The poor thing tumbled in a lily-bed, ers, Large as a pigeon's egg and red as wine. Again it saw its blood upon the flowers, And, last, the cruel prince, who laughed with And saw the walks, the fountain's shaft in air, glee, Fixing the picture in its memory; This done, it struggled up and flew away, Leaving the prince amazed and in dismay. Beyond the city walls a league or more Her name was Heraclis. The fainting stork She fetched it water from a neighbor spring, And while it drank and washed each dabbled wing She set the fractured bones with pious care And bound them with the fillet of her hair. Eased of its pain, again it flew away, Leaving the maiden happier all the day. But not the cruel prince: no prince was there; So There came a light tap on the window-pane lo! In walked the stork again, as white as snow, That night the prince, as usual, went to And something human brightened in its eye— bed, His royal wine a little in his head ; Beside him stood a casket full of gems, The spoils of conquered monarchs' diadems A look that said "I thank you!" plain as words. The virgin's look was brighter than the bird's, So glad was she to see it was not dead; Great pearls milk-white and shining like the She stretched her hand to sleek its bowing Emeralds grass-green, sapphires like skies of But ere she could it made a sudden stand And thrust the priceless ruby in her hand, June, Brilliants that threw their light upon the And, sailing swiftly through the cottage door, Mounted the morning sky, and came no wal', And one great ruby that outshone them all, more. RICHARD HENRY STODDard. T ruary BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. EDGAR ALLAN POE. HIS gifted, versatile, but very erratic, writer was born in Boston, Massachusetts, Feb19, 1809. His father was David Poe, a meritorious officer in the Revolutionary army; his mother, Elizabeth Arnold, was an English actress, and her husband also went on the stage. Their children were left orphans at a very early age, with no provision for their support. Edgar was adopted by Mr. John Allan, a wealthy gentleman of Richmond, Virginia, who sent him to England for his preliminary educa tion. After remaining there four or five years he returned to Richmond in 1822, and made preparation to enter the University of Virginia, which he did in 1826. Although quick and receptive and clever in scholarship, he was so dissipated in his conduct that he was expelled within less than a year. In 1827 he started on a quixotic expedition to aid the struggling Greeks, and turned up unaccountably in St. Petersburg in a very forlorn condition. He was succored by the American minister, and returned to the United States. In 1829 he published a small volume of poems in Baltimore, Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems. Mr. Allan then procured for him a cadet's warrant, and he entered the Military Academy at West Point in 1830. His irregular conduct caused him to be dismissed from the institution before a year had passed. This created an estrangement from his adopted father, and he was thrown upon his own resources for a livelihood. He began to write with great industry; in 1833 he gained two prizes for literary efforts, and was soon known as a promising writer. He was invited to the editorship of The Southern Literary Messenger, and, on the strength of his new success, he married his cousin, Miss Virginia Clemm. His restless spirit and irregular habits caused him to leave this post and go to New York City in 1837, where he lived precariously by his pen. In 1838 he published the Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, which increased his reputation. In 1839 he became editor of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, in Philadelphia; this office he held for only one year. From 1840 to 1842 he edited Graham's Magazine, and at that time published his Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, which established his fame. His story entitled "The Gold-Bug" gained a prize of one hundred dollars in 1843. Ever restless, he was again in New York in 1844, and the next year presented to the world that most curious, quaint, weird poem called "The Raven." He contributed much in a desultory way to many journals, among them particularly The Home Journal, edited by Morris and Willis. But his career had culminated; he went down hill rapidly, became very poor and shiftless, and lost his " 'Who made the heart-'tis He alone wife in 1848. At last a gleam of light | him from blame, we can only leave, as Robshone upon his broken fortunes; his habits ert Burns did his own case-a similar onewere partially reformed, and he became en- in pleading for others like him, in the hands gaged to an estimable lady of Richmond in of the Eternal Goodness and Wisdom: 1849. He set out for New York City to prepare for his marriage, met some friends in Baltimore and spent a night in drinking; the next morning he was found in a forlorn condition in the streets and taken to the hospital, where he died on the 7th of October, 1849. As a writer of stories Poe is quite unique; his plots are very mysterious and well sus He knows each chord, its various tone; We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, GERALD MASSEY. tained, and his details fantastic and hor-GERALD MASSEY, an rible. Among his most characteristic tales English poet, was born May, 1828, near Tring, in Herts. His parents were so steeped in poverty that the children received scarcely any education. When only eight years old, Gerald was sent to work in a neighboring silkmill; but, the mill being burned down, the boy took to straw-plaiting. He had learned to read at a penny school, and