on the lamp-post, and then, winking slyly at the other passengers, inquired with the meekest of airs, "And yer won't take the twinty-foive cints?"

66

No, not one cent less than thirty; either pay that, or leave the car at once."

"Be aisy, sorr, and Oi'll lave the car, for Oi can't submit to bain' chated out av foive cints be any wan. Come on, me darlints."

And the conductor, flushed with victory, failed to notice that his exasperating passenger had reached Twentyninth Street, her destination, and was being rapturously embraced by Biddy Looney and the aforesaid little Moikey. He thought, poor fellow, that the laugh which went round the car was at the expense of that woman and her sprightly progeny.

GOD'S MUSIC.-F. E. WEATHERLY.

Since ever the world was fashioned,
Water, and air, and sod,

A music of divers meaning

Has flowed from the hand of God.

In valley and gorge and upland,
On stormy mountain height,
He makes him a harp of the forest,
He sweeps the chord with might.

He puts forth his hand to the ocean,
He speaks, and the waters flow,-
Now in a chorus of thunder,

Now in a cadence low.

He touches the waving flower-bells,
He plays on the woodland streams

A tender song-like a mother
Sings to her child in dreams.

But the music divinest and dearest,
Since ever the years began,
Is the manifold passionate music
He draws from the heart of man.

NATHAN HALE, THE MARTYR SPY.*-I. H. BROWN,

After the disastrous defeat of the Americans on Long Island, Washington desired information respecting the British position and movements. Capt. Nathar Hale, but twenty-one years old, volunteered to procure the information. He was taken and, the day after his capture, was hanged as a spy, Sept. 22, 1776. His patriotic devotion, and the brutal treatment which he received at the hands of his captors have suggested the following:

'Twas in the year that gave the nation birth,-
A time when men esteemed the common good
As greater weal than private gain. A battle fierce
And obstinate had laid a thousand patriots low,
And filled the people's hearts with gloom.

Pursued like hunted deer,

The crippled army fled; and yet, amid
Disaster and defeat, the nation's chosen chief
Resolved his losses to retrieve. But not

With armies disciplined and trained by years

Of martial service, could he, this Fabian chief,

Now hope to check the hosts of Howe's victorious legions-
These had he not.

In stratagem the shrewder general
Ofttimes o'ercomes his strong antagonist.
To Washington a knowledge of the plans,
Position, strength of England's force,
Must compensate for lack of numbers.

He casts about for one who'd take his life

In hand. Lo! he stands before the chief. In face,

A boy; in form, a man on whom the eye could rest

In search of God's perfected handiwork.

In culture, grace, and speech, reflecting all

A mother's love could lavish on an only son.
The chieftain's keen discerning eye

Appraised the youth at his full worth, and saw
In him those blending qualities that make
The hero and the sage. He fain would save
For nobler deeds a man whose presence marked
A spirit born to lead.

"Young man," he said with kindly air, "Your country and commander feel grateful that Such talents are offered in this darkening hour. Have you in reaching this resolve, considered well Your fitness, courage, strength,-the act, the risk. You undertake? Have you, in that fine balance, which By permission.

Detects an atom on either beam, weighed well
Your chances of escape 'gainst certain fate
Should capture follow in the British camp?"

In tones of fitting modesty that well
Became his years, the patriot answered thus:
"My country's honor, safety, life, it ever was
My highest purpose to defend. That country's foes
Exultant sweep through ruined land and home
And field. A thousand stricken hearts bewail
The loss of those who late our standards bore;
Appeal to us through weeping eyes whose tears
We cannot brush away with words. The ranks
Of those now cold in death are not replaced
By living men. The hour demands a duty rare-
Perhaps a sacrifice. If God and training in
The schools have given me capacities

This duty to perform, the danger of the enterprise
Should not deter me from the act

Whose issue makes our country free. In times
Like these a nation's life sometimes upon

A single life depends. If mine be deemed

A fitting sacrifice, God grant a quick

Deliverance." "Enough,go then at once," the great Commander said. 'May heaven's guardian angels give You safe return. Adieu."

