in him. His
feet, with what was left of the Constitution, were torn off and rammed
into a small cannon's mouth for wadding; and, finally, he went up on
the tail of a kite. In mid-air he became detached, and dropped into a
tall thorn-tree. Here he got stuck fast, and so remained till he
fluttered himself to pieces bit by bit.

A CHARADE.

My _first_ the poet Cowper loved,
A creature soft and fleet;
To vote my _second_ to valiant puss,
The long-tailed sages meet.

It calls to prayer; at dead of night
Rouses the city street;
And to the bridal train sends out
A greeting wild and sweet.

My _whole_ would shine all dewy bright
In your golden hair, Bell, to-night.

_Hare-bell._

THE LITTLE WIDOW'S MITE.

On a nice little farm, on the shore of one of our beautiful Western
lakes, lives a noble young German girl named Bertha Johansen, but
oftener called "little woman," for her womanly qualities, and her
staid, quaint ways; and for a while, among her family-friends, still
oftener called "little widow," for a reason I will give by and by.
Early in the war against the Rebellion, Bertha's father and three
brothers enlisted in one regiment, and were very soon marched away to
the front, taking with them the tender, tearful blessings of the lonely
little household left behind. The good wife and mother, Ernestine
Johansen, took upon her brave heart and strong hands the entire
business of the little farm, having for a while only the assistance of
a young adopted son, an orphan nephew, who had lived with the Johansens
from his infancy. But after having seen his uncle and cousins go forth
so bravely to their grand though dreadful duty, the lad Heinrich grew
discontented and unhappy. He had a man's heart in his boyish
breast,--a heart full of patriotic ardor and devotion; and at last his
good aunt consented that he too should go to the war, in the only
capacity in which he could be accepted, as a drummer boy, in a regiment
just ready to march to the front.

Bertha had grieved deeply, though quietly, in the brave, uncomplaining,
submissive spirit peculiar to her, at bidding adieu to her dear
father,--to Gustave, and Fritz, and Carl, her brothers,--but she
grieved no less at parting with Heinrich Holberg. The two children had
always been to each other the best and dearest of friends. Almost from
her babyhood, Heinrich had called Bertha his "little wife," and she had
early learne