip to extend his conquests, the more we are fortifying an enemy whom, sooner or later, we must cope with, why do you hesitate? What wait you? When will you put forth your strength? Wait you the constraint of necessity? What necessity? Can there be a more pressing one for freemen than the prospect of dishonor? Do you wait for that? It is here already; it presses, it weighs on us even now. Now, did I say? Long since was it before us, face to face. Truly, there is still another necessity in reserve-the necessity of slaves-subjugation, blows, and stripes. Wait you for them? The gods forbid! The very words are in this place an indignity!-Demosthenes.

THE END OF THE PLAY.

The play is done the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter's bell;
A moment yet the actor stops,

And looks around to say farewell.
It is an irksome word and task;

And when he's laughed and said his say, He shows, as he removes the mask, A face that's anything but gay.

One word ere yet the evening ends-
Let's close it with a parting rhyme,
And pledge a hand to all young friends,
As fits the merry Christmas-time;
On life's wide scene you, too, have parts
That fate ere long shall bid you play;
Good night!-with honest, gentle hearts,
A kindly greeting go alway!

Good night!-I'd say, the griefs, the joys,
Just hinted in this mimic page,
The triumphs and defeats of boys,
Are but repeated in our age;
I'd say your woes were not less keen,

Your hopes more vain than those of men

Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen

At forty-five played o'er again.

I'd say we suffer and we strive

Not less, nor more, as men than boys-
With grizzled beards at forty-five
As erst at twelve in corduroys;

And if, in time of sacred youth,

We learned at home to love and pray,

Pray Heaven that early love and truth
May never wholly pass away.

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