Such sounds can startle them, but not dismay.
Alas! Those strains of music which of yore

Could rouse their hearts, are felt by them no more.
When the last echo of the song had died
And all was silent on the Northern side,

There came from Southern hill, with gentle swell,
The air of "Dixie" which was loved so well
By every man that wore the coat of gray,
And is revered and cherished to this day.
"In Dixie's Land" they swore to live and die,
That was their watchword, that their battle-cry.
Then rose on high the wild Confederate yell,
Resounding over every hill and dell.

Cheer after cheer went up that starry night
From men as brave as ever saw the light.
Now all is still. Each side has played its part.
How simple songs will fire a soldier's heart.
But hark! O'er Rappahannock's stream there floats
Another tune; but ah! how sweet the notes.
Not such as lash men's passions into foam,
But-richest gem of song "Tis "Home, Sweet Home!"
Played by the band, it reached the very soul,
And down the veteran's cheeks the tear-drop stole.
On either side the stream, from North and South,
Men who would march up to the cannon's mouth,
Wept now like children. Tender hearts and true
Were beating 'neath those coats of gray and blue.
The sentry stopped and rested on his gun,
While back to home his thoughts unhindered run.
He thought of loving wife and children there
Deprived of husband's and of father's care.
And stripling lads, scarce strong enough to bear

The weight of saber or of knapsack, tried

To stop their tears with foolish, boyish pride.
They might as well have sought to stop the tide!
Through both those hostile camps the music stole
And stirred each soldier to his inmost soul.
From North and South, in sympathy, there rose
A shout tremendous; forgetting they were foes,
Both armies joined and shouted with one voice
That seemed to make the very heavens rejoice.

Sweet music's power. One chord doth make us wild.
But change the strain, we weep as little child.
Touch yet another, men charge the battery-gun,
And by those martial strains a victory's won!
But there's one strain that friends and foes will win,
One magic touch that makes the whole world kin:
No heart so cold, but will, tho far it roam,
Respond with tender thrill to "Home, Sweet Home!"

DEATH OF LITTLE JO

BY CHARLES DICKENS

"Well, Jo, what is the matter? Don't be frightened.

"I thought," says Jo, who has started and is looking round, "I thought I was in Tom-all-Alone's agin. Ain't there nobody here but you, Mr. Woodcot?"

"Nobody."

"And I ain't took back to Tom-all-Alone's, am I, sir?'' "No."

Jo closes his eyes, muttering, "I am wery thankful."

After watching him closely, a little while, Allan puts his mouth very near his ear, and says to him in a low, distinct voice:

· ? ;,

"Jo, did you ever know a prayer? "Never know'd nothink, sir."

"Not so much as one short prayer?"

"No, sir. Nothink at all. Mr. Chadbands he wos aprayin' wunst at Mr. Sangsby's and I heerd him, but he sounded as if he wos a-speakin' to hisself and not to me. He prayed a lot, but I couldn't make out nothink on it. Different times there wos other gen 'l'men come down to Tom-all-Alone's a-prayin', but they all mostly sed as the t'other wuns prayed wrong, and all mostly sounded to be a-talkin' to theirselves or a-passin' blame on the t'others, and not a-talkin' to us. We never know'd nothink. I never know'd what it wos all about."

It takes him a long time to say this; and few but an experienced and attentive listener could hear, or hearing, understand him. After a short relapse into sleep or stupor, he makes, of a sudden, a strong effort to get out of bed. "Stay, Jo, stay! What now?"

"It's time for me to go to that there buryin'-ground, sir," he returns with a wild look.

"Lie down and tell me. What burying-ground, Jo?" "Where they laid him as was wery good to me; wery good to me indeed, he wos. It's time for me to go down to that there buryin'-ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I wants to go there and be buried. He used fur to say to me, 'I am as poor as you to-day, Jo,' he ses. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him, now, and have come there to be laid along with him."

"By and by, Jo; by and by.'

"Ah! P'r'aps they wouldn't do it if I wos to go myself. But will you promise to have me took there, sir, and laid along with him?"

"I will, indeed."

"Thankee, sir! thankee, sir! They'll have to get the key of the gate afore they can take me in, for it's allus locked. And there's a step there, as I used fur to clean with my broom. It's turned wery dark, sir. Is there any light acomin'?"

"It is coming fast, Jo."

Fast. The cart is shaken all to pieces, and the rugged road is very near its end.

"Jo, my poor fellow!"

"I hear you, sir, in the dark, but I'm a-gropin'-agropin'-let me catch hold of your hand."

"Jo, can you say what I say?"

"I'll say anythink as you say, sir, for I knows it's good." "Our Father."

"Our Father!-Yes, that's wery good, sir.”

"Which art in heaven!"

"Art in heaven!-Is the light a-comin', sir?"

"It is close at hand. Hallowed be Thy name." "Hallowed be-Thy-name!"

The light is come upon the dark, benighted way-dead! Dead! your majesty-dead! my lords and gentlemendead! right reverends and wrong reverends of every order -dead! men and women, born with heavenly compassion in your hearts—and dying thus around us every day.

THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM

BY JANE TAYLOR

An old clock, that had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen, without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer's morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped. Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm; the hands made a vain effort to continue their course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung speechless; each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the stagnation; when hands, wheels, weights, with one voice protested their innocence.

But now a faint tick was heard below from the pendulum, who thus spoke: "I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged that it was on the very point of striking. "Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands.

"Very good!" replied the pendulum, "it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as everybody knows, set yourself up above me—it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness!-you, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life but to stare people in the face, and amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and to wag backward and forward, year after year, as I do."