oke, who would not tamely bend?
He strove for us, and craved no other end.
Nor should we ring too long his dying knell,
He has a soldier's crown--and it is well.

For him the tomb that is a nation's heart,
And doth endure when crumbling stones depart;
To him the honour, like the brave to stand,
With those who were in danger our right hand;
For him no empty epitaph of dust,
But that he kept for England safe her trust.
He is not dead; but, over war's loud swell,
Heard he his Captain's call--and it is well.

AT THE BREACH.

BY SARAH WILLIAMS.

All over for me
The struggle and possible glory!
All swept past,
In the rush of my own brigade.
Will charges instead,
And fills up my place in the story;
Well,--'tis well,
By the merry old games we played.

There's a fellow asleep, the lout! in the shade of the hillock
yonder;
What a dog it must be to drowse in the midst of a time like this!
Why, the horses might neigh contempt at him; what is he like, I
wonder?
If the smoke would but clear away, I have strength in me yet to hiss.

Will, comrade and friend,
We parted in hurry of battle;
All I heard
Was your sonorous, "Up, my men!"
Soon conquering paeans
Shall cover the cannonade's rattle;
Then, home bells,
Will you think of me sometimes, then?

How that rascal enjoys his snooze! Would he wake to the touch of
powder?
A reveille of broken bones, or a prick of a sword might do.
"Hai, man! the general wants you;" if I could but for once call
louder:
There is something infectious here, for my eyelids are dropping too.

Will, can you recall
The time we were lost on the Bright Down?
Coming home late in the day,
As Susie was kneeling to pray,
Little blue eyes and white night-gown,
Saying, "Our Father, who art,--
Art what?" so she stayed with a start.
"In Heaven," your mother said softly.
And Susie sighed, "So far away!"--
'Tis nearer, Will, now, to us all.

It is strange how that fellow sleeps! stranger still that his sleep
should haunt me;
If I could but command his face