form stands upright, leaning on me. All the men can see him-the men he has led hither, and whom he now means to lead back. And now he beckons again with his eyes to his hand, and I take it, as it hangs down limp and wax-like, and it points in the direction of the road along which we came at midday. There was not one man present who durst disobey that dumb, silent command. They collect together, they fall into their ranks; the sergeant and I bear the dying leader. So we go back, in a long, slow, solemn pro

cession.

Night has come on; only a few solitary gusts of wind blow past us, and remind us of the terrible day we have all passed through. The prisoners, who have worked outside the house to-day, are sleeping on the bed of a good conscience, which their director had promised them that night. Their director sleeps too, and his pillow is as soft as death for a great and good cause can make it.

THE SLEEPING BEAUTY.

A Tale of Forests and Enchantments Drear.Il Penseroso.

Sister, 'tis the noon of night:

Let us in the web of thought
Weave the threads of ancient song,
From the realms of fairies brought.

Thou shalt stain the dusky warp

In nightshade wet with twilight dew;
I with streaks of morning gold
Will strike the fabric through and
through.'

Where a lone castle by the sea

Upreared its dark and mouldering pile, Far seen with all its frowning towers

For many and many a weary mile; The wild waves beat the castle walls,

And bathed the rock with ceaseless showers, The winds roared fiercely round the pile, And moaned along its mouldering towers. Within those wide and echoing halls,

To guard her from a fatal spell,

A maid of noble lineage born

Was doomed in solitude to dwell.

This is a joint production of Mrs. Whitman and her sister, Miss Power.

Five fairies graced the infant's birth
With fame and beauty, wealth and power;
The sixth by one fell stroke reversed
The lavish splendors of her dower:
Whene'er the orphan's lily hand

A spindle's shining point should pierce,
She swore upon her magic wand
The maid should sleep a hundred years.
The wild waves beat the castle wall,
And bathed the rock with ceaseless showers,
Dark, heaving billows plunged and fell
In whitening foam beneath the towers.
There, rocked by winds and lulled by waves,
In youthful grace the maiden grew,
And from her solitary dreams

A sweet and pensive pleasure drew.
Yet often from her lattice high
She gazed athwart the gathering night,
To mark the sea-gulls wheeling by,
And longed to follow in their flight.
One winter night beside the hearth

She sat and watched the smouldering fire, While now the tempests seemed to lull,

And now the winds rose high and higher; Strange sounds are heard along the wall, Dim faces glimmer through the gloom, And still, mysterious voices call,

And shadows flit from room to room;
Till, bending o'er the dying brands,
She chanced a sudden gleam to see:
She turned the sparkling embers o'er,
And lo! she finds a golden key.
Lured on as by an unseen hand,
She roamed the castle o'er and o'er,
Through many a darkling chamber sped,
And many a dusky corridor;
And still through unknown, winding ways
She wandered on for many an hour,
For gallery still to gallery leads,

And tower succeeds to tower.
Oft, wearied with the steep ascent,
She lingered on her lonely way,
And paused beside the pictured walls,
Their countless wonders to survey.
At length upon a narrow stair

That wound within a turret high,
She saw a little low-browed door,

And turned her golden key to try;
Slowly beneath her trembling hand
The bolts recede, and backward flung,
With harsh recoil and sullen clang

The door upon its hinges swung.