And the man who had been the child saw his daughter, newly lost to him, a celestial creature among those three, and he said: “My daughter's head is on my sister's bosom, and her arm is around my mother's neck, and at her feet is the baby of old time, and I can bear the parting from her, God be praised!"-And the star was shining.

Thus the child came to be an old man, and his once smooth face was wrinkled, and his steps were slow and feeble, and his back was bent. And one night as he lay upon his bed, his children standing round, he cried, as he cried so long ago: “I see the star !"

They whispered one another, “He is dying." And he said, "I am." My age is falling from me like a garment, and I move towards the star as a child. And 0, my Father, now I thank Tbee that it has so often opened to receive those dear ones who await me!"

And the star was shining; and it shines upon his grave.


The kings who ruled mankind with haughty sway,
The prouder pope, whom even kings obey-
Love, at whose shrine both-popes and monarchs fall,
And e'en self interest, that controls them all-
Possess a petty power, when all combined,
Compared with fashion's influence on mankind :
For love itself will oft to fashion bow;
The followiug story will convince you how:

A petit maitre wooed a fair,
Of virtue, wealth, and graces rare;
But vainly had preferred his claim,
The maiden owned no answering flame;
At length by doubt and anguish torn,
Suspense too painful to be borne,
Low at her feet le lumbly kneeled,
And thus his ardent flame revealed :

“Pity my grief, angelic fair,
Behold my anguish and despair;
For you, this heart must ever burn-
O bless me with a kind return!

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My love, no language can express,
Reward it then, with happiness;
Nothing on earth but you I prize,
All else is trifling in my eyes ;
And cheerfully would I resign
The wealth of worlds to call you mine.
But, if another gain your hand,
Far distant from my native land,
Far hence from you and hope I'll fly,
And in some foreign region die."
The virgin heard, and thus replied :
“If my consent to be your bride
Will make you happy, then be blest;
But grant me, first, one small request;
A sacrifice I must demand,
And in return will give my hand."
A sacrifice ! O speak its name!
For you I'd forfeit wealth and fame :
Take my whole fortune--every cent—"

'Twas something more than wealth I meant." “Must I the realms of Neptune trace ? O speak the word !--where'er the place, For you, the idol of my soul, I'd e'en explore the frozen pole; Arabia's sandy deserts tread, Or trace the Tigris to its head." Oh no, dear sir, I do not ask So long a voyage, so bard a task ; You must-but ah! the boon I want, I bave no hope that you will grant." “Shall I, like Bonaparte, aspire To be the world's imperial sire ? Express the wish, and here I vow, To place a crown upon your brow." “Sir, these are trifles'—she replied But, if you wish me for your bride, You inust-but still I fear to speakYou'll never grant the boon I seek." “Oh say,” he cried—“dear angel, sayWhat must I do, and I obey ; No longer rack me with suspense, Speak your commands, and send me hence."

"Well, then, dear generous youth !" she cries,
If thus my heart you really prize,
And wish to link your fate with mine,
On one condition I am thine ;
'Twill then become my pleasing duty,
To contemplate a husband's beauty ;
And, gazing on your manly face,
His feelings and his wishes trace ;
To banish thence each mark of care,
And light a smile of pleasure there.
Oh, let me, then, 'tis all I ask,
Commence at once the pleasing task ;
Oh, let me, as becomes my place,
Cut those huge whiskers from your face."
She said—but oh! what strange surprise
Was pictured in her lover's eyes !
Like lightning from the ground he sprung,
While wild amazement tied his tongue.
A statue, motionless, he gazed,
Astonished, horror-struck, amazed.
So, looked the gallant Perseus, when
Medusa's visage met his ken;
So, looked Macbeth, whose guilty eye
Discerned an “air-drawn dagger" nigh;
And so, the Prince of Denmark stared,
When first his father's ghost appeared.
At length our hero silence broke,
And thus in wildest accents spoke :
“Cut off my wbiskers! O ye gods !
I'd sooner lose my ears, by odds;
Madam, I'd not be so disgraced,
So lost to fashion and to taste,
To win an empress to my arms,
Though blest with more than mortal charms
My whiskers ! zounds !” he said no more,
But quick retreated through the door,
And sought a less obdurate fair,
To take the beau, with all his hair.

JOHN MAYNARD.-HORATIO ALGER, JR. 'Twas on Lake Erie's broad expanse,

One bright midsummer day, The gallant steamer Ocean Queen

Swept proudly on her way.

Bright faces clustered in the deck,

Or leaning o'er the side,
Watched carelessly the feathery foam,

That flecked the rippling tide.

Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky,

That smiling bends serene,
Could dream that danger, awful, vast,

Impended o'er the scene-
Could dream that ere an hour had sped,

That frame of sturdy oak
Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves,

Blackened with fire and smoke ?

A seaman sought the captain's side,

A moment whispered low;
The captain's swarthy face grew pale,

He hurried down below.
Alas, too late! Though quick and sharp

And clear his orders came,
No human efforts could avail

To quench the insidious flame.

The bad news quickly reached the deck,

It sped from lip to lip,
And ghastly faces everywhere

Looked from the doomed ship.
“Is there no hope-no chance of life ?"

A hundred lips implore ; “But one," the captain made reply,

To run the ship on shore."

A sailor, whose heroic soul

Tbat hour should yet reveal,-
By name John Maynard, eastern born, -

Stood calmly at the wheel. “ Head her south-east!" the captain shouts,

Above the smothered roar, “ Head her south-east without delay !

Make for the nearest shore !"

No terror pales the helmsman's cheek,

Or clouds bis dauntless eye, As in a sailor's measured tone

His voice responds, “Ay, Ay!” Three hundred souls,—the steamer's freight,

Crowd forward wild with fear, While at the stern the dreadful flames

Above the deck appear.

John Maynard watched the nearing flamos,

But still, with steady hand
He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly

He steered the ship to land.
“John Maynard,” with an anxious voice,

The captain cries once more,
“Stand by the wheel five minutes yet,

And we will reach the shore."
Through flames and smoke that dauntless heart

Responded firmly, still
Unawed, though face to face with death,

“With God's good help I will !”
The flames approach with giant strides,

They scorch his hands and brow;
One aim disabled seeks his side,

Ah, he is conquered now!
But no, his teeth are firmly set,

He crushes down the pain,-
His knee upon the stanchion pressed,

He guides the ship again.
One moment yet ! one moment yet!

Brave heart, thy task is o’er !
The pebbles grate beneath the keel,

The steamer touches shore.
Three hundred grateful voices rise,

In praise to God, that He
Hath saved them from the fearful fire,

And from the ingulfing sea.
But where is he, that helmsman bold?

The captain saw him reel-
His nerveless hands released their task,

He sunk beside the wheel.
The wave received his lifeless corpso,

Blackened with smoke and fire.
God rest him! Hero never had

A nobler funeral pyre!


AND, seeking truth, I wholly lost my way;

Rocked back and forward, by the swinging tidos

Of doubt and faith, confused by many guides; Each one armed with a doctrine and a creed,

Which each felt sase to say Would meet and satisfy my every need.


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