tainment of the bridal guests, no one could fail to read that he, too, had determined to banish the enemy at once and forever from his princely home.

Those who were present at that wedding can never forget the impressions so solemnly made. Many from that hour renounced forever the social glass.

THE CHRISTMAS-TREE.-Carrier's Address, Philadelphia Post.
Hurra! hurra! for the Christmas-tree,
May it flourish for aye in its greenery.

When the winter comes with its whitening snow,
How proudly the Christmas-tree doth grow!
It spreadeth its boughs so broad and so fair,
And jolly and gay are the fruits they bear.

Then hurra! hurra! for the Christmas-tree;
Hurra! hurra! for its mirth and glee;
When forests of oak have passed from the land,
The jolly old Christmas-tree shall stand.
There are wonderful plants far over the sea,
But what are they all to the Christmas-tree?
Does the oak bear candies, the palm-tree skates.?
But sugar-plums, trumpets, doll-babies, slates,
Picture-books, elephants, soldiers, cows,
All grow at once on the Christmas-tree boughs.
Then hurra! hurra! for the Christmas-tree;
Hurra! hurra! for its mirth and glee;

When forests of oak have passed from the land,
The jolly old Christmas-tree shall stand.

Oh, many the homes it hath happy made,
When the little ones under its leaves have played;
Oh, sweet are the pleasures around it that spring,
And dear are the thoughts of the past they bring.
Then long may it flourish, and green may it be,
The merry, mighty old Christmas-tree.

Hurra! hurra! for the Christmas-tree;
Long shall it flourish, green shall it be;
When forests have passed away from the land,
The jolly old Christmas-tree shall stand.

BARBARA FRIETCHIE.

JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.

Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn,
The clustered spires of Frederick stand,
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
Round about them orchards sweep,
Apple and peach tree fruited deep,
Fair as a garden of the Lord

To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,
On that pleasant morn of the early fall,
When Lee marched over the mountain-wall-
Over the mountains, winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town.

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars,
Flapped in the morning wind; the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten;
Bravest of all in Frederick town,

She took up the flag the men hauled down;
In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet.

Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead.

Under his slouched hat, left and right,
He glanced-the old flag met his sight:
"Halt !"-the dust-brown ranks stood fast;
"Fire!"-out blazed the rifle-blast;

It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash.
Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;

She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will:

"Shoot, if you must, this old gray head,
But spare your country's flag!" she said.
A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came;
The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman's deed and word:
"Who touches a hair of yon gray head
Dies like a dog! March on!" he said.
All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet;
All day long that free flag tossed
Over the heads of the rebel host.
Ever its torn folds rose and fell

On the loyal winds that loved it well;
And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night.
Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er,

And the rebel rides on his raids no more.

Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.

Over Barbara Friefchie's grave,
Flag of freedom and union, wave!

Peace, and order, and beauty, draw
Round thy symbols of light and law;
And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!

DEATH OF LITTLE NELL.-From the Old Curiosity Shop.

CHARLES DICKENS.

By little and little the old man had drawn back toward the inner chamber while these words were spoken. He pointed there as he replied, with trembling lips,

"You plot among you to wean my heart from her. You will never do that-never while I have life. I have no relative or friend but her-I never had-I never will have. She is all in all to me. It is too late to part us now."

Waving them off with his hand, and calling softly to her as he went, he stole into the room. They who were left behind drew close together, and, after a few whispered words -not unbroken by emotion or easily uttered — followed him. They moved so gently that their footsteps made no noise, but there were sobs from among the group, and sounds of grief and mourning.

For she was dead. There, upon her little bed, she lay at rest. The solemn stillness was no marvel now.

She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life-not one who had lived and suffered death.

Her couch was dressed with, here and there, some winter berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. "When I die, put near me something that bas loved the light, and had the sky above it always." These were her words.

She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little bird-a poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed-was stirring nimbly in its cage, and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever.

Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings, and fatigues? All gone. His was the true death before their eyes. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect happiness were born, imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose.

And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes; the old fireside had smiled on that same sweet face; it had passed like a dream through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening-before the furnace-fire on the cold, wet night-at the still, dying boy, there had been the same mild, lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death.

The old man held one languid arm in his, and kept the small hand tight folded to his breast, for warmth. It was the hand she had stretched out to him with her last smilethe hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he pressed it to his lips, then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now-and, as he said it, he looked in agony to those who stood around, as if imploring them to help her.

She was dead, and past all help, or need of it. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was ebbing fast-the garden she had tended—the eyes she had gladdened-the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour-the paths she had trodden as if it were but yesterday, could know her no more.

"It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on her cheek, and gave his tears free vent, "it is not in this world that heaven's justice ends. Think what it is compared with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish, expressed in solemn terms above this bed, could call her back to life, which of us would utter it !"

KATIE LEE AND WILLIE GRAY.

Two brown heads with tossing curls,
Red lips shutting over pearls,
Bare feet, white, and wet with dew,
Two eyes black, and two eyes blue-
Little boy and girl were they,
Katie Lee and Willie Gray.

They were standing where a brook,
Bending like a shepherd's crook,
Flashed its silver, and thick ranks
Of willow fringed its banks-
Half in thought and half in play,
Katie Lee and Willie Gray.

They had cheeks like cherries red;
He was taller 'most a head;