Dear girl, her name he dared not speak,

But as the

song grew louder, Something upon the soldier's cheek

Washed off the stains of powder.

Beyond the darkening ocean burned
The bloody sunset's embers,
While the Crimean valleys learned
How English love remembers.

And once again a fire of hell

Rained on the Russian quarters,

With scream of shot and burst of shell
And bellowing of the mortars !

And Irish Norah's eyes are dim
For a singer dumb and gory;
And English Mary mourns for him.
Who sang of Annie Laurie.

Sleep, soldiers! still in honored rest,
Your truth and valor wearing.
The bravest are the tenderest,

The loving are the daring.

BAYARD TAYLOR.

TRIBUTE TO WASHINGTON.

THE Declaration of American Independence has be

come the Declaration of the Rights of Men. The seal of patriotic blood is upon it. A century has consecrated it. For seven years it rested upon the character of a single man; and when we contemplate the long period when it hung trembling in the balance, who will be bold enough to assert that, had it not been for the fortitude and heroism of Washington, it would have been set down amid the records of human action as the audacious instrument of unsuccessful rebellion. But the sublime devotion of Washington saved from defeat during the long, dark hours of thickening gloom, the vital principle of our national life and the abiding foundation of our national existence.

It is, then, eminently fitting that we celebrate the birth of earth's grandest hero. We honor ourselves in honoring the day. As we stand here in the living memory of the man, all the vivid scenes of that trying time from Lexington to Yorktown rush upon us, banishing that forgetfulness of gratitude into which we are prone, and reminding us anew of the duty we owe as patriots and citizens of the greatest commonwealth under heaven. And we would fain call to our aid in this becoming observation, all that genius, eloquence, poetry, music and art can provide, to commemorate the worth and glory of" one of the few immortal names that were not born to die."

Amid the darkest days of the Revolution, when despair and fear and horror brooded in every soul-when hope was gone—when all seemed lost in the unequal chances of war-we behold him. gifted with apostolic

power for the liberty of man, kneeling alone upon the furrowed field, surrounded by havoc and by blood, while the sulphurous atmosphere of battle still lingers over its destruction, with the weight of States upon his arm and the destiny of government in his consecrated soul. Under the military cloak which is drawn across his shoulder we behold the soldier, but as his head sinks heavily upon his breast and his whole form bows under the cross of his devotion, and his hands are clasped in agony of prayer, " that prayer the full heart may not, cannot speak," we behold the noblest elements and the brightest virtues that constitute the citizen and the man.

How feeble are words to recognize the merit of one that is above titles, whose fame cannot be increased by adjectives, and before whom the loftiest flights of panegyric and eulogy must fall, like shaftless arrows, far short of the distant object. Thought even, sovereign mistress of man's supreme dominion, turns upon herself in dumb ecstacy and astonishment. By what standard can we measure such a man? In what balance poised by human hands can he be weighed? How can our powers be magnified to encompass the majestic proportions of his character and his influence? One devoted age writes the name of Washington, "First in the hearts of his countrymen," but time, like the sun, puts the star to flight, and casts over the broad expanse, "FIRST IN THE HEARTS OF MEN."

Let the vision sweep the horizon, penetrating into the profoundest depths of human action, and no equal arrests the flight. Count off the mighty characters who have carved eras out of oblivion, and you will find none to surpass the exalted province of this. Pass in review all the great captains and ministers of human destiny,

and we search in vain for the grand combination of self denying attributes that marked a Washington. The heroic carnivals of an Alexander, the trembling earth be neath the feet of Cæsar, and the red fields of a Napoleon spread mourning like a pall over the children of men, and made the sword the curse of human destiny; but Washington transformed the mission of battle, and wrote upon the dreaded instrument of war, "Peace on earth, good will to men." That sword never knew what it was to slaughter, and returned to its scabbard when the rush of war was passed, with the blessing of mankind upon its virgin steel.

Call again into existence all the bright galaxy of men who have formed and moulded States. Let the just Aristides, the brilliant Augustus, the kingly Alfred, and the thundering Peter arise to speak for themselves, and their words are as vain as their deeds are perishable, when ranked by the side of the immortal accomplishment of the great citizen, George Washington. He created a State, and nobly resigned the labor of his life to a devoted people. The civic crown which he won was no incentive to the perpetuation of his power. He laid aside the sceptre when it rested most securely in his hand, and became the very embodiment of free institutions and the living spirit of their promulgation. No shadow falls across his sublime career; no stain darkens his untarnished character, and no evil mingles in his abounding influence. Enthusiasm can add nothing to his worth, nor can art adorn the perfect beauty of his life.

COL. J. A. PRICE.

ST. GEORGE AND THE DRAGON.

I.

LONG back in the far off ages, when low lay the

might of Rome,

When the Crescent had not yet risen, and Mohammed had not yet come,

A knight crossed the desert of Egypt, riding slowly at close of day,

His good horse drooping and weary, as he toiled his trackless way.

Just then, far over the sand-hills-for daylight was al most done

He saw three palm trees standing dark on the rim of the setting sun.

Under those trees lived a hermit, who, many a year

ago,

Had shaken off the dust of his feet on a world of evil

and woe;

And into this haunted desert, where no servant of Christ

had trod,

Had come to pray for the world he had left, and to dwell alone with his God.

Kindly the hermit received them-cool water and dates and corn

He set before weary man and beast, and he bade them rest till morn ;

But himself all night kept vigil-kept vigil and wept and prayed;

All night Sir George heard him crying, "Dear Lord, help my Christian maid