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The Rev. J. Starr King sends from California, to the Transcript, the following verses upon the contribution from that State to the hospitals.


NOT ours, where battle smoke upcurls,

And battle dews lie wet,

To meet the charge that treason hurls
By sword and bayonet.

Not ours to guide the fatal scythe,
The fleshless reaper wields;
The harvest moon looks calmly down
Upon our peaceful fields.

The long grass dimples on the hill,
The pines sing by the sea,
And Plenty from hier golden horn
Is pouring far and free.

O brothers, by the further sea,

Think still our faith is warm;
The same bright flag above us waves

That swathed our baby form.

The same red blood that dyes your fields
Here throbs in patriot pride;

The blood that flowed when Lander fell
And Baker's crimson tide.

And thus apart our hearts keep time
With every pulse ye feel,

And Mercy's ringing gold shall chime
With Valor's clashing steel.

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AT anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,

On board of the Cumberland sloop-of-war; And at times from the fortress across the bay The alarum of drums swept past,

Or a bugle-blast,

From the camp on the shore.

Then far away to the South uprose

A little feather of snow-white smoke,

And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
Was steadily steering its course
To try the force

Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,

Silent and sullen, the floating fort;

Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
And leaps the terrible death,
With fiery breath,
From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight
Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,
Rebounds our heavier hail
From each iron scale
Of the monster's hide.
"Strike your flag!" the rebel cries,

In his arrogant old plantation strain, "Never!" our gallant Morris replies;

THE LASS OF THE PAMUNKY. YOUR "glens" and "groves "I ne'er admired, And oh, your "broom" and "birks" they pall so !

Of Burn sides (all but one) I'm tired,

And of your "bonny lasses" also.
The man that sings the "Banks of Doon,"
And braes-I hold him but a donkey;

My heart beats to another tune,

And that's the Banks of the Pamunky.

For that famed "Lass of Pattie's Mill "
I wouldn't give one nickel penny;
Of" Nannies" we've quite had our fill,
Of "Peggies" and of "Jessies" many.
Ditto the "Lass of Ballochmyle,'

All set so tediously to one key:
Suppose we try a different style,

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And sing the Lass of the Pamunky!

Then sing no more the "Banks of Cree," Or" Aftons," green and softly rounded, But sing the steamer on the P

Where they took me when I was wounded. And sing the maiden kind and true,

Trim, handy, quiet, sweet, and spunky,
That nursed me, and made no ado,
When I lay sick on the Pamunky.

Fair hands! but not too nice or coy

To soothe my pangs with service tender; Soft eyes! that watched a wasted boy, All loving as your land's defender! Oh, I was then a wretched shade,

But now I'm strong, and growing chunky, So, Forward! but God bless the maid That saved my life on the Pamunky. -Daily Advertiser.

F. J. C.

From Blackwood's Magazine.

THE old gray manor-house had nestled down to dreamless slumber in the hollow of the hills: the rooks in the tall elms behind it had at last settled into silence. But the young mistress of the manor still flitted to and fro on the terrace, slowly and with soft footfall, never hastening, never pausing; not conscious that the light had faded and the dew was falling. There was light enough for the dreaming of such dreams as hers, enough of the warmth of hope and young life in her heart to resist a far graver chill than any that was to be feared from the tepid air of the summer night.

Presently a lattice creaked on its hinges, and a voice from the many-casemented west window asked,—

"Clare, are you out there still? Pray, come in, my dear-you will take cold; and there is a letter for you."

"A letter from Allan ? " "No; from Mr. Stanner."

Having heard this, Miss Watermeyr seemed in no haste to obey the summons. For some minutes she leant over the terrace balustrade, breathing the perfume which rose like incense froin the great bed of valley lilies under the wall. In the porch she paused again—the honeysuckles seemed so peculiarly, so bewilderingly sweet to-night, as if reminding her of past joy, and prophesying to her of joy to be. So it appeared at first; but she paused too long, till her heart seemed suddenly to sink within her. Perhaps some unrecognized instinct warned her that, passing into the house to-night, she passed over one of those boundary-lines of life which we cross unconsciously, and only perceive when we look back upon them from a distance.

"You are shutting out the twilight early, are you not, auntie?" she asked, entering the drawing-room, and finding that the lamp had been brought in, and that a servant was letting fall the curtains.

"Auntie ". -a placid-looking old lady, dressed with somewhat of the quaint gravity of old ladies of an olden time, which made her look peculiarly in keeping with the large,

low, oak-wainscoted and oak-raftered room -smiled.

