KILLED AT THE FORD

He is dead, the beautiful youth,
The heart of honor, the tongue of truth,--
He, the life and light of us all,
Whose voice was blithe as a bugle call,
Whom all eyes followed with one consent,
The cheer of whose laugh, and whose pleasant word,
Hushed all murmurs of discontent.

Only last night, as we rode along
Down the dark of the mountain gap,
To visit the picket-guard at the ford,
Little dreaming of any mishap,
He was humming the words of some old song:
"Two red roses he had on his cap
And another he bore at the point of his sword."

Sudden and swift a whistling ball
Came out of a wood, and the voice was still;
Something I heard in the darkness fall,
And for a moment my blood grew chill;
I spake in a whisper, as he who speaks
In a room where some one is lying dead;
But he made no answer to what I said.

We lifted him up on his saddle again,
And through the mire and the mist and the rain
Carried him back to the silent camp,
And laid him as if asleep on his bed;
And I saw by the light of the surgeon's lamp
Two white roses upon his cheeks,
And one just over his heart blood-red!

And I saw in a vision how far and fleet
That fatal bullet went speeding forth,
Till it reached a town in the distant North,
Till it reached a house in a sunny street,
Till it reached a heart that ceased to beat
Without a murmur, without a cry;
And a bell was tolled in that far-off town,
For one who had passed from cross to crown,--
And the neighbors wondered that she should die.

THE LATE INSURRECTION IN JAMAICA.

If Cuba be the Queen of the Antilles, then fairest of the sisterhood
which adorn her regal state is Jamaica. A land of streams and mountains,
from the one it derives almost inexhaustible fertility of valleys and
plains; from the other, enchanting prospects, which challenge comparison
with the scenery even of Tyrol and Switzerland. Tropical along its
shores, temperate up its steep hills, the sun of Africa on its plains,
the frosts of New England in its mountains, there is scarcely a luxury
of the South or a comfort of the North which may not be cultivated to
advantage somewhere within its borders. Here is the natural home of the
sugar-cane; and it is scarcely a figure of speech to say that the sugar
supply of the world might come from the teem