Straightened himself and ""Tention!" cried,
And Brown grasped at his drum and dried
His eyes, and gave the warning tap,
Then limped ahead; the Captain in
The rear limped proudly, and the crowd
Followed, marching, in the din

The drum made as the sticks rang loud-
Drum, drum, drum, der-um, drum, drum.
And so they brought the Captain home,
And in the house limped Brown, his drum
Beating away. And those outside
Could hear him, till the fakir cried,
"Three cheers for Brown of Company C!
Three cheers for the Captain too," cried he.
"All this comes of my medicine,

It brings old friends together. In

This bottle

But all the crowd would hear

Was the drum that still beat faint, yet clear,
Drum, drum, drum, der-um, drum, drum,
Drum, drum, drum, der-um !

66

JOHN WHITE'S THANKSGIVING.

Thanksgiving!-for what?"-and he muttered a curse; For the plainest of food and an empty purse;

For a life of hard work and the shabbiest clothes;

But it's idle to talk of a poor man's woes!

Let the rich give thanks; it is they who can;
There is nothing in life for a laboring man."

So said John White to his good wife Jane,
And o'er her face stole a look of pain.

Nothing, dear John?" And he thought again,
Then glanced more kindly down on Jane.
"I was wrong," he said; "I'd forgotten you;
And I've my health, and the baby, too."
And the baby crowed-'twas a bouncing boy-
And o'er Jane's face came a look of joy;
And she kissed her John as he went away;
And he said to himself as he worked that day:
"I was wrong, very wrong; I'll not grumble again,
I should surely be thankful for baby and Jane."

THE GLACIER-BED.-EMILIA AYLMER BLAKE.

In a village in Switzerland, a young guide, on the way back from his wed ding, met a party of tourists, who were looking for a guide to explore a glacier. The bridegroom left his bride at the chalet door, as they returned from the church, she promising to keep a light in her window until he should come home; but he foll through a ravine upon a glacier-bed and was lost. The widoved wife, having learned that in the course of fifty years the glacier would emerge from the ravine, waited, and her lost husband was found frozen in the ice, all those years after his wedding-day.

Burning, burning, burning for ever, by night and day,

Let be the light in my window, don't touch it, don't take it away!

With the sap of my life I have fed my lamp that its flame should burn

Till the morn of our bridal night, till my love, my husband,

return.

What say you? he is dead! I will not believe it; no!

We were wedded-who can remember that? 'tis so long

ago

At the church of our mountain village: the morning light shone down

From the glittering peaks of the Alps to circle my bridal

crown.

Oh me, the joy of us two that blessed day made one! The song of the happy children, the flowers, the dancing sun, All these were about us that time he led me home as his bride

When the strangers crossed our path, and he heard them call for a guide.

And duty o'ermasters love, and he dared not deny that call, For among our Alpine heroes, they knew him, the bravest

of all:

With a foot and an eye and an arm to match with his dauntless heart;

And I knew where his honor led-though loth we were to part.

But his honor, his choice, his desire, was mine, for I loved

him so;

When I looked in my darling's face I was brave and I bade

him go.

I stayed at our châlet door, and he tore himself away

From the virgin kisses of love, and the joy of our marriage

day.

"I'll come back to thee, dear," he said, "when the mountain is veiled in night;

Set a lamp in thy window to shine as my star, my guiding

Through the winding paths of the ice, from beneath, from above,

Let my eyes be fixed on thy bridal-chamber, my new-wedded love."

And fixed as ice was my gaze that followed him as he went; And yet, when I saw him go, I was more than happycontent;

The warmth of his arms was around me, my lips had thrilled to his kiss;

My soul had tasted his love-could heaven be sweeter than this?

And I knew that nothing could part us more, in life or in death.

I saw him not-and I saw him again, far down beneath, In the bravery of his gay wedding clothes-and my eyes grew dim

With the strain and the dizzy height, as they looked their last on him.

I knew he would hold to his promise-I never would fail of mine:

That was our bridal night when I trimmed my lamp to

shine

Till he came from the fields of ice, to our châlet safe and

warm,

Closed in from the thickening night, and the smiting blast of the storm.

That was our bridal night-hist! the fiends of the mountain dance

To the shrieks of the lost, as they grope their way 'neath the lightning's glance;

Till the dark and the dawn bring the day, and I wait at

the châlet door

For my bridegroom of yester-eve, for my joy that returns

no more.

