THE THREE FISHERS.-CHARLES KINGSLEY. Three fishers went sailing out into the west- Each thought of the woman who loved him the best, And there's little to earn, and many to keep, Three wives sat up in the light-house tower, And trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shower, Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the women are weeping and wringing their hands, COUNT CANDESPINA'S STANDARD.-GEO, H. BOKER. "The King of Aragon now entered Castile, by way of Soria and Osma, with a powerful army; and, having been met by the queen's forces, both parties encamped near Sepulveda, and prepared to give battle. "This engagement, called, from the field where it took place, (de la Espina,) ix one of the most famous of that age. The dastardly Count of Lara fled at the first shock, and joined the queen at Burgos, where she was anxiously awaiting the 1s sue; but the brave Count of Candespina (Gomez Gonzalezi stood his ground te the last, and died on the field of battle. His standard-bearer, a gentleman of the house of Olea, after having his horse killed under him, and both hands cut of by sabre-strokes, fell beside his master, still clasping the standard in his arms and repeating his war-cry of ' Olea!'”—ANNALS OF THE QUEENS OF SPAIN. Scarce were the splintered lances dropped, Ere recreant Lara, sick with fear, His courser reared, and plunged, and neighed, But the coward spurred him to the bone, Gonzalez in his stirrups rose: Turn, turn, thou traitor knight! But vainly valiant Gomez cried "Now, by the God above me, sirs, "Yet ye who fear to follow me, "Olea, plant my standard here- Here raise the war-cry of thy house, 66 'Forget not, as thou hop'st for grace, The last care I shall have Will be to hear thy battle-cry, And see that standard wave." Down on the ranks of Aragon Gave ground before the foe; And not an inch of the field was won From the widowed wives of Aragon, Backward and backward Gomez fought, And high o'er the clashing steel, Plainer and plainer rose the cry, "Olea for Castile!" Backward fought Gomez, step by step, Till the cry was close at hand, Till his dauntless standard shadowed him; And there he made his stand. Mace, sword, and axe rang on his mail, As, pierced with countless wounds, he fell, And he smiled, like an infant hushed asleep, To hear the battle-cry. Now one by one the wearied knights Have fallen, or basely flown; And on the mound where his post was fixed Olea stood alone. "Yield up thy banner, gallant knight! Thy lord lies on the plain; Thy duty has been nobly done; I would not see thee slain." "Spare pity, King of Aragon! I would not hear thee lie: My lord is looking down from heaven "Yield, madman, yield! thy horse is down, Thou hast nor lance nor shield; Fly!-I will grant thee time." Can neither fly nor yield!" "This flag They girt the standard round about, But still they heard the battle-cry, And there, against all Aragon, Full-armed with lance and brand, Olea fought until the sword Snapped in his sturdy hand. Among the foe with that high scorn They hewed the hauberk from his breast, The hemlet from his head; They hewed the hands from off his limbs: From every vein he bled. Clasping the standard to his heart, He raised one dying peal, That rang as if a trumpet blew,— "Olea for Castile!" MY FRIEND'S SECRET.-B. P. SHILLABER. I found my friend in his easy chair, With his heart and his head undisturbed by a care; I marveled much such contentment to see- "Don't fret!-Let this be the first rule of your life;Don't fret with your children, don't fret with your wife; Let every thing happen as happen it may, Be cool as a cucumber every day; If favorite of fortune or a thing of its spite, Keep calm, and believe that all is just right. 66 If you're blown up abroad or scolded at home, "Run never in debt, but pay as you go; It needs a great effort the spirit to brace 'Gainst the terror that dwells in a creditor's face. "And this one resolve you should cherish like gold, There was Bunsby's deep wisdom revealed in his tone, If to pay all my debts I have enough pelf?" Then I scratched my sinciput, battling for light, But gave up the effort, supposing 'twas right; And herein give out, as my earnest intent, Whenever I fail to owe no man a cent. SNYDER'S NOSE.-"OUR FAT CONTRIBUTOR." Snyder kept a beer-saloon some years ago "over the Rhine." Snyder was a ponderous Teuton of very irascible temper,— "sudden and quick in quarrel,”-get mad in a minute. Nevertheless his saloon was a great resort for "the boys,"-partly because of the excellence of his beer, and partly because they liked to chafe "old Snyder" as they called him; for, although his bark was terrific, experience had taught them that he wouldn't bite. 66 One day Snyder was missing; and it was explained by his 'frau," who “jerked "the beer that day that he had “gone out fishing mit der poys." The next day one of the boys, who was particularly fond of “ roasting" old Snyder, dropped in to get a glass of beer, and discovered Snyder's nose, which was a big one at any time, swollen and blistered by the sun, until it looked like a dead-ripe tomato. Why, Snyder, what's the matter with your nose?" said the caller. "I peen out fishing mit der poys," replied Snyder, laying his finger tenderly against his proboscis: “the sun it pese hot like ash never vas, und I purns my nose. Nice nose, don't it?" And Snyder viewed it with a look of comical sadness in the little mirror back of his bar. It entered at once into the head of the mischievous fellow in front of the bar to play a joke upon Snyder; so he went out and collected half a dozen of his comrades, with whom he arranged that they should drop in at the saloon one after another, and ask Snyder, "What's the matter with that nose?" to see how long he would stand it. The man who put up the job went in first with a companion, and seating themselves at a table called for beer. Snyder brought it to them; and the new-comer exclaimed as he saw him, "Snyder, what's the matter with your nose?" "I yust dell your frient here I peen out fishin' mit der poys, unt de sun he purnt 'em-zwi lager-den cents--all right." Another boy rushes in. "Halloo, boys, you're ahead of me this time: s'pose I'm in, though. Here, Snyder, bring me a glass of lager and a pret”—(appears to catch a sudden glimpse of Snyder's nose, looks wonderingly a moment, and |