His angel down? In flesh and blood,
Before her Esek Harden stood!

He laid his hand upon her arm:

"Dear Mabel, this no more shall be; Who scoffs at you, must scoff at me. You know rough Esek Harden well; And if he seems no suitor gay,

And if his hair is mixed with gray,
The maiden grown shall never find

His heart less warm than when she smiled
Upon his knees, a little child!"

Her tears of grief were tears of joy,
As folded in his strong embrace,
She looked in Esek Harden's face.
"O truest friend of all!" she said,
"God bless you for your kindly thought,
And make me worthy of my lot!"

He led her through his dewy fields,

To where the swinging lanterns glowed,
And through the doors the huskers showed.
"Good friends and neighbors!" Esek said,
I'm weary of this lonely life;

In Mabel see my chosen wife!

"She greets you kindly, one and all:
The past is past, and all offence
Falls harmless from her innocence.
Henceforth she stands no more alone;
You know what Esek Harden is;-

He brooks no wrong to him or his.”

Now let the merriest tales be told,
And let the sweetest songs be sung,
That ever made the old heart young!
For now the lost has found a home;
And a lone hearth shall brighter burn,
As all the household joys return!

Oh, pleasantly the harvest moon,
Between the shadow of the mows,

Looked on them through the great elm-boughs! On Mabel's curls of golden hair,

On Esek's shaggy strength it fell;

And the wind whispered, "It is well!"

Abridged

THE CANTEEN.-PRIVATE MILES O'REILLY.

There are bonds of all sorts in this world of ours,
Fetters of friendship, and ties of flowers,

And true-lovers' knots, I ween;

The girl and the boy are bound by a kiss,
But there's never a bond, old friend, like this,—
We have drunk from the same canteen!

It was sometimes water, and sometimes milk,
And sometimes apple-jack, fine as silk,
But, whatever the tipple has been,
We shared it together, in bane or bliss;

And I warm to you, friend, when I think of this,-
We have drunk from the same canteen!

The rich and the great sit down to dine,
And they quaff to each other in sparkling wine,
From glasses of crystal and green;

But I guess in their golden potations they miss
The warmth of regard to be found in this,—
We have drunk from the same canteen!

We have shared our blankets and tents together,
And have marched and fought in all kinds of weather,
And hungry and full we have been;

Had days of battle, and days of rest,

But this memory I cling to and love the best,-
We have drunk from the same canteen!

For when wounded I lay on the outer slope,
With my blood flowing fast, and but little hope
Upon which my faint spirit could lean,-
Oh! then, I remember, you crawled to my side,
And, bleeding so fast it seemed both must have died,
We drank from the same canteen!

WHO IS THIS WONDERFUL PROPHET?

He is not Noah's son, nor any old Levite, nor John the Baptist, nor yet the wandering Jew; he was before Adam, with whom he was in the Garden of Eden; he was also with Noah in the Ark, and near Christ at his trial before Pontius Pilate; the Scriptures make frequent mention of this prophet, yet he never knew his father or mother; he walks

barefooted and bare-legged, like an old friar, and wears neither hat, cape, nor bonnet, nor any manner of head attire; his coat is neither woollen nor linen, silk, hair, nor cotton, bear nor sheep skin, and yet it fits, and abounds with a variety of colors, without either seam, button, loop, girdle or stitch of needle; he is not very high, and carries neither stick, sword nor any manner of warlike instrument, and yet he encounters his enemies fiercely, and often kills them on the spot; he likes no money, neither loses any; nor is he provided for the future; accounts it sufficient when the day comes to provide for it; he is not fond of worldly pomp or grandeur, for he would rather lie in a farmer's barn than in a king's palace; he is wonderfully temperate, for he would rather drink clear water than the strongest liquor on earth; he never was married, yet has several favorites whom he loves dearly, for if he has but one morsel of meat he divides it among them, yet he is apt to be jealous, and would rather venture his life than countenance a rival; he is neither a Whig nor Tory, Republican nor Democrat; he holds no article of the Christian faith, neither does he deny,any; he neither goes to church, meeting, nor synagogue, for conscience' sake, and as for Mass he would not go over the door to hear it; he is fond of fresh meat on Saturdays or Sundays, and throughout Lent; he once preached a sermon to a man who thought to throw him therein, but in the end he brought tears in abundance from his eyes; he is very urgent in proclaiming with out-stretched arms that the day of the Lord is at hand, and at the voice of his prophecy the doors and windows open; he speaks no language perfectly, yet all men understand him.

LARRY'S ON THE FORCE.-IRWIN RUSSELL.

Well, Katie, and is this yersilf? And where was you this whoile?

And ain't ye dhrissed! You are the wan to illusthrate the stoile!

But never moind thim matthers now-there's toime enough

for thim;

And Larry-that's me b'y-I want to shpake to you av him. Sure, Larry bates thim all for luck!--'tis he will make his way, And be the proide and honnur to the sod beyant the say;

YYYYY

We'll soon be able-whist! I do be singin' till I'm hoorse, For iver since a month or more, my Larry's on the foorce! There's not a proivate gintleman that boords in all the row Who houlds himsilf loike Larry does, or makes as foine a show;

Thim eyes av his, the way they shoine, his coat and butthons too-

He bates thim kerrige dhroivers that be on the avenue!

He shtips that proud and shtately-loike, you'd think he owned the town,

And houlds his shtick convanient to be tappin' some wan down

Aich blissed day, I watch to see him comin' up the shtrate,
For, by the greatest bit av luck, our house is on his bate.

The little b'ys is feared av him, for Larry's moighty shtrict,
And many's the little blagyard he's arristed, I expict;
The beggyars gets acrass the shtrate-you ought to see thim
fly-

And organ-groindhers scatthers whin they see him comin' by. I know that Larry's bound to roise; he'll get a sergeant's post,

And afther that a captincy widhin a year at most;

And av he goes in pc'itics he has the head to throive-
I'll be an Aldherwoman, Kate, afore I'm thirty-foive!

What's that again? Y'are jokin', surely,-Katie! is it thrue?
Last noight, you say, he-married? and Aileen O'Donahue?
O Larry! c'u'd ye have the hairt-but let the spalpeen be:
Av he demanes himsilf to her, he's nothing more to me.

The ugly shcamp! I always said, just as I'm tellin' you,
That Larry was the biggist fool av all Iiver knew;
And many a toime I've tould mesilf-you see it now, av

coorse

He'd niver come to anny good av he got on the foorce!

Part Twentieth.