ore than once--brave Colonel
Gid!"

They all uncovered at the name, and the boy shyly and awkwardly took his
cap off.

"May I--may I see him once again?" he asked, dropping his bundle. "He
saved my life too."

Two men put their gnarled old hands to the flag and drew it down from the
head of the bier. The boy did not speak, but he went nearer and nearer
with an expression on his face which one of the old men answered aloud.
"Aye, is he not at peace! God grant we may all look so when the time
comes."

They let the flag fall over the dead face again, set their shoulders to
the bier, and moved forward, bringing down their great staves rhythmically
as they walked. The boy stood still looking after them. When they passed
out into the sunshine of the open hillside he ran to the edge of the
thicket so that he could still follow them with his eyes. They plodded on,
growing smaller and smaller in the distance, until as they paused on the
crest of the hill only a spot of red could be seen, brilliant against the
brilliant sky.

The boy went back and picked up his bundle. When he returned to the edge
of the thicket the spot of red was disappearing over the hill. He took off
his cap and stood there until there was nothing before him but the sun
shining on the hillside.

Then he turned about, and walking steadily, Nathaniel Everett entered into
his own world.

NOCTES AMBROSIANAE

From Hemlock Mountain's barren crest
The roaring gale flies down the west
And drifts the snow on Redmount's breast
In hollows dark with pine.

Full in its path from hill to hill
There stands, beside a ruined mill,
A lonely house, above whose sill
A brace of candles shine.

And there an ancient bachelor
And maiden sister, full three-score,
Sit all forgetful of the roar
Of wind and mountain stream;

Forgot the wind, forgot the snow,
What magic airs about them blow?
They read, in wondering voices low,
The Midsummer Night's Dream!

And, reading, past their frozen hill
In charmed woods they range at will
And hear the horns of Oberon shrill
Above the plunging Tam;--

Yea, long beyond the cock's first crow
In dreams they walk where windflowers blow;
Late do they dream, and liker grow
To Charles and Mary Lamb.

HILLSBORO'S GOOD LUCK

When the news of Hillsboro's good fortune swept along the highroad there
was not a person in the ot