when fifteen went up to London as an errand-boy, and spent all his spare time in reading and writing. When out of a situation, he has gone without a meal to purchase a book. His first appearance in print was in a provincial paper; he published a small collection of his verses in his native town, and during the political excitement of 1848 edited a cheap paper called the The Spirit of Freedom. His writing was so bold and vigorous that his political manifestations cost him five situations in eleven months. was a warm advocate of the co-operative system, and thus was introduced to the Rev. Charles Kingsley and others who were promoting that movement. moting that movement. Still continuing to write, his name began to be known; and, in 1853, Christabel took the public completely He THE FALL OF PRAGUE. FROM "THADDEUS OF WARSAW." THE soldiers filed off through the gates, crossed the bridge and halted under the walls of Prague. The lines of the camp were drawn and fortified before the evening, at which time they found leisure to observe the enemy's strength. Russia seemed to have exhausted her wide regions to people the narrow shores of the Vistula; from east to west, as far as the eye could reach, her armies were stretched to the horizon. Sobieski looked at them, and then on the handful of intrepid hearts contained in the small circumference of the Polish camp. Sighing heavily, he retired into his tent, and, vainly seeking repose, mixed his short and startled slumbers with frequent prayers for the preservation of these last victims to their country. The hours appeared to stand still. Several times he rose from his bed, and went to the door to see whether the clouds were tinged ued dark. He again returned to his marwith any appearance of dawn. All continquee, and, standing by the lamp, which was nearly exhausted, took out his watch and tried to distinguish the points; but, finding that the light burned too feebly, he was pressing the repeating-spring, which struck five, when the report of a single musket made him start. He fled to his tent-door, and, looking around, saw that all in that quarter was at rest. Suspecting it to be a signal of the enemy, he hurried toward the entrenchments, but found the sentinels in perfect security from any fears respecting the sound, as they supposed it to have proceeded from. the town. Sobieski paid little attention to their opin ions, but, ascending the nearest bastion to take a wider survey, in a few minutes he discerned, though obsurely, through the gleams of morning, the whole host of Russia advancing in profound silence toward the Polish lines. The instant he made this discovery he came down, and lost no time in giving orders for a defence; then, flying to other parts of the camp, he awakened the commander-in-chief, encouraged the men, and saw that the whole encampment was not only in motion, but prepared for the assault. In consequence of these prompt arrangements, the Russians were received with the cross-fire of the batteries and case-shot and musketry from several redoubts, which raked their flanks as they approached. But, in defiance of this shower of bullets, they pressed on with an intrepidity worthy of a better cause, and, overleaping the ditch by squadrons, entered the camp. A passage once secured, the Cossacks rushed in by thousands, and, spreading themselves in front of the storming-party, put every soul to the bayonet who opposed their way. ciless, and sanguinary. Every spot of vantage-position was at length lost, and yet the Poles fought like lions; quarter was neither offered to them nor required. They disputed every inch of ground until they fell upon it in heaps, some lying before the parapets, others filling the ditches, and the rest covering the earth for the enemy to tread on as they cut their passage to the heart of the camp. Sobieski, almost maddened by the scene, dripping with his own blood and that of his brave friends, was seen in every part of the action: he was in the fosse defending the trampled bodies of the dying; he was on the dyke animating the few who survived. Wawrzecki was wounded, and every hope hung upon Thaddeus; his presence and voice infused new energy into the arms of his fainting countrymen. They kept close to his side, until the Russians, enraged at the dauntless intrepidity of this young hero, uttered the most unmanly imprecations, and, rushing on his little phalanx, attacked it with redoubled numbers and fury. Sobieski sustained the shock with firmness, but wherever he turned his eyes they were blasted with some object which made them recoil; he beheld his companions and his soldiers strewing the earth, and their barbarous adversaries mounting their dying bodies as they hastened with loud huzzas to the destruction of Prague, whose gates were now burst. open. His eyes grew dim at the sight, and at the very moment in which he tore them from spectacles so deadly to his heart a Lavonian officer struck him with a sabreto all appearance, dead upon the field. The Polish works being gained, the Russians turned the cannon on its former masters, and as they rallied to the defence of what remained swept them down by whole regiments. The noise of artillery thundered from all sides of the camp; the smoke was so great that it was hardly possible to distinguish friends from foes. Nevertheless, the spirit of the Poles flagged not a moment; as fast as one rampart was wrested from them they threw themselves within another, which was as speedily taken by the help of hurdles, fascines, ladders and a courage as resistless as it was ferocious, mer--which, having lit on the steel of his cap, When Thaddeus recovered from the blow |