And the ancient Arrow-maker Those we love, and those who love us! And she follows where he leads her, Pleasant was the journey homeward Over wide and rushing rivers All the travelling winds went with them, O'er the meadow, through the forest; All the stars of night looked at them, Watched with sleepless eyes their slumber; Peeped the squirrel, Adjidaumo, Scampered from the path before them, Pleasant was the journey homeward! Having such a wife to love you!" From the sky the sun benignant From the sky the moon looked at them, Rule by patience, Laughing Water !" Thus it was they journeyed homeward; Thus it was that Hiawatha To the lodge of old Nokomis Brought the moonlight, starlight, firelight, EXCELSIOR.-By H. W. Longfellow. THE shades of night were falling fast, His brow was sad; his eye, beneath, And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, In happy homes he saw the light And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior! "Try not the pass!" the old man said; "Oh! stay," the maiden said, "and rest "Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! This was the per sant's last good-night;- At break of day, as heavenward A traveler,-by the faithful hound, There, in the twilight cold and gray, THE SONG OF SHERMAN'S ARMY.-By C. G. Ipina A PILLAR of fire by night, Some hours of march-then a halt to fight, Some hours of march-then a halt to fight, Over mountain and plain and stream, With out arms aflash in the morning beam, With our arms aflash in the morning beam, There is terror wherever we come, There is terror and wild dismay When they see the Old Flag and hear the drum When they see the Old Flag, and hear the drum Never unlimber a gun For those villanous lines in grey, Draw sabres! and at 'em upon the run! Draw sabres and soon you will see them run, The loyal, who long have been dumb, And the old men out on their crutches come, And the old men out on their crutches come, Around us in rear and flanks, With sixty-mile front of steady ranks, With a sixty-mile front of serried ranks, Hear the spattering fire that starts There is just enough fighting to quicken our hearts, There is just enough fighting to warm our hearts, As we rattle along the way. Upon different roads abreast The heads of our columns gay, Ah, traitors who bragged so bold Did nothing predict you should yet behold By heaven! 'tis a gala march, Of all our long war 'tis the crowning arch, Of all our long war this crowns the arch-- MR. PICKWICK'S ROMANTIC ADVENTURE WITH A "DEAR me, it's time to go to bed. It will never do, sitting here. I shall be pale to-morrow, Mr. Pickwick!" At the bare notion of such a calamity, Mr. Peter Magnus rang the bell for the chamber-maid; and the striped bag, the red bag, the leather hat-box, and the brown-paper parcel, having been conveyed to his bed-room, he retired in company with a japanned candlestick to one side of the house, while Mr. Pickwick, and another japanned candlestick, were conducted through a multitude of tortuous windings, to another. "This is your room, Sir," said the chamber-maid. "Very well," replied Mr. Pickwick, looking round him. It was a tolerably large double-bedded room, with a fire; upon the whole, a more comfortable-looking apartment than Mr. Pickwick's short experience of the accommodations of the Great White Horse had led him to expect. 66 "Nobody sleeps in the other bed, of course," said Mr. Pickwick. "Oh, no, Sir." "Very good. Tell my servant to bring me up some hot water at half-past eight in the morning, and that I shall not want him any more to-night." "Yes, Sir." And bidding Mr. Pickwick good-night, the chamber-maid retired, and left him alone, Mr. Pickwick sat himself down in a chair before the fire, and fell into a train of rambling meditations. First he thought of his friends, and wondered when they would join him; then his mind reverted to Mrs. Martha Bardell; and from that lady it wandered by a natural process, to the dingy counting-house of Dodson and Fogg. From Dodson and Fogg's it flew off at a tangent, to the very centre of the history of the queer client: and then it came back to the Great White Horse at Ipswich, with sufficient clearness to convince Mr. Pickwick that he was falling asleep; so he roused himself, and began to undress, when he recollected he had left his watch on the table down stairs. Now this watch was a special favorite with Mr. Pickwick, having been carried about, beneath the shadow of his waistcoat for a greater number of years than we feel called upon to state, at present. The possibility of going to sleep, unless it were ticking gently beneath his pillow, or in his watch-pocket over his Lead, had never entered Mr. Pickwick's brain. So as it was pretty late now, and he was unwilling to ring his bell at that hour of the night, he slipped on his coat, of which he had just divested himself, and taking the japanned candlestick in his hand, walked quietly down stairs. The more stairs Mr. Pickwick went down, the more stairs there scemed to be to descend, and again and again, when Mr. Pickwick got into some narrow passage, and began to congratulate himself |