mingled and shaded with the trials and sufferings of the past year, went at once to the inmost fountain of her heart, and her feelings gushed forth with all the truth and freedom of childhood. The boys too wept and laughed in the same breath. Theirs were the tears of joy, for the trials of life had not yet left the rust of sorrow upon their hearts. Mr. Scamman was a hardy, iron-nerved man, but even his chin quivered, as he said, " come wife, let us go to the house and see if there is anybody there to let us in."

The party proceeded on, and approached the door of the dwelling. Eyerything about it was noiseless and motionless as the abode of the dead. Mr. Scamman lifted up the latch and they all went in. Almost the first thing that met their eyes was the old housecat, seated upon the window-stool at the back part of the house and looking out of the window. Grey Tabby had lived with them four or five years; and the idea that she had stuck by the home-stead and kept house alone during the whole long year of their absence, at once affected them very sensibly. At first Tabby looked wild and sat out to run away; but when Mrs. Scamman called her, the creature instantly recognized her voice, and turned round and ran toward her. She stopped a moment and looked up in her mistress' face; and when Mrs. Scamman patted her on the head, she cried out almost like a young child; licked her hand, pressed round and round her feet, leaped upon her clothes and purred, and showed such signs of joy and affec tion, that it brought tears to the eyes of most of the company.

They now looked about the house. There were he heaps of feathers which the Indians had emptied out of the beds upon the floor, and there were broken articles of furniture which they had thrown here and there, all lying as they had been left on that fearful day. Presently Samuel stepped along to the shelves in the corner of the room, when he suddenly clapped his hands, and called ont with great glee, "Oh, mother, here is the very mug of beer that I was carrying out to father that day when the Indians come." They all ran and looked, and there it was, sure enough. They tasted of the beer; it was rather stale, it is true; but there it was, and the mug was more than half full, notwithstanding all the hot days and all the cold days that it had been standing there through the whole year. Mr. Scamman took the mug and looked at it, and said he,

"Samuel, now this mug shall be yours, and do you keep it as long as you live, to remember the Indians by."

"And grandfather did keep it as long as he lived, and when he died he left it to my father, and when father died he left it to me. And that's the story of the King William mug that stands on the table, there, before you," said the old lady; so now set up and take your lunch, for Sally has got it all ready.”

"And pray good woman,” said I, “ what do you intend to do with the mug when you have done with it?"

"I" said the old lady; "when my time comes, and it wont be long, I shall leave the mug to Sally."

We seated ourselves at table.

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"I don't know," said the old lady, find much of anything that you can eat."

as you will

"I never knew a more groundless fear in my life," said I, glancing round the table, for indeed a more inviting lunch I never sat down to. There were delicious slices of cold beef's tongue, a rich dish of fried ham and eggs, bread of the very best quality, soft milk biscuit, with the freshest and sweetest butter I ever tasted, cup custards, and a perfect gem of an apple pie with rich old cheese. Then there was the brown mug full of excellent beer, and the way the whole was served up was the most perfect pattern of taste and neatness I ever beheld. In short, we ate a very hearty dinner. During the operation of eating, I observed that Joe's eyes wandered very often across the room and rested on Sally, who had again taken her sewing and was seated by the window. Having finished our repast, we prepared to depart. I tried to make the old lady accept of money for the trouble we had caused her, but she seemed hurt and utterly refused. We gave them a parting blessing, and went on our way. We walked side by side, Joe and I, I think nearly a mile without speaking a word. At last said I,

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Joe, you seem to be wrapped up very close in some sort of deep cogitation or other; what are you thinking about ?"

"I'm thinking," said Joe, "if ever I get married, I mean my oldest son shall inherit the BROWN MUG."

NOTE. The story of the Brown Mug, with most of the other incidents in this sketch, is no fiction, but the simple truth.

THE BELEAGUERED CITY.

BY HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

I HAVE read, in some old marvelous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of spectres pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau's rushing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.

But, when the old cathedral bell
Proclaimed the morning prayer,
The white pavilions rose and fell
On the alarmed air.

Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;

Up rose the glorious morning star,
The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvellous heart of man,
That strange and mystic scroll,

That an army of phantoms vast and wan
Beleaguer the human soul.

Encamped beside Life's rushing stream,
In Fancy's misty light,
Gigantic shapes and shadows gleam
Portentous through the night.

Upon its midnight battle-ground
The spectral camp is seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
Flows the River of Life between.

No other voice, nor sound is there,
In the army of the grave;
No other challenge breaks the air,'
But the rushing of Life's wave.

And, when the solemn and deep church-bell
Entreats the soul to pray,

The midnight phantoms feel the spell,

The shadows sweep away.

Down the broad Vale of Tears afar

The spectral camp is fled;

Faith shineth as a morning star,

Our ghastly fears are dead.