ced upon them, as he saw the happiness which
beamed from his daughter's eyes, as she gazed up from the altar that
had heard her willing vows.

Long years have since then joined the irrevocable past. Mr. Williams
lived several years, to witness the happiness of his child, but could
never be persuaded to visit America. He had no doubt, he said, but
that it was a very fine country, and he would go and see it, if it
wasn't for crossing the sea, and that he wouldn't do for nobody. After
he had been gathered to the dead, his children resided entirely on
the family estate of the Morris's, in New Jersey, where, at this day,
they still reside, surrounded by children with the lofty port of their
father, and the flashing eye of their mother. The tale of the pirate's
death, and the fate of poor Florette, is a tale that never wearies
their fire-side circle, and there, tears are still shed for the dark
scourge of the ocean, and his devoted mistress; and very often is an
old and gray-headed man, in whom the reader would hardly recognize our
old friend, John, asked to recount his perilous achievements on the
pirate's deck, and his wonderful escape, obtained by his own right
arm.

THE BATTLE OF LIFE.

BY ANNE C. LYNCH.

There are countless fields, the green earth o'er,
Where the verdant turf has been dyed with gore;
Where hostile ranks, in their grim array,
With the battle's smoke have obscured the day;
Where hate was stamped on each rigid face,
As foe met foe in the death embrace;
Where the groans of the wounded and dying rose
Till the heart of the listener with horror froze,
And the wide expanse of crimsoned plain
Was piled with heaps of uncounted slain--
But a fiercer combat, a deadlier strife,
Is that which is waged in the Battle of Life.

The hero that wars on the tented field,
With his shining sword and his burnished shield,
Goes not alone with his faithful brand:--
Friends and comrades around him stand,
The trumpets sound and the war-steeds neigh
To join in the shock of the coming fray;
And he flies to the onset, he charges the foe,
Where the bayonets gleam and the red tides flow,
And he bears his part in that conflict dire
With an arm all nerve and a heart all fire.
What though he fall? At the battle's close,
In the flush of the victory won, he goes
With martial music--and waving plume--
From a field of f