Who is to bind up these broken hearts? Who is to provide for the tender orphans whose naked feet have but taken their first steps in this weary life-journey? Where are the ladies whose noble instincts the rust of opulence and ennui have corroded, who will atone for past inertia, by lifting up these impressible little ones where the vices of the City, and the snares of the wicked cannot reach them? What halo can adorn us like that which rests upon the brow of benevolence? Where is the pearl half so lustrous as the tear of gratitude? Or the jewel to be won, so imperishable, as the soul we bear up in our supplicating palms?

Let then, each American woman meet cheerfully the demands which the present emergencies of our country require at her hands, and prepare herself as she best can, for the new and prolonged sacrifices that she must surely encounter. If she does this, the future will be found pregnant with good for all classes of our country-women, and the phenix of her salvation will rise exultant from the ashes of her dead.

THE APOTHEOSIS OF PAN.

A FABLE.

BUT half a man and half a brute
A listless Satyr wandered,
And all the golden hours of June
In idle rambles squandered.

While roaming thus, 'twas ages since,
He found, one morning early,

A spot where man, new comer then
On earth, was reaping barley.

The Satyr paused, and lounging sat

To view the operation,

And, as he sat, played with the straws,

For want of occupation.

Before the reapers left the field
The Satyr had completed

His pipes, and with new melodies
Their wondering ears had greeted.

They left their sickles in the field
And gathered round to hear him;
His wondrous music forces them
To reverence and fear him.

He seemed at will to swell their hearts With sorrow or with pleasure;

Their every passion rose and fell

Responsive to his measure.

No idle rambler then was he,

No lounging useless Satyr;

They deified him, called him Pan,

A demi-god creator.

Thus has it proved a thousand times

In all succeeding ages,

And seeming trifles still convert
The seeming fools to sages.

For highest deeds of usefulness,

When Providence so pleases,

The chance is still to each man sent,

Which-happy he who seizes!

A VISIT TO THE BATTLE-FIELD OF GETTYSBURG.

THE FOUR RELICS.

[THE following fragment, though strictly and literally true as to all its facts and details, was originally composed in the form of an episode, intended to be inserted in a little work of imagination, in which, spirits and supernatural beings form the principal agents. This will at once account to the reader for some allusions near the beginning and end, which might otherwise appear incomprehensible, as also for much of the general tone and coloring of the whole sketch.]

*

*

* The world of spirits, of angels, and of visions is, perhaps, nearer to the actual working and fighting world in which we live and breathe, than most of us are apt to imagine. The last words of the Spirit with the Sky-blue pinions had brought so vividly to my recollection some little incidents which had impressed themselves on my mind some months ago, and which, by subtle ties of thought are so closely united with the subject under consideration, that I willingly suspend my narrative for a few moments to relate them. The two things, I think, mutually reflect light on each other, even as the

illumination of a fire at night has been known to extend its glow over large tracts of the heaven above it.

Of all awful and at the same time sublimely horrible sights to be witnessed on this globe, it is said that the spectacle of a battle-field and its environs some days after the slaughter has taken place, is the most soul-harrowing. Such scenes have again and again been described of late, by pens far more graphic than mine, or by eye-witnesses who either wrote on the spot, or immediately after leaving it, with all its images of terror and of agony fresh upon their recollection. Particularly the scenes which occur at such times in military hospitals, in which are huddled together the dying, the mortally wounded, and the agonized subjects for surgical operation, are spoken of as terrific beyond all conception or belief. It has never been my lot to witness any of these, and I fervently pray to heaven, that it never may. What I did see was altogether of a softer, and some might say, of a tamer character. Such as it was, I shall narrate it in words as few and as simple as possible.

I think it must have been about three weeks after the great battle was fought—a battle, which, after three days of desperate attack and defence, ended in a glorious victory, consummated on the Fourth of July by the flight of the enemy-a battle, too, which as well for the numbers engaged in it, the valor and generalship displayed on both