"Then I thought: It's all nightmare, all a humbug and a

bore;

Just another foolish grape-vine-and it won't come any more; But it came, sir! notwithstanding, just the same way as

before:

'ORDERLY SERGEANT ROBERT BURTON!"

before.

-even plainer than

"That is all that I remember, till a sudden burst of light, And I stood beside the river, where we stood that Sunday night,

Waiting to be ferried over to the dark bluffs opposite,
When the river was perdition, and all hell was opposite!

"And the same old palpitation came again in all its power,
And I heard a bugle sounding, as from some celestial tower:
And the same mysterious voice said: 'IT IS THE ELEVENTH
HOUR!

ORDERLY SERGEANT-ROBERT BURTON-IT IS THE ELEVENTH HOUR!'

"Doctor Austin !-what day is this?"-"It is Wednesday night, you know."

"Yes! to-morrow will be New Year's, and a right good time below!

What time is it? Doctor Austin !"—"Nearly twelve."

"Then don't you go!

Can it be that all this happened-all this-not an hour ago!

"There was where the gunboats open'd on the dark rebellious host;

And where Webster semicircled his last guns upon the coast, There were still the two log-houses, just the same, or else their ghost,

And the same old transport came and took me over—or its ghost!

"And the old field lay before me, all deserted far and wide; There was where they fell on Prentiss,-there M'Clernand met the tide;

There was where stern Sherman rallied, and where Hurlbut's heroes died

Lower down, where Wallace charged them, and kept charging till he died.

"There was where Lew Wallace show'd them he was of the canny kin,

There was where old Nelson thunder'd, and where Rousseau

waded in ;

There M'Cook sent 'em to breakfast, and we all began to win

There was where the grape-shot took me, just as we began to win.

"Now a shroud of snow and silence over everything was

spread,

And but for this old blue mantle, and the old hat on my

head,

I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was

dead,

For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead!

"Death and silence!-Death and silence, all around me as I sped!

And behold a mighty TOWER, as if builded to the dead,To the Heaven of the heavens, lifted up its mighty head, Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seem'd waving from its head!

"Round and mighty-based it tower'd-up into the infiniteAnd I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft so

bright;

For it shone like solid sunshine; and a winding stair of light Wound around it and around it till it wound clear out of

sight!

“And behold, as I approach'd it—with a rapt and dazzled

stare,

Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great Stair,

Suddenly the solemn challenge broke of-Halt and who goes there?'

'I'm a friend,' I said, 'if you are.' 'Then advance, sir, to the Stair!'

"I advanced!-That sentry, Doctor! was Elijah Ballantyne!— First of all to fall on Monday, after we had form'd the line!— 'Welcome, my old Sergeant! welcome! Welcome by that countersign!'

And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of mine!

"As he grasp'd my hand I shudder'd, thinking only of the

grave;

But he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and bloodless glaive;

'That's the way, sir! to Head-quarters,'—'What Headquarters?' 'Of the Brave.'

'But the great Tower?''That'-he answer'd—' is the way, sir! of the Brave!'

"Then a sudden shame came o'er me at his uniform of light; At my own so old and tatter'd, and at his so new and bright; 'Ah!' said he 'you have forgotten the New Uniform to-night,

Hurry back, for you must be here at just twelve o'clock to-night!'

"And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there,

and I

Doctor! did you hear a footstep?

all! Good-bye!

Hark! God bless you

Doctor! please to give my musket and my knapsack when I die,

To my son-my son that's coming-he won't get here till I

die !

"Tell him his old father bless'd him as he never did before— And to carry that old musket-Hark! a knock is at the door!

Till the Union-See! it opens!" "Father! Father! speak once more!"

"Bless you!" gasped the old gray Sergeant, and he lay and

said no more!

BYRON FORCEYTHE WILLSON.

THE SPARROW AT SEA.

Against the baffling winds, with slow advance,

One drear December day;

Up the vex'd Channel, tow'rd the coast of France,
Our vessel urged her way.

Around the dim horizon's misty slopes
The storm its banners hung;
And, pulling bravely at the heavy ropes,
The dripping sailors sung.

A little land-bird from its home-nest warm,

Bewilder'd, driven, and lost,

With wearied wings, came drifting on the storm,
From the far English coast.

Blown blindly onward with a headlong speed,

It could not guide or check;

Seeking some shelter in its utter need,

It dropp'd upon the deck.

Forgetting all its dread of human foes,

Desiring only rest,

It folded its weak wings, and nestled close
And gladly to my breast.

Wherefore I said this little flickering life,
Which now all panting lies,

Shall yet forget its perils and its strife,
And soar in sunny skies.

To-morrow, gaining England's shore again,

Its wings shall find their rest;

And soon, among the leaves of some green lane Brood o'er a summer nest.

And when, amid my future wanderings,
My far and devious guest,

I hear a warbling bird, whose carol rings *

More sweetly than the rest,—

Then I shall say, with heart awake and warm,

And sudden sympathy,

It is the bird I shelter'd in the storm,

The life I saved at sea!

But when the morning fell across the ship,
And storm and cloud were fled,

The golden beak no longer sought my lip,
The wearied bird was dead.

* America has a song-sparrow-fringilla melodia.

R