The Last Reveille.

Headley states, in his History of Napoleon and His Marshals, that M'Donald, while crossing the Splugen Pass with his army of fifteen thousand men, lost nearly two hundred of them, many of whom were swept away by the avalanches. A drummer, whose fall over the precipice was broken by masses of snow, reached the bottom unharmed, and for one hour beat his drum rapidly for relief. But all in vain, and he survived his fall only to die a more cruel death of cold, famine and despair.

LD Splugen's brow grew dark with storms
As brave M'Donald's staggering line-

A mass of weary, war-worn forms—

Her snowy heights began to climb.

Still boldly pressed those columns on,

While storm and wind swept fiercely past,
And "Vive l'Empereur" rang out anon,
As if to taunt the Alpine blast.

But suddenly an awful form,

Like some snow-demon hidden there,
Plunged down the mountain 'mid the storm,
While shrieks of terror rent the air.

"An avalanche!" and with the word

Each struggling column felt the blow
Which fell unaimed, which struck unheard,
And hurled them to the gulf below.

From out the drifted mass of snow
A youthful drummer feebly crept,

For he unharmed received the blow,

While low in death his comrades slept.

Down deep amid those lifeless forms—
Alas! what power could aid him there?-
And 'mid the thunder-crash of storms

He beat his drum in wild despair.

The muffled sounds went ringing up
That awful precipice of snow,
While o'er despair à gleam of hope

Rose in the throbbing breast below.
Ah, how that desperate, vain appeal,

That touching, pleading, stirring call, Went piercing like a blade of steel

To hearts whose aid was powerless, all! And still he beat the hurried roll,

Still upward turned his pleading eye, For hope yet breathed within his soul,

"They will not leave you here to die." With eager gaze he scanned the steep,

While fearful anguish rent his soul, And then more loudly rang the beat Of that long, earnest, solemn roll. But soon the rapid strains grew less,

And then, without one pitying eye, Without one heart to cheer or bless,

The poor boy lay him down to die.
His dying strains more faintly rang,
His wail of. hopeless agony,

Then Alpine blasts his death-dirge sang—
He'd beaten his last reveille.

After Three years.

AM so happy! so happy!

My heart is as glad as a bird's,
And the cry of its wild, wild joy
I can scarce frame into words;

There's a thrill of glad exultation,

And a gush of thanks unto God, Who pitied me "like as a father"

When I bowed to the chastening rod, And gave me my gift from the altar Without requiring his blood.

I am so happy! so happy!

My heart is half wild with glee;

No more weary days of waiting,

No more nights of weeping for me,

For a manly form is beside me,

My head leans on a manly breast,
And the kiss of my soldier brother
On my quivering lips is pressed.

O God, I thank thee! I thank thee!
Thou hast guided him back to his rest.

I am so happy! so happy!

Brother, dear brother, the years

That have passed since we met are forgotten, With all their trials and tears,

It seems but yester' morning

That I kissed you "good-by" at the door; And now in the hush of evening

I welcome you home once more,
Just the same dear brown-cheeked brother
That I loved in the days of yore.

I am so happy! so happy!

Father, I trusted in thee,

And the truth of thy blessed promise
Thou hast sweetly fulfilled to me.
I thank thee, O God, for the trial

That taught me to leave all my care
At the mercy-seat of my Father,

Who helped me those trials to bear; I thank thee that danger and hardships Must yield to the power of prayer.

The Two Knapsacks.

IFE, do you hear the doves cooing out of the glen,
Above the whetting of scythes and the talk of the busy

men?

And into the chamber's shadows the afternoon sunshine

peers,

Through the curtaining scarlet creepers flinging its golden spears. So come the thoughts and the dreams of the days that forever are lost,

Cheering my old tired head so bowed with the slow years' frost,
Making less tedious the waiting for the call that not long will part
Us, who from life's spring to its autumn were one in life and heart.
Ruth, look how the rays gild the knapsacks hung by the door!
Loop up the curtains that I may behold them once more;
The one I bore in '12, through sunny weather and storm,
Under the brave old flag whose name makes my heart grow warm.

The other is little Robert's, my curly-haired, blue-eyed pet;
He is a man now, did you say? ah, yes, but I often forget;
When last at home I know he was tanned, bearded, and tall—
Hark! is' that not the echo of his free step in the hall?

Ah, how well I remember when he sat on my knee in the noon,
And answered the merry birds, piping through the sweet air of June
From the trees that were ruddy with cherries, and at dusk mocked
the low of the kine

As they came up the dewy lane, crushing out odors of thyme.