Two women sit at a farrnhouso door, Busily reading the cews, While softly around thi-ni fair twiligkt shcds Her tender shadows and dews. Peace smiles in the clondless heaven above ; Peaco rcsts on the landscape fair ; And peace, like a holy siiirit of love, Broods in the baliny air. But not one ray of peace ultimes Those sad and wistfiü eyes, Which search that printed record o'er As niariners search tlie skies. Xjook at their faces : one like a rose Fresh with the beauty of May ; The other, palé as a waning ïuoon Seen through thin clouds of gray. ïet, though one is yoiing and Iho other old, With the f ame soft glory they ehino; For they'ro tiuted with tenderest light and shades By Lovo, tho artist divine. Now, f ast as a radiant vÍBion, fados The glory of the western skies ; Yet tho readers read on - unniindful of all Save the paper bef ore their eyes. Nothing to theni the charmH of that hour - Tho magie of meadow and hill ; For spirits bowed down with a weight of care Are blind to the beautif ui atill. Deepcr the shadows of twilight f all, Moro hushed grows the dewy air, When suddeuly breaks on the holy caim A qnick, wild cry of despair. The younger glances have found it first- That record so sad and brief : " Mortal ly wounded !" - two dread words - Wingcd arrowB of dread and grief. 11 fllortally wonuded !"- looi; aain ; Alas ! it is all too truc ; Not the brave alone, but the foiid and fair Are mortally wounded, too. He, on the battle-fleld f ar away, They, in their quiet home - The wifo and the mother, who never moro Shall see their loved hero come. The grass will grow whero the warrior feil, And swect wild fiowera may bloom On the very turf once blackened and burncd By the fearful fires of doom. But the smiling summers, that como and go, Can never, never heal Tho bleediag bosoms which feit to-day Somethiug sharpcr thun steel. " Mortally wounded !" oh, dread war ! Many a victim is thine, Save thoso who hear your terrible voice Go thundering along the luie ! If we give proud names and cchoiog hymns, And build up monmnents grahd To the gallant spirits who suffer and fall In defense of their nativo laad ; Let us yield a tenderer tribute still- Sad tears and a pitying si;h - To the uncrowned héroes who silently sinlr, And die wheii their héroes die. - Anonymcus, in " Lyrics of Loyalty"