Disguised with care, the hopeful captain crossed The bay, and moved through British camp Without discovery by troops or refugees. The enemy's full strength, in men, in stores, Munitions, guns, - all military accoutrements Were noted with exact precision; while With graphic sketch, each trench and parapet, Casemated battery, magazine, and every point Strategic, was drawn with artist's skill. The task complete, the spy with heart Elate, now sought an exit through the lines.

Well might he feel a soldier's pride. An hour hence

A waiting steed would bear him to his friends.

His plans he'd lay before his honored chief;
His single hand might turn the tide of war,
His country yet be free.

'Halt!" a British musket leveled at His head dimmed all the visions of his soul.

A dash-an aimless shot; the spy bore down
Upon the picket with a blow that else

Had freed him from his clutch, but for a score

Of troopers stationed near. In vain the struggle fierce And desperate; in vain demands to be released.

A tory relative, for safety quartered in

The British camp, would prove his truckling loyalty With kinsman's blood. A word-a look—

A motion of the head, and he who'd dared

So much in freedom's name was free no more.

O Judas, self condemned! thou art

But the type of many a trait'rous friend,
Who ere and since thy time betrayed to death
A noble heart. Henceforth be doubly doomed,-
A base example to earth's weaker souls.

Before Lord Howe the captive youth
Was led. "Base dog!" the haughty general said,
"Ignoble son of loyal sires! you've played the spy
Quite well, I ween. The cunning skill wherewith
You wrought these plans and charts might well adorn
An honest man; but in a rebel's hands they're vile
And mischievous. If aught may palliate

A traitor's act, attempted in his sovereign's camp,
I bid you speak ere I pronounce your sentence."

With tone and mien that hushed

The buzzing noise of idle lackeys in the hall,
The patriot thus replied: "You know my name-
My rank;-my treach'rous kinsman made
My purpose plain. I've nothing further of myself
To tell beyond the charge of traitor to deny.
The brand of spy I do accept without reproach;
But never since I've known the base ingratitude
Of king to loyal subjects of his realm

Has British rule been aught to me than barbarous
Despotism which God and man abhor,
And none but dastards fear to overthrow.
For tyrant royalty your lordship represents

I never breathed a loyal breath; and he

Who calls me traitor seeks a pretext for a crime
His trembling soul might well condemn."

"I'll hear no more such prating cant," said How,
'Your crime's enough to hang a dozen men,

Before to-morrow's sun goes down you'll swing
"Twixt earth and heaven, that your countrymen
May know a British camp is dangerous ground
For prowling spies. Away."

In loathsome cell, deprived

Of holy sacrament, and e'en the word of Him
Who cheered the thief upon the cross,―refused
The means wherewith he would indite his last
Farewell to her who gave him life,

And to another whose young heart

The morrow's work would shade in gloom,

He passed the night in charge of one whom Satan had
Commissioned hell's sharpest torments to inflict.

Securely bound upon a cart, amid

A speechless crowd, he stands beneath a strong
Projecting limb, to which a rope with noose attached,
Portends a tragic scene. He casts his eyes

Upon the surging multitude. Clearly now
His tones ring out as victors shout in triumph:

"Men, I do not die in vain,

My humble death upon this tree will light anew
The Torch of Liberty. A hundred hands to one
Before will strike for country, home and God,
And fill our ranks with men of faith in His
Eternal plan to make this people free.

A million prayers go up this day to free

The land from blighting curse of tyrant's rule.

Oppression's wrongs have reached Jehovah's throne,
The God of vengeance smites the foe! This land—
This glorious land-is free-is free!

"My friends, iarewell! In dying thus
I feel but one regret; it is the one poor life
I have to give in Freedom's cause."

THE PRAIRIE MIRAGE.

A burning summer sun had beaten down on the prairie for days. Furnace-like, the south winds came racing out of the pulsing haze at the far horizon. The sky seemed of copper and the floor-like plain's once emerald disc was tinged by the heat with grayish-brown.