But generations have passed away, and mourners and mourned have sunk together into forgetfulness. The aged crone, or the smooth-tongued beadle, as now he hurries you through aisles and chapel, utters, with measured cadence and unmeaning tone, for the thousandth time, the name and lineage of the once honored dead; and then gladly dismisses you, to repeat again his well-conned lesson to another group of idle passers-by.

Such, in its most august form, is all the immortality that matter can confer. It is by what we ourselves have done, and not by what others have done for us, that we shall be remembered by after ages. It is by thought that has aroused my intellect from its slumbers, which has "given luster to virtue, and dignity to truth," or by those examples which have inflamed my soul with the love of goodness, and not by means of sculptured marble, that I hold communion with Shakspeare and Milton, with Johnson and Burke, with Howard and Wilberforce.

THE WOUNDED SOLDIER.

Steady, boys, steady!

Keep your arms ready,

God only knows whom we may meet here.

Don't let me be taken

I'd rather awaken

To-mor:ow in-no matter where,

Than lie in that foul prison-hole-over there.
Step slowly!

Speak lowly!

The rocks may have life;

Lay me down in the hollow;

We are out of the strife.

By heaven! the foeman may track me in blood,
For this hole in my breast is outpouring a flood,
No! no surgeon for me; he can give me no aid;
The surgeon I want is a pickaxe and spade,
What, Morris, a tear? Why, shame on you, man!
I thought you a hero; but since you began
To whimper and cry, like a girl in her teens,
By George! I don't know what the devil it means.

Well! well! I am rough, 'tis a very rough school,
This life of a trooper-but yet I'm no fool!

I know a brave man, and a friend from a foe;
And, boys, that you love me I certainly know.
But wasn't it grand,

When they came down the hill over sloughing and sand?

But we stood-did we not ?-like immovable rock, Unheeding their balls and repelling their shock.

Did you mind the loud cry,
When, as turning to fly,

Our men sprang upon them determined to die—
Oh, wasn't it grand?

God help the wretches who fell in the fight;
No time was there given for prayers or for flight.
They fell by the score, in the crash, hand to hand,
And they mingled their blood with the sloughing
and sand.

Huzza!

Great heaven! this bullet-hole gapes like a grave;

A curse on the aim of the traitorous knave!

Is there never a one of you knows how to pray,
Or speak for a man as his life ebbs away?

Pray! Pray!

Our Father! our Father! why don't you proceed? Can't you see I am dying? Great God, how I bleed! Ebbing away!

Ebbing away! The light of the day is turning to gray.

Pray! Pray!

Our Father in Heaven-boys, tell me the rest,
While I stanch the hot blood from this hole in my
breast.

There's something about the forgiveness of sin;
Put that in! put that in!—and then

I'll follow your words and say an amen,

Here, Morris, oid fellow, get hold of my hand,
And, Wilson, my comrade-oh! wasn't it grand
When they came down the hill like a thunder-
charged cloud,

And were scattered like mist by our brave little crowd?

Where's Wilson-my comrade-here, stoop down your head,

Can't you say a short prayer for the dying and dead?

"Christ-God, who died for sinners all,

Hear thou this suppliant wanderer's cry;
Let not e'en this poor sparrow fall
Unheeded by thy gracious eye;

Throw wide thy gates to let him in,
And take him pleading to thine arms;
Forgive, O Lord, his life-long sin,

And quiet all his fierce alarms.”

God bless you, my comrade, for singing that hymn, It is light to my path now my sight has grown din

I am dying-bend down-till I touch you once

more;

Don't forget me, old fellow-God prosper this war! Confusion to enemies !-keep hold of my handAnd float our dear flag o'er a prosperous land!

A SIMILAR CASE.

Jack, I hear you've gone and done it.
Yes, I know; most fellows will;
Went and tried it once myself, sir,
Though, you see, I'm single still.
And you met her-did you tell me?
Down at Newport, last July,
And resolved to ask the question
At a soiree? So did I.

I suppose you left the ball-room
With its music and its light;
For they say love's flame is brightest
In the darkness of the night.

Well, you walked along together—
Overhead the starlit sky,

And I'll bet-old man, confess it-
You were frightened. So was I.

So you strolled along the terrace,
Saw the summer moonlight pour
All its radiance on the waters
As they rippled on the shore;

Till at length you gathered courage,
When you saw that none were nigh—
Did you draw her close and tell her

That you loved her? So did I.

Mell, I needn't ask you further,
And I'm sure I wish you joy;
Think I'll wander down and see you
When you're married-eh, my boy?
When the honeymoon is over,

And you're settled down, we'll try

What? The deuce you say! Rejected,-so was I.

LONG AS THE TIDE SHALL FLOW.

BYRON W. KING.

Long as the tide shall flow,
Upon the barren strand,
Shall men walk to and fro,

And stretch forth eager hand,

And murmur names on trembling lips,
And watch and wait for coming ships,—
Long as the tide shall flow.

Long as the tide shall flow,

With painful, solemn tread,
Dark-shrouded, bowing low,

Shall mourners bring their dead,

With chant and prayer and mournful hymn,
And hearts shall bleed, and eyes grow dim,-
Long as the tide shall flow.

Long as the tide shall flow

Shall heart to heart be knit;

And over scoff and blow,

Love, strong, pure, infinite,

Shall triumph in that mighty faith
That falters not at life or death,—

Long as the tide shall flow.