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THE GIRDLED SYCAMORE.

BY MRS. L. J. B. CASE.

Platanus Occidentalis, or false Sycamore, is one of the most majestic trees of the Western forests. Girdling, often practised in new countries, consists in making, with an axe, one or more circles through the outer bark and liber of the trunk. Trees seldom survive this operation.

THOU hast tossed thine arms in the breezy sky

For centuries and o'er;

But thy doom is spoken, thine hour is nigh,
Thou lordly Sycamore!

On thy bold, high brow were the golden gleams
Of the joyous morning poured,

And there too have fallen the evening beams,
Red as a warrior's sword.

Thy voice, in defiance, with fearful power,
Rang out when the storms were wild,
And it murmured as soft in the twilight hour,
As hymn of a sinless child.

But morning shall come with her golden light,
And eve with her roseate ray,

And the howling storm, and the star-lit night -
But thou wilt be away.

Thou hast smiled o'er the graceful, antlered head That swept the green arcades,

Nor quailed when the mammoth's furious tread Crashed through the trembling shades.

But gone are the days of thy monarch pride,
Thou brave and noble Tree !

When frail things flew to thy sheltering side,

And found repose with thee;

When the small bird came in thine arms to build

Secure her tiny nest,

And the squirrel his little granary filled

For happy winter rest.

The lightning bolt on thine iron mail

Fell, not to lay thee low

Alas! that thy giant strength should fail
Before a meaner blow!

But the settler came, and the forest pride
Sank from his path away,

And he smote the trunk that his arm defied,
With slow, but sure decay.

Now dying, dying, in sun and rain,

Thy regal form will be.

The spell that awakens the leaf again

Breathes powerless over thee.

The storm may rave, and the sunbeam smile,
But what to thee, the sky?

Serenely thou liftest thy head the while,

Waiting thine hour to die.

Oh, many there are, thou lofty Tree,

Of noble human mould;

To whom days come, as they come to thee,
Desolate, dark and cold;

Who, careless alike of sun and storm,

Still calmly, bravely soar,

Though the life-tide shrinks in the wasting form,

Like thine, oh Sycamore!

THE DAUGHTER OF THE DESERT.

BY MRS. C. M. SAWYER.

Ir was the commencement of the year 1798, and the ancient city of Bordeaux was shaken with the bustle and tumult of unwonted preparation. Some great event was apparently on the eve of transpiring ; how else could a city usually so quiet and undemonstrative be now thus stirred to its centre? It had indeed been long since it could have been pronounced in a state of absolute repose; for the wonderful achievements of the youthful Corsican, then commander-in-chief of the French armies, on the battlefields of Italy, which had everywhere stirred the impetuous heart of France, had at intervals also sent a brief but electric vibration to the time-honored town in question, thrilling it through every nerve and artery. But it was not until this day that this vibratory thrill had produced any active, outward demonstration.

The glittering campaign in Italy had but recently terminated, and Napoleon had returned to France covered with laurels and more enthusiastically than ever worshipped by the people. It might be thought that the national glory was now great enough to

satisfy the most overweening ambition; but that, like love, is a passion "that grows by what it feeds on," and so mercurial a people could scarcely long rest satisfied with any amount of national prosperity and honor. Renewed preparations were therefore soon in progress, having for their object another and even more splendid campaign. What was to be the theatre of this campaign had not as yet transpired, but the knowledge that Napoleon was to be its leader was sufficient everywhere to awaken an enthusiastic desire to share in its glories, and the noblest youth of the land were in every section proudly enlisting under this banner.

The mystery was now about to be solved, and today it had been announced in Bordeaux that the army, now numbering fifty thousand armed soldiers together with a corps of one hundred men of science, was in three days to embark for some distant land not yet revealed, indeed, but where the humblest might reap not only name and fame, but a rich reward in land and gold. Strange and unheard of discoveries were also hinted at, whose fruits were to confer immortality on all participating in them. A blaze of excitement as wild as it was unwonted spread suddenly throughout the city. Old and young grew frantic over the mysterious immortality to be achieved. Long and loud rang the vivas down the narrow streets and up the cramped and

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