But the sun shines on, and the path is clear from valley to peak:

Whence come ye to look in my face the tale that ye dare not speak?

All the rest were safe, he had led them bravely through, they said:

But my own true-hearted husband was lost in the glacierbed.

He will come again, I whispered, and, pitying, they turned

away.

And that light still burns since we parted, it seems but yes.

terday.

So long ago! What? 'Tis fifty years to-morrow, you said: That was the time, I heard, when the ice should give back the dead,-

When the glacier that froze his young blood, in the depth of the dark ravine

Where he fell through the rift and perished, should work its way unseen

Towards the mouth of the icy gulf, through the years of creeping days;

Now, now, 'tis the time, let me go, for I know that my bridegroom stays.

My lamp is alight, I have toiled, I have starved to feed its fire,

Through a long life slowly wasting in pangs of one desire.
I thought it was never coming, and now the end is nigh:
I shall look on his face that I loved in my youth, before
I die.

I go to seek him now, where he lies in the glacier-bed-
Ah, cold and flinty pillow for my darling's golden head!—
In his beauty and strength of manhood, frozen to change
less stone--

There, there! I have found him at last! oh, my love, my love, my own!

Now, bear us forth together, the bridegroom and the bride, To the church of our mountain village, and lay us side by

side,

'Neath the stone where God joined us, and bound our souls in eternal truth,

And the virgin widow shall rest with the husband of her youth.

How long have I wearied for this since that day of bliss and woe?

Do the children laugh, as they say it was fifty years ago? What has time to do with our love? for the spirit within

me saith

I shall meet him for evermore, when I change this body of death.

He is calling me now by my name in the voice of the van

ished years,

And my life in its tender music dissolves to a passion of

tears;

The shadows fall from the heights, the lamp in my window

burns dim,

The silence quenches my breath as I pass away to him.

RAISING THE WIND.-W. H. NEALL.*

[COPYRIGHT, 1894.]

CHARACTERS.

MR. A. SMART ALECK, an impecunious playwright who is desirous of organizing an Amateur Dramatic Company.

MR. DRAWIT MILDE, who wonld make an excellent hero but is cast for the villain.

MICHAEL O'SLITHERGAN, who knows as much about acting as the proverbial "Kilkenny cats."

MISS LAVENDER SILKE, who dotes upon heroines.

MISS POSEY BLOSSOM, willing to shine as a soubrette.

MISS HORTENSE VAN DE RELLA, who aspires to the operatic stage.

SCENE. A rather poorly furnished room, table, step-ladder, chairs, etc. Right and left entrances. Enter right Mr. A. Smart Aleck, newspaper in hand; places hat on table.

MR. A. SMART ALECK. Things have certainly come to a pretty pass; bills pouring in and no where-with-all to meet them. I've just left my watch with my "Uncle" to raise the necessary filthy lucre to pay for these rooms and get a good, square meal, which I needed badly. With the remaining dollar I have inserted an advertisement in the Daily Theatrical News, announcing my organization of an Amateur Dramatic Company. It's the only way I have for raising the wind necessary to waft my bark o'er life's stormy sea. And the very fact that I have used my last dollar may be the illwind that will blow me some good. (Looks over paper.) Now, let me see; let me see-ah! here it is "Talent wanted for an Amateur Dramatic Company. Mr. A. Smart Aleck of No. 40 Highflyer Flats" (looking around), the name is tonier than the apartments; however—(Reads.) "will take a few more members to complete the company about to produce his great American Drama: The Weird Singer of the Tower. Call early."

Enter Michael O'Slithergan.

MICHAEL O'SLITHERGAN. Good morning to yez, Misther A. Smart Aleck; can I have a word wid yez?

MR. A. (aside.) That confounded servant of mine; he's after that five dollars I owe him-I'll play a trick on him. (To Michael.) Well! what is it?

MICHAEL. Sure, there's somethin' on me moind that I would be afther axen yez about, Mr. A. Smart Aleck; it is MR. A. Ah! something on your mind, eh? Well, did you know that I was a mind reader? I can tell what it is!

*Author of "An Economical Boomerang," in No. 32, and “A Quiet Smoke" in No. 31, of this Series.