him; 'I saw him
marching in the rear of his regiment, and carrying this officer on his
back.'

"The emperor--for, my friends, it was he!--gave me one of those glances
that only he, or the eagle of the Alps, could give, and said: 'It is well.
You have done very well.' Then opening his pelisse, he took the cross
which decorated his green coat, and gave it to me. At that instant I was
no longer hungry, no longer cold; I felt no more pain from my arm than if
that awkward beast had never touched it.

"'Davoust,' added the emperor, addressing the officer who had spoken to
him, 'see this man and his captain placed in one of the baggage-wagons.
Adieu!' And making me a motion of the hand, he went away."

Here the veteran ceased, and resumed his pipe.

"But tell us what became of 'Captain Obstinate,'" cried many impatient
voices.

"The captain recovered, and is now a general on the retired list. But the
best of the joke was, that as soon as he got well, he put me under arrest
for fifteen days, as a punishment for my infraction of discipline.

"This circumstance came to the ears of Napoleon, and after laughing
heartily, he not only caused me to be set free, but promoted me to the
rank of sergeant. As to the decoration, my children, here is the ribbon at
my button-hole, but the cross I wear next my heart."

And opening his vest, he showed his eager audience the precious relic,
suspended from his neck in a little satin bag.--_Harper's Magazine_,
1854.

THE ISLE OF THE LONG AGO.

BY BENJAMIN FRANKLIN TAYLOR.

Oh, a wandering stream is the river Time,
As it runs through the realms of tears,
With a faultless rhythm and a musical rhyme,
And a broader sweep and a surge sublime,
And blends with the ocean of years.

How the winters are drifting like flakes of snow,
And the summers like buds between,
And the year in the sheaf--so they come and they go,
On the river's breast, with its ebb and flow,
As it glides in the shadow and sheen.

There's a magical Isle up the river Time,
Where the softest of airs are playing;
There's a cloudless sky and a tropical clime,
And a song as sweet as a vesper chime.
And the Junes with the roses are staying.

And the name of this isle is the Long Ago,
And we bury our treasures there:
There are brows of beauty and bosoms of snow--
They are heaps of dust, but we loved them so!
There are