"Your thoughts must have been pleasant to-night, Clare it is very late; for the last hour I have not been able to see to do even my coarse knitting."

"My thoughts have been pleasant, auntie," Clare said, softly, seating herself, as the servant left the room, on a low stool at the old lady's feet. "I have been thinking of Allan of how sweet it will be to have him home again at last. I have been very happy with only you, auntie, but still I do feel lonely sometimes, and it is so long that he has been away."

"Very long, my dear; I hope that you may never be separated again-never left with only auntie' any more."

"I do not know that I shall wish that." Clare's color had risen; she spoke proudly as she added, “I do not wish anything to be considered as settled; we were so young then."

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Mrs. Andrews was silent for some time when she spoke, it was with some considerable show of embarrassment.

"I am not apt to croak, dear Clare, or to be a bird of ill omen, but I feel as if I ought to warn you that you must not expect all will go smoothly: I mean I would have you prepared to endure some things that will seem hard at first-very hard, if you meet them in a proud spirit. You have been good and gentle to me always; still, my dear, you are too proud: you have a more obstinate will than is beautiful in a woman, or consistent with a woman's happiness. I wish to warn you against it-to put you on your guard. A woman must learn to submit before she can be what she should be-before she can be happy."

"Dear auntie, what is all this about? What have I done? What am I going to be done to? Will Allan come home a tyrant? Am I to learn to submit to his will? He used to have no will but mine." In spite of her light tone, Clare's heart sank.

"Your father was a tyrant, my dear." Mrs. Andrews spoke in a suppressed voice, glancing round the room, as if conscious of the treasonableness of her words. "He did not approve of any amount of liberty for women; he was my poor sister's jailer rather than her husband; his jealousy during the last years of her life, which were the


The his too, amounted to something bornia, tang on insanity. I have always thought unlikely that, with his opinion of women, he should have left you free, and an heiress; and, my dear, you are of age to-morrow." Clare took the letter from where it had been lying on the table, disregarded till now. “You think I shall find that I am, without my own consent, disposed of?" she said. "This letter, perhaps, is to tell me of my destination, my fate. Mr. Stanner generally writes if he has anything disagreeable to say he is afraid of me, I think."

"As I should be, my dear, if you often spoke to me in that tone, or looked at me as you have been looking at that inoffensive paper."

return his affection, and held him more in contempt than in awe. She had always been able to wind him round her finger in such unimportant matters as there had been question of between them, and she was not herself enough truly womanly to feel, nor had she experience enough of life to know, that a gentle-hearted man, easily swayed by a woman's wish or will in trifles, may yet show himself to be inflexible when need is. Mr. Stanner was, perhaps, hardly able to teach Clare this lesson-yet it was a lesson it would be well that she should learn.

It was Clare who at last broke the silence, which she felt to be ominous and oppressive, saying after dinner, when Mr. Stanner had joined her and Mrs. Andrews in the draw

Clare did not smile, or let her features re- ing-room, "If you have business to talk to


she had opened the letter.

"A short respite," she said, harshly. "My guardian only writes to say that he is coming to speak to me on business of importance tomorrow, and shall probably do himself the pleasure of spending a few weeks here."


They are going to spoil all my pleasure in seeing Allan again," she muttered, when she was alone in her own room. "Mr. Stanner is coming to help auntie play propriety: we shall be watched, our actions observed, and feelings speculated upon. Perhaps I shall dislike Allan now; I shall, if he seems sure of success-thinks I am to be won without wooing—that I am already won. Mr. Stanner might have waited for an invitation here; it is not much use to be mistress, if he comes when and for as long as he pleases."

The girlish softness and sweetness had passed from Miss Watermeyr's face: reflected in the glass she saw that of a woman who would have been beautiful had she been less proud.


CLARE woke next morning with a sense of something impending: she did not know what she dreaded, but a gloom was over everything, a weight upon her usually light elastic spirits.

Mr. Stanner, who lived at no great distance, arrived early; but he seemed rather to shun than to seek opportunity for a têteà-tête with Clare: being both kind-hearted and timid, he was at once fond of his ward and afraid of her. On her part she did not

me about, shall we go into the library now, while Mrs. Andrews takes her nap ?"


If you please, but there is really no hurry."

Clare stood expectant, so Mr. Stanner had no alternative but to rise from the soft depths of a luxurious chair into which he had just sunk with a sigh of content, and follow her from the room.

