There Jessie Brown stood listening,

And then a broad gladness broke
All over her face, and she took my hand,
And drew me near and spoke:

"The Highlanders! O dinna ye hear
The slogan far awa?

The McGregor's? Ah! I ken it weel;
It is the grandest of them a'.

"God bless the bonny Highlanders;

We're saved! we're saved!" she cried; And fell on her knees, and thanks to God Poured forth like a full flood tide.

Along the battery line her cry

Had fallen among the men;

And they started; for they were there to die, Was life so near them then?

They listened, for life, and the rattling fire
Far off, and the far-off roar

Were all, and the colonel shook his head,
And they turned to their guns once more.

Then Jessie said, "The slogan's dune,
But can ye no hear them, noo?

The Campbells are comin! It's nae a dream,
Our succors hae broken through !"

We heard the roar and the rattle afar,
But the pipers we could not hear;
So the men plied their work of hopeless war,
And knew that the end was near.

It was not long ere it must be heard,
A shrilling, ceaseless sound;

It was no noise of the strife afar,
Or the sappers under ground.

It was the pipe of the Highlanders,

And now they played "Auld Lang Syne;"
It came to our men like the voice of God;
And they shouted along the line.

And they wept and shook each other's hands,
And the women sobbed in a crowd;
And every one knelt down where we stood,
And we all thanked God aloud.

That happy day, when we welcomed them in,
Our men put Jessie first;

And the General took her hand; and cheers
From the men like a volley burst.

And the pipers' ribbons and tartan streamed,
Marching round and round our line;
And our joyful cheers were broken with tears,
As the pipers played "Auld Lang Syne."
ROBERT LOWELL.

THE BRIDGE.

STOOD on the bridge at midnight,
As the clocks were striking the hour
And the moon rose o'er the city,

Behind the dark church tower.

I saw her bright reflection

In the waters under me, Like a golden goblet falling And sinking into the sea.

And far in the hazy distance
Of that lovely night in June,
The blaze of the flaming furnace
Gleamed redder than the moon.

Among the long, black rafters
The wavering shadows lay,

And the current that came from the ocean
Seemed to lift and bear them away;

As, sweeping and eddying through them,
Rose the belated tide,

And, streaming into the moonlight,
The seaweed floated wide.

And like those waters rushing
Among the wooden piers,
A flood of thoughts came o'er me
That filled my eyes with tears.

How often, oh, how often,

In the days that had gone by,
I nad stood on that bridge at midnight
And gazed on that wave and sky!

How often, oh, how often,

I had wished that the ebbing tide Would bear me away on its bosom O'er the ocean wild and wide!

For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me

Seemed greater than I could bear.

But now it has fallen from me,
It is buried in the sea;
And only the sorrow of others
Throws its shadows over me.

Yet, whenever I cross the river
On its bridge with wooden piers,
Like the odor of brine from the ocean
Comes the thought of other years.

And I think how many thousands
Of care-encumbered men,

Each bearing his burden of sorrow,
Have crossed the bridge since then.

I see the long procession

Still passing to and fro,

The young heart hot and restless,
And the old subdued and slow!

And forever and forever,

As long as the river flows,
As long as the heart has passions,
As long as life has woes;

The moon and its broken reflection
And its shadows shall appear,

As the symbol of love in Heaven,
And its wavering image here.

2

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

CROSSING THE CARRY.

SCENE.-The Adirondacks during a shower. A pleasure-seeker and his guiue on the road.

"JOHN," said I, as we stood looking at each other

across the boat, "this rain is wet."

"It generally is, up in this region, I believe," he responded, as he wiped the water out of his eyes with the back of his hand, and shook the accumulating drops from nose and chin; "but the waterproof I have on has lasted me some thirty-eight years, and I don't think it will wet through to-day."

"Well!" I exclaimed, "there is no use of standing here in this marsh-grass any longer; help me to load up. I'll take the baggage and you the boat."

"You'll never get through with it if you try to take it all at once. Better load light, and I'll come back after what's left," was the answer. "I tell you," he continued, "the swamp is full of water, and soft as muck."

"John," said I, "that baggage is going over at one load, sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish. I'll make the attempt, swamp or no swamp. My life is assured against accidents by fire, water, and mud; so here goes. What's life to glory!" I exclaimed, as I seized the pork-bag and dragged it from under the boat; "stand by and see me put my armor on."

Over my back I slung the provision basket, made like a fisherman's creel, thirty inches by forty, filled with plates, coffee, salt, and all the impedimenta of camp and cooking utensils. This was held in its place by straps passing over the shoulders and under the arms, like a Jewpeddler's pack. There might have been eighty pounds' weight in it. Upon the top of the basket John lashed my knapsack, full of bullets, powder, and clothing. My