l that father of yours, who could approve his country's sentence,
even when it took the life of a child like that, that Abraham Lincoln
thinks the life far too precious to be lost. Go back, or--wait until
to-morrow; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely faced
death; he shall go with you."

"God bless you, sir," said Blossom; and who shall doubt that God heard
and registered the request?

Two days after this interview, the young soldier came to the White House
with his little sister. He was called into the President's private room,
and a strap fastened upon the shoulder. Mr. Lincoln then said: "The
soldier that could carry a sick comrade's baggage, and die for the act
so uncomplainingly, deserves well of his country." Then Bennie and
Blossom took their way to the Green Mountain home. A crowd gathered at
the Mill Depot to welcome them back; and as Farmer Owen's hand grasped
that of his boy, tears flowed down his cheeks, and he was heard to say
fervently, "THE LORD BE PRAISED!"

THE SONG[15]

WALTER SCOTT

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking;
Dream of battled fields no more,
Days of danger, nights of waking.
In our isle's enchanted hall,
Hands unseen thy couch are strewing,
Fairy strains of music fall,
Every sense in slumber dewing.

Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er,
Dream of fighting fields no more;
Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking,
Morn of toil, nor night of waking.

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done,
While our slumbrous spells assail ye,
Dream not, with the rising sun,
Bugles here shall sound reveille;
Sleep! the deer is in his den;
Sleep! thy hounds are by thee lying;
Sleep! nor dream in yonder glen
How thy gallant steed lay dying.

Huntsman, rest! thy chase is done;
Think not of the rising sun,
For at dawning to assail ye
Here no bugles sound reveille.

FOOTNOTE:

[15] From "Lady of the Lake."

THE STIRRUP CUP[16]

JOHN HAY

My short and happy day is done;
The long and lonely night comes on
And at my door the pale horse stands
To carry me to distant lands.

His whinny shrill, his pawing hoof,
Sounds dreadful as a gathering storm;
And I must leave this sheltering roof
And joys of life so soft and warm.

Tender and warm the joys of life--
Good