"It is very warm this afternoon-very warm, upon my word!"

Thus Mr. Stanner broke the silence which had ensued when he and Clare were seated; he drew out his handkerchief, passed it across his forehead, and glanced furtively at his fair ward as he repeated his assertion.

"I feel it is something unpleasant that you have to tell me," Clare said. "You need not be afraid to speak; no doubt I shall be able to bear what you may have to communicate."

"Unpleasant!' oh, by no means- at least, not necessarily so. Afraid to speak!' why should I be, my dear young lady? You have no deadly weapon concealed among the amplitude of that light and pretty dress, in which you look so charming."

"If you begin to pay me compliments, I shall be quite sure that something disagreeable is to follow them."

"To come to the point at once, then: You are aware that Mr. Allan Watermeyr, your father's half-brother's son, whom, for brevity, we will call your cousin, is expected home from abroad in a few days.”

"As my cousin has himself written to me to this effect, I certainly am aware of it."

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Clare's color had risen at the first mention | as sinister-repeating the last phrase again of her cousin's name; but Mr. Stanner stu- and again, anddiously avoided looking at her. As he continued, he became more and completely absorbed in the contemplation of some speck or flaw on one of his carefully tended fingernails.

"Every step I take in this matter I am obliged to take without exercising my own judgment. Every step has been planned for me. Your father left me the most minute directions: compliance with some of his instructions is a painful duty. Unhappily, your father believed that he had cause to entertain but a low opinion of your sex. From his point of view, his conduct was, perhaps, right and wise; from other points of view, I do not hesitate to say that it seems to me foolish-nay, extravagant and mischievous in the extreme. But, my dear young lady, much, if not everything, rests with yourself: if you can subdue your pride and control your somewhat high temper, let events take the course they would easily and naturally have taken had you, as I could have desired, remained in ignorance of what I am compelled to communicate to you: if you will adopt this womanly and becoming line of conduct, all will yet go well."

"Perhaps for womanly and becoming 'I might substitute spiritless and abject," interposed Clare; "but pray go on-let me hear the worst at once."

"If you will bear in your mind your father's lamentable and mistaken views, you will be less unprepared for my communication. It was your father's desire, that when you and Mr. Allan Watermeyr had respectively arrived at a suitable age, you should -according to his way of expressing himself-enter purgatory together: he had many reasons for wishing that you should be united. You know that, during the last years of his life, his friends had cause to fear that his mind was somewhat affected-what was sense, and what insanity, it was not always easy to say. He talked sometimes of having played Jacob's part-cheated Esau (Mr. Allan's father) of his birthright; then he would say, 'A marriage between his boy and my girl will make reparation, especially if she turns out like her mother.' I have heard him say that a hundred times, always with the same smile-a smile that struck me

"Spare me all humiliating details," Clare said, impatiently. She had sat looking out on the sloping lawns, down which the sunshine seemed pouring to the river, quite still, but with an ever-deepening crimson on her fair face, and a threatening brightness flashing from her eyes.

"As the mutual attachment existing between you and Mr. Watermeyr is no se cret—


"A boy-and-girl affair, which either of us, or both of us, may now wish forgotten," interrupted Clare.

"I need not imagine that anything I have yet said need be classed in the category of unpleasant communications." Mr. Stanner had not heeded Clare's interruption, except to pause while she spoke, and then proceed as if she had not yet spoken. "It is the way which your father took to insure the fulfilment of his wishes, which, in accordance as it is with his low opinion of your sex, may naturally be somewhat distasteful to you, my dear young lady. Let me beg you to be wise and patient; let me assure you that no rash revolt can show so truly noble a spirit, so true a dignity, as a quiet disregard of"

"Mr. Stanner, Mr. Stanner, do come to the point!" Clare broke in, with a tone of feverish impatience.

"When you are twenty-two, then, in one year from to-day, all that is now yours is to be Mr. Watermeyr's-only yours as his wife."

"I am to be dependent on marriage with him for a subsistence! I expected injustice, injury, insult, but nothing so intolerable!"

"Look at it from a right point of view, and it is not so bad, my dear. A wife is naturally dependent upon a husband: as I said before, your mutual attachment is no secret ; if events take their natural course-"

"Spare me this twaddle Forgive me that uncourteous expression. Is there more to hear regarding my father's will ?" "Only this " Mr. Stanner's face had flushed angrily-" if you marry any one but your cousin, you forfeit everything; if you choose to remain single, a small pittance and the West-End Cottage will be yours

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