THE BEGGAR'S DEATH SCENE.

BY MISS 8. C. EDGARTON.

HIGH stream the crimson banners of the west
Over the monarch, sinking to his rest;
Purple and scarlet, royal blue and gold,
Droop o'er his couch in many a heavy fold;
The moon dips low her silver horn to shed
Soft, dreamy rays upon her sovereign's head;
And brooks, and birds, and breezes sweetly sing
Their low-toned vespers round the slumbering king.

One parting glance the weary day-god throws;
See! How along the mountain ridge it glows,
Shoots through the forest aisles, transmutes the rills,
And kindles up the old rock-crested hills!
It falls upon a peaceful woodland scene-
It lights the moaning brook and banks of green,
Streams o'er the Beggar's long, loose, silvery hair,
Who, dying, lies upon the greensward there!

All day in weakness, weariness, and pain,

The old Man 'neath those drooping boughs hath lain;
The birds above him singing, and the breeze
Rustling th' abundant foliage of the trees;

The wildflowers o'er him bending, and the air Stroking with gentle touch his long white hair; The bees around him murmuring, and the stream Mingling its music with his dying dream.

O, many a morn those forest arches dim
Have echoed back his old, majestic hymn;

And many an eve the breeze that stroked his hair
Hath borne to Heaven his low, confiding prayer!
No ostentation in such worship, paid

In the lone silence of the deep green shade;

Where none could hear but God, and none could see But the still flowers and the o'ershadowing tree!

Upon those cheeks, so withered, pale, and lean,
Some tears the woodland solitudes have seen;
But smiles were more familiar there, and proved
The sweetness of a heart that served and loved.
Now tears and smiles alike had passed away;
Solemn, yet beautiful, the old man lay,
His eyes serenely gazing on the sky,
His pale hands folded—ready thus to die.

A vision blessed him! Through his silver hair
He felt the touch of fingers, soft and fair,
And o'er him flowed the glory of an eye
Outshining all the blueness of the sky.
'Sweet, sainted One! and dost thou love me yet?
I knew, I knew thou couldst not quite forget!
I knew, I knew that thou wouldst come at last
To kiss my lips and tell me all is past!'

A glow of transport lit his closing eye;
He raised his arms exulting toward the sky;
A rosy tint like morning's earliest streak
Flushed in celestial softness o'er his cheek,
Then paled away; the sunbeam too that shone
Upon his reverend head had softly gone.

Then stooped the vision, clasped him to her breast,
And bore his spirit up to endless rest.

There was no tolling of church-bells that hour;
No funeral banner waved from hill or tower;
Far in the forest loneliness away,
Unwept of men, the ruined temple lay.
O, what would all earth's pageantries avail
The spirit whom the harps of angels hail!
The solemn dirge, the dismal knell were vain
To him who lives and clasps his love again!

That night the stars were watchers of the dead!
That night a snowy shroud of flowers was spread
By the soft breezes o'er his still, cold breast.
No breaking sobs disturbed the sleeper's rest.

O, who will miss the old Man from the earth?

None, save the winds and stars; though at some hearth

Some voice may say, 'I have not seen, of late,

The old gray Beggar standing at our gate!'

TRUE AND FALSE AMBITION.

AMBITION is but a desire of being more or having more-a desire for personal aggrandizement, whether as regards wealth, worth, or distinction. It is a wish to become greater-no matter in what that greatness is to consist.

Looking at it abstractedly, therefore, it is not only a mighty, but a noble and glorious element of man's nature. It tends to assimilate him more to that high principle of perfection from whence he sprungit leads him onward and upward, and represses every downward tendency. It is not a godlike attribute, for gods are perfect and can have no greater height to aspire to, but in so much as it tends to lead humanity onward to divinity, insomuch as it renders man greater and better, insomuch as it acts within him as a perpetual and never-dying stimulus, still urging him on untiringly upon a noble career taking heed of resting not a moment to enjoy inactively the station which it has attained, but

no obstruction

ever looking forward to that final end of all imperfect beings, perfection, and brooking not to be content with any prize short of that glorious consummation in so far is it an element of character of which no man should be ashamed, but which he should cherish as the preservative of the present and the hewer-out of every future possession.

But ambition acts blindly, and requires direction and control. Give rein to it, and it not only invades the rights of others, but it also defeats its own ends; for have we not often heard of that 'vaulting ambition which o'erleaps itself and falls o' th' other side,' and have we not again and again seen its self-destroying effects?-but let it be directed by a wise and honest judgment, and where is there a more redeeming and renovating tendency to be found, though you search through all the realms of human mind?

Where is the widest field for the exercise of ambition? Where can it be used to the greatest advantage? How can it be so used as to produce the greatest and most beneficial results? Answer these questions, and the distinction between true and false ambition at once becomes clear and simple-the whole difficulty vanishes away, like falsehood when exposed to the burning rays of truth.