Then he began to read from a slip of paper.

"Whereas, John Mills, engineer of engine Number 59, of this railway line, erected a private telegraph; and, whereas he, with the assistance of the telegraph operator of this station (I leave a blank for her name), used the said line without the consent of this Company, and for other than railway business:

"It is resolved that he be suspended permanently from his position as engineer, and that the said operator be requested to resign

A murmur of disapprobation filled the room, but the President commanded silence, and the State Director went on.

"It is further resolved, and is hereby ordered, that the said John Mills be and is appointed chief engineer of the new repair shops at Slawson."

A tremendous cheer broke from the assembled company, and the resolution was passed with a shout of assent.

How it all ended they never knew. It seemed like a dream, and they could not believe it true till they stood alone in the winter's night on the track beside that glorious 59. The few cars the engine had brought up had been joined to the train, and 59 had been rolled out on the siding. With many hand-shakings for John, and hearty kisses for Kate, and a round of parting cheers for the two, the train had sped away. The idlers had dispersed, and none lingered about the abandoned station save the lovers. 59 would stay that night on the siding, and they had walked up the track to bid it a long farewell.

For a few moments they stood in the glow of the great lamp, and then he quietly put it out, and left the giant to breathe away its fiery life in gentle clouds of white As for the lovers, they had no need of its light. The winter's stars shone upon them, and the calm cold night seemed a paradise below.

steam.

-Scribner's Monthly.

THE REMOVAL.

▲ nervous old gentleman, tired of trade,

By which, though, it seems, he a fortune had made,-
Took a house 'twixt two sheds, at the skirts of the town,
Which he meant, at his leisure, to buy and pull down.
This thought struck his mind when he viewed the estate:
But alas! when he entered he found it too late;
For in each dwelt a smith;-a more hard-working two
Never doctored a patient, or put on a shoe.

At six in the morning, their anvils, at work,
Awoke our good squire, who raged like a Turk.
"These fellows," he cried, "such a clattering keep
That I never can get above eight hours sleep."
From morning till night they keep thumping away,
No sound but the anvil the whole of the day;
His afternoon's nap and his daughter's new song
Were banished and spoiled by their hammers' ding-dong.
He offered each Vulcan to purchase his shop;
But, no! they were stubborn, determined to stop;
At length (both his spirits and health to improve,)
He cried, "I'll give each fifty guineas to move."
"Agreed!" said the pair; "that will make us amends."
"Then come to my house, and let us part friends;
You shall dine; and we'll drink on this joyful occasion,
That each may live long in his new habitation."
He gave the two blacksmiths a sumptuous regale;
He spared not provisions, his wine, nor his ale;

So much was he pleased with the thought that each guest
Would take from him noise, and restore to him rest.
"And now," said he, " tell me, where mean you to move!
I hope to some spot where your trade will improve."
“Why, sir,” replied one, with a grin on his phiz,
"Tom Forge moves to my shop and I move to his!”

BEN HAFED.-WM. WHitehead.

The day retires as o'er the plain
Evening unveils her starry train;
And Hebron's vale, mid placid air,
Smiles in the mellowing radiance there;

Whilst, far below, the grassy dell
Lies dreaming in its shadowy spell.
The summer gives with blessed ray
A glory to the dying day;

And sunset, with its crimson sea,
Bathes the lone hills of Galilee.

Three strangers at the closing day
Paused by the sage Ben Hafed's door-
As though to seek, upon their way,

Some wisdom of the Rabbi's store—
Clothed with benign and youthful grace,
And heavenly radiance o'er each face.
As if impressed with holy vow,

The calm of peace was on each brow;

In white-robed innocence arrayed,

Time's freshening hand their forms portrayed: In gentle reverence of age

They bent before the silent sage.

Though Hafed saw, with glancing eye,

What seemed bright youths awaiting nigh

Some token of a kindly tone

That loved a friendly guest to own,

And none e'er passed with weary feet
He did not hospitably greet,-
His soul was reaching far away
Beyond the realm of human sway.

He stood with wan and folded hands
Rapt with the splendor of the day;
As if awaiting God's commands

In all that crossed life's closing way.
His upward eyes, with sorrow dim,
Told of a troubled heart within;
Of some strong hope then passed away,
As sun tints in the storm of day;
He seemed to read-as long he gazed
Where the far sunset's passion blazed;
And glowed beneath the ruddy flame
Bright Esdraelon's fervid plain-
In lines of gold, by seraphs given,
Some promise on the dome of heaven.
Edged with the mellow light of eve

Ere day departs, the clouds reposed;
And peace, serene, was there to breathe
Her glory, as the daylight closed;-

And Hafed prayed that time might close
As calmly over human woes;

That hours, when God should call, might be
Blest as that bright ethereal sea!

His suppliance ceased as shadows drew
Their mystery o'er the distant view,
He turned from where the day grew dim
To greet his guests with welcoming;
But none appeared within his gaze,
That keenly swept the gathering haze.
Were they but visions of his woe,
Come but to mock, and swiftly go?
He stood beneath night's darker reign
And looked upon the heavens again;
Hope's star had lit the dusky air,
And darkness ceased to gather there;
From out the dimness of the night
Around him shone celestial light;
And to him came, where cares were rife,
The blessing of the Lord of Life!
With heavenly peace his soul was filled,
And every throb of sadness stilled;
And murmured praise as fountains flowed
For all the Father had bestowed-
"Dear Lord! I bless thee that thy ways,
Brighter than mortal e'er divined,
Are not as ours, amid life's maze,

Which leave but sin and tears behind!"

Then Hafed knew that as his prayer

Arose, God's angels had been there.

THE MARTYR OF THE ARENA.-EPES SARGENT.

Honored be the hero evermore

Who at mercy's call has nobly died; Echoed be his name from shore to shore,

With immortal chronicles allied!

Verdant be the turf upon his dust,

Bright the sky above, and soft the air.

In the grove set up his marble bust,
And with garland crown it, fresh and fair.
In melodious numbers, that shall live
With the music of the rolling spheres,

Let the minstrel's inspiration give

His eulogium to the future years.
Not the victor in his country's cause,
Not the chief who leaves a people free,
Not the framer of a nation's laws

Shall deserve a greater fame than he.

Hast thou heard, in Rome's declining day,
How a youth, by Christian zeal impelled,
Swept the sanguinary games away

Which the Coliseum once beheld?
Filled with gazing thousands were the tiers,
With the city's chivalry and pride,
When two gladiators, with their spears,
Forward sprang from the arena's side.
Rang the dome with plaudits loud and long
As, with shields advanced, the athletes stood
Was there no one in that eager throng

To denounce the spectacle of blood? Ay, Telemachus, with swelling frame,

Saw the inhuman sport renewed once more. Few among the crowd could tell his name, For a cross was all the badge he wore. Yet, with heart elate and god-like mien Stepped he forth upon the circling sand, And, while all were wond'ring at the scene, Checked the encounter with a daring hand. Romans," cried he, "let this reeking sod Never more with human blood be stained, Let no image of the living God

In unhallowed combat be profaned! Ah! too long has this colossal dome

Failed to sink, and hide your brutal shows; Here, I call upon assembled Rome,

Now to swear they shall for ever close!" Parted thus, the combatants, with joy, Mid the tumult found the means to fly. In the arena stood the undaunted boy,

And, with looks adoring, gazed on high. Pealed the shout of wrath on every side,

Every hand was eager to assail.

"Slay him! Slay!" a hundred voices cried,
Wild with fury. But he did not quail.
Hears he, as, entranced, he looks above,
Strains celestial, that the menace drown.