nst the front of the ten thousand victorious Confederates.
Keenan himself fell riddled by bayonets, and the charge was repulsed at
once: but a few priceless moments had been saved, and Pleasonton had
been given time to post twenty-two guns, loaded with double canister,
where they would bear upon the enemy. The Confederates advanced in a
dense mass, yelling and cheering, and the discharge of the guns fairly
blew them back across the works they had just taken. Again they charged,
and again were driven back, and when the battle once more began the
Union re-enforcements had arrived.

It was about this time that Jackson himself was mortally wounded. He had
been leading and urging on the advance of his men, cheering them with
voice and gesture, his pale face flushed with joy and excitement, while
from time to time as he sat on his horse he took off his hat and,
looking upward, thanked Heaven for the victory it had vouchsafed him. As
darkness drew near he was in the front, where friend and foe were
mingled in almost inextricable confusion. He and his staff were fired on
at close range by the Union troops, and, as they turned, were fired on
again, through a mistake, by the Confederates behind them. Jackson fell,
struck in several places. He was put in a litter and carried back; but
he never lost consciousness, and when one of his generals complained of
the terrific effect of the Union cannonade he answered, "You must hold
your ground."

For several days he lingered, hearing how Lee beat Hooker, in detail,
and forced him back across the river. Then the old Puritan died. At the
end his mind wandered and he thought he was again commanding in battle;
and his last words were, "Let us cross over the river and rest in the
shade." Thus perished Stonewall Jackson, one of the ablest of soldiers
and one of the most upright of men, in the last of his many triumphs.

THE SHIP WITHOUT A LIGHT.

BY EZRA HURLBURT STAFFORD.

"Well, my boy, what can I do for you?"

It was in the Custom-house, and the Chief was sitting at his desk
opening a letter. A boy of perhaps sixteen was standing awkwardly at the
door. He was dressed rather roughly, and the Customs Inspector thought
it would be a good idea to despatch the boy's business before he read
the letter, which he had by this time drawn from the envelope.

"Well?" he repeated; but the boy still hesitated, and glanced uneasily
across the room towards a tall lady, who was standing at th