easure laid
up there, old friend. And not only in heaven, but in this world also.
Look on this happy family redeemed by your sacrifice!"

Jabel Blake opened his eyes wider, and they fell upon Judge Dunlevy.

"This is a great honor," he said; "Ross Valley brings her great
citizen back."

"No!" cried the Judge, "it is you, Jabel, who have brought us all to
your bedside to do ourselves honor. Here are Elk MacNair and my
daughter, who owe all their fortune to your fatherly kindness, and who
have come to repay you the uttermost farthing. Providence has
appreciated your sacrifice. They bring for your blessing, my grandson,
and the name they have given him is Jabel Blake."

"Jabel," said General MacNair, "take with our full hearts this money.
It has been honestly earned with the capital of your bank. We return
it that you may fulfil the dream of your life!"

Jabel Blake took the money, and a smile overspread his face. His hard
lineaments were soft and fatherly now, and their tears attested how
well he was esteemed. He drew Elk MacNair's ear to his lips, and said
feebly, and with his latest articulate breath,

"General, you owe me two years' interest!"

They laid Jabel Blake away by his fathers, and on the day of the
funeral Ross Valley was crowded like a shrine.

POTOMAC RIVER.

Brave river in the mountains bred,
And broadening on thy way,
So stately that thy stretches seem
The bosom of the bay!
Thy growth is like the nation's life,
Through which thy current flows--
Already past the cataracts
And widening to repose.

Thy springs are at the Fairfax stone,
Thy great arms northward course,
They join and break the mountain bars
With ever rallying force;
But in thy nature is such peace,
The beaten mountains yield,
And lie their riven battlements
Within thy silver shield.

Through battle-fields thy runnels wind,
In fame thy ferries shine;
Thy ripples lave the ancient stones
On Freedom's boundary line;
Where every slave the border crossed,
A living host repass'd,
And of the sentries of thy fords,
John Brown shall be the last!

Yet, O Potomac! of thy peace
Somewhat let faction feel,
And Northern Pilgrims patient hear
Of Mosby and MacNeill.
The long trees bloom where Stuart cross'd,
And weep where Ashby bled,
And every echo in thy hills
Seems