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threshold ; indeed, I might as well be a slave at once-better, I should say. But, when I do go out, Mr. Caudle, I choose to go as a lady. Ugh, that rain—if it isn't enough to break in the windows.

“Ugh! I do look forward with dread for tomorrow. How I am to go to mother's I'm sure I can't tell. But, if I die I'll do it. No, osir, I won't borrow an umbrella. No; and you shan't buy one. Now, Mr. Caudle, only listen to this, if you bring home another umbrella, I'll throw it into the street. l'll have my own umbrella, or none at all.

'Ha! and it was only last week I had a nozzle put to that umbrella. I'm sure if I'd have known as much as I do now, it might have gone without one for me. Paying for new nozzles, for other people to laugh at you. Oh, it's all very well for you, you can go to sleep. You've no thought of your poor patient wife and your own dear children. You think of nothing but lending umbrellas.

'Men, indeed !-call themselves lords of creation !-pretty lords, when they can't even take care of an umbrella !

“I know that walk to-morrow will be the death of me. But that's what you want; then you may go to your club, and do as you like-and then nicely my poor dear children will be used; but then, sir, then you'll be happy. Oh, don't tell me! I know you will. Else you never would have lent that umbrella!

“You have to go on Thursday about that summons; and of course you can't go. No, indeed, you don't go without the umbrella. You may lose the debt for what I care-it won't be so much as spoiling your clothes-better lose it: people deserve to lose debts who lend umbrellas.

And I should like to know how I'm to go to mother's without the umbrella? Oh, don't tell me that I said I would go-that's nothing to do with it; nothing at all. She'll think I'm neglecting her, and the little money we were to have we shan't have at all-because we've no umbrella.

“The children, too! Dear things! They'll be sopping wet; for they shan't stay at home; they shan't lose their learning: it's all their father will leave 'em. I'm sure. But ADDRESS TO THE SOLDIERS.-By Rev. Jacob N. Munning,

SOLDIERS from the army and navy, once soldiers but now again citizens, we hail you to-day as our benefactors and deliverers. We welcome you home from the fatigues of the march, the wearisome camp, and the awful ecstacy of battle. Through four terrible years you have looked without quailing on the ghastly visage of war. You have patiently borne the bicats of summer and the frosts of winter. You have cheerfully exchanged the delights of home for the hardships of the campaign or blockade. Not only the armed fue, but the wasting malaria has lurked along your resistless advance. You know the agony and the transport of the deadly encounter. How many times, standing each man at his post in the long line of gleaming sahres and bayonets, every hand clenched and every eye distended, you have caught the peal of your leader's clarion, and sprung through the iron storm to the embrace of victory! But all that has passed away. The mangled forests are putting on an unwonted verdure, thu fields once blackened by the fiery breath of war are now covered with their softest bloom, and the vessels of commerce are riding on all the national waters.

The carnage, the groans, the cries for succor, the fierce onset and sullen recoil, the thunders of the artillery, and the missiles screaming like demons in the air, have given way to peans, civic processions and songs of thanksgiving. The flag of your country, so often rent and torn in your grasp, and which you have borne to triumph again and again, over the quaking earth or through the hurricane of death in river and bay, rolls out its peaceful folds above you, every star blazing with the glory of your deeds, in token of a nation's gratitude. We come forth to greet you--sires and matrons, youug men and maidens, children and those bowed with age; to own the vast debt which we can never pay, and to say, from full hearts, we thank you, God bless you!

