Echo

BY JOHN GODFREY SAXE.

Asked of Echo, t'other day

(Whose words are few and often funny), What to a novice she could say

Of courtship, love and matrimony.
Quoth Echo, plain: "Matter-o'-money!"

Whom should I marry? Should it be
A dashing damsel gay and pert,
A pattern of inconstancy;

Or selfish, mercenary flirt?

Quoth Echo sharply: "Nary flirt!"

What if, aweary of the strife

That long has lured the dear deceiver,

She promise to amend her life,

And sin no more; can I believe her? Quoth Echo, very promptly: "Leave her!"

But if some maiden with a heart

On me should venture to bestow it,

Pray, should I act the wiser part
To take the treasure or forego it?
Quoth Echo, with decision: "Go it!"

But what if, seemingly afraid

To bind her fate in Hymen's fetter,
She vows she means to die a maid,
In answer to my loving letter?
Quoth Echo, rather coolly: "Let her!"

What if, in spite of her disdain,
I find my heart entwined about
With Cupid's dear delicious chain
So closely that I can't get out?
Quoth Echo, laughingly: "Get out."

But if some maid with beauty blest,

As pure and fair as Heaven can make her Will share my labor and my rest

Till envious death shall overtake her? Quoth Echo (sotto voce): "Take her!"

The Child Musician

BY AUSTIN DOBSON.

He had played for his lordship's levee,
He had played for her ladyship's whim,

Till the poor little head was heavy,
And the poor little brain would swim.

And the face grew peaked and eerie,
And the large eyes strange and bright,
And they said-too late-"He is weary!
He shall rest for at least to-night!"

But at dawn when the birds were waking,
As they watched in the silent room,
With the sound of a strained cord breaking,
A something snapped in the gloom.

'Twas a string of his violincello,

And they heard him stir in his bed;"Make room for a tired little fellow, Kind God!" was the last that he said.

The Last Shot

A TALE OF THE INDIAN MUTINY.

BY JOHN D. REID.

Three to ride and to save, one to ride and be savedThat's the key of my tale, deep on my heart engraved. With death before and behind, through dangers many and nigh,

Four to ride together, and three of the four to die.

There was the Captain's daughter, a young and delicate

girl,

With her childlike face and shining eyes, and hair of sunniest curl;

She looked like a beautiful flower, too slight to be even caressed,

Yet never had hero braver heart than beat in that girlish breast.

And then there was Sergeant Gray, a martinet old and grim;

The biggest tyrant that ever lived was a lamb compared to him;

Ne'er-dae-weel Douglas next, a Borderer born and bred, With a sin on his soul for every hair that grew on his handsome head.

And then there was Fighting Denis-Denis the stout of heart,

Foremost in every row and brawl, skilled in the "manly

art";

Take the three altogether, the truth is, old and young, They were three of the greatest scamps that ever deserved to be hung.

Slowly the red moon rose, and then the sergeant spoke: "Pat, look to the horses' girths; Graham, give the lady this cloak;

Now, miss, be your father's daughter; our lads are close

below,

The horses are fresh, the road is clear, and we've only five miles to go."

Then spoke the Captain's daughter, and her voice was weak but clear:

"I want you to promise, brave friends, while we're all together here,

That you'll keep the last shot for me-when each heart of hope despairs;

Better to die by hands like yours than be left alive in theirs."

The sergeant cleared his throat, and turned his face

away;

Denis, the stout of heart, had never

word to say;

And Douglas grasped his hilt with a look and gesture

grim,

While he looked on the face o' the girl with eyes grown suddenly blurred and dim.

"Oh, you'll promise me, will you not?" the weak voice pleaded again,

"You will not leave me to them-you-soldiers-my father's men?

For the sake of my mother in heaven-and God and death so near

Oh, father, father, you would, I know, if only you were here."

66

"I promise." "And I." And I." The voices were

hoarse and low,

And each man prayed, I ween, that the task he might not

know,

As out on the plain they rode swiftly and silently-
Four to ride together, and three of the four to die.

Fire to the right and left, fire in front and rear,
As the dusky demons broke from their lurking ambush

near

"Noo, Denis, boot tae boot-keep close between, ye

twa

We've cut her a way through waur than this, an'— Chairge!" "Hurroo!" "Hurrah!"

Up on the crest o' the rise where Cawnpore's curse of blood

Hushes with horror yet the wide and rolling flood, Douglas reeled in his saddle, and whispered brokenly“Gray, dinna let her ken, but it's near a' ower wi' me."

"Hit?" "Ay, here in the side."-"Bad?"—"Ay, bad, but-a-h!

I'll face yon hounds on the brae, it may gain ye a minute

or twa

Tak' my horse-ye may need it for her. Steady, there! -woa, there, Gem!—

Dinna forget your promise-yon lassie's no for them."

An iron grip o' the hands-a mist o'er the sergeant's

sight,

As he swiftly wheeled the horses, and vanished in the

night;

Then round the nearing foe, under the starry sky,
Alone with his God and his own brave heart Grahame
Douglas turned to die.

Then fighting it, thrust for thrust, and fighting it, blow for blow,

Till at last, where the bank fell sheer to the dusky stream

below,

He fell a groan-a plunge-wave circles eddying wide

And the ne'er-dae-weel was still at last 'neath the river's turbid tide.

A sputter of fire on the right, a flame of fire in the rear, And Gem leaped up and fell-another, and all too near The hissing bullets came, and then the sergeant knew His blood and life were ebbing away with every breath he drew.