But while we thus address you, you are thinking of the fallen. With a soldier's generosity you wish they could be here to share in the hard-carned welcome. Possibly they are here from many a grave in which you laid them after the strife ; pleased with these festivities, and with the return of joy to the nation, but far above any ability of ours either to bless or to injure. You may tarnish your laurels, or an envious hand may pluck them from you. But your fallen comrades are exposed to no such accident. They are doubly fortunate, for the same event which crowned them with honor has placed them beyond the possibility of losing their crown. Many of them died in the darkest hours of the republic; others in the early dawn of peace, while the morning star?


were singing together. But victory and defeat ::ke no differences among them now. They have all conquered in thio final triumph. Their names will thrill the coming ages, as they are spoken by the tongues of the eloquent; and their deeds will forever be chanted by immortal minstrels. They were together" brave men, who repose in the public monuments, all of whom alike, as being worthy of the same honor, the country buried, not alone the successful or victorious; any justly, for the duty of brave men done by all, their lortune being such as God assigned to each.''

“By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung;
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall a while repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there."


The days of June were nearly done;
The fields, with plenty overrun,
Were ripening 'neath the harvest sun,

In fruitful Pennsylvania!
Sang birds and children, "All is well!”
When, sudden, over hill and dell,
The gloom of coming battle fell

On peaceful Pennsylvania!
Through Maryland's historic land,
With boastsul tongue, and spoiling hand,
They burst-a fierce and faished band-

Right into Pennsylvania!
In Cumberland's romantic vale
Was heard the plundered farmer's wail,

The foe laughed out in open scorn;
For “Union men were coward-born,"
And then--they wanted all the corn

That grew in Pennsylvania!


It was the languid hour of noon,
When all the birds were out of tune,
And nature in a sultry swoon,

In pleasant Pennsylvania!
When, sudden o'er the slumbering plain,
Red flashed the battle's fiery rain;
The volleying cannon shook again

The hills of Pennsylvania! Beneath that curse of iron hail, That threshed the plain with flashing flail, Well might the stoutest soldier quail,

In echoing Pennsylvania!
Then, like a sudden summer rain,
Storm-driven o'er the darkened plain,
They burst upon our ranks and main

In startled Pennsylvania!
We felt the old ancestral thrill,
From sire to son transmitted still,
And fought for Freedom with a will,

In pleasant Pennsylvania!
The breathless shock-the maddened toil
The sudden clinch--the sharp recoil-
And we were masters of the soil,

In bloody Pennsylvania !
To westward fell the beaten foe;
The growl of battle, hoarse and low,
Was heard anon, but dying slow,

Iu ransomed Pennsylvania!
Sou’-westward, with the sinking sun,
The cloud of battle, dense and dun,
Flashed into fire-and all was won

In joyful Pennsylvania! But ah! the heaps of loyal slain ! The bloody toill the bitter pain! For those who shall not stand again

In pleasant Pennsylvania!


When he was invested with the command of West Point by Wash. ington, General Arnold entered into a secret correspondence with Sir Henry Clinton, and agreed that he would make a disposition of his forces which would enable the British general to surprise the post under such circumstances that the garrison must either lay down their arms, or be cut to picces.

THE plan is fixed; I fluctuate no more
Betwixt despair and hope. As leaves the shore
The hardy mariner, though adverse fate
May merge his bark, or cast him desolate
Upon a savage coast, so, wrought at last
Up to a frenzied purpose, I have passed
The Rubicon. Farewell my old renown!
Here I breathe mildew on my warrior crown;
Here honor parts from me, and base deceit
Steps to the usurper's throne; I cannot meet
The withering censure of the rebel band,
And, therefore, to the strong I yield this heart and hand.
What else befits me? I have misapplied
The nation's funds, and ever gratified
Each vaulting wish, tho' Justice wept the deed;
And here, beneath the load of pressing need,
I must have gold. How else the clamorous cry
Of creditors appease, and satisfy
Demands which liaunt me more than dreams of blood,
And claims which chill more than Canadian flood ?
Stay? My accounts betray the swindler's mark.
Go? And my path, though smooth, like Tartarus is dark.
These rocky ridges, how they shelve on higli,
Each a stern sentinel in majesty.
Yes, 'tis your own Gibraltar, Washington!
Aud must the strong hold of his hope be won ?
Won? Twenty thousand scarcely could invest
That sure defence, which o'er the river's breast
Casts a gigantic shadow; but my plan

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