All was still, still, in the wilderness. The human wolves were for the present glutted with their prey, and Lawrence lay silent in its ruins. Mr. Bradford was in prison, in danger of a traitor’s death. The inmates of the hut looked at each other mournfully, but no one spoke. Presently, the invalid made a restless movement, and Katie stooped over her, to moisten her parched lips. She opened her eyes, which now seemed illuminated with a preternatural, prophetic light; and, for the first time since her husband was murdered, she smiled. “Oh, Katie,” she said, “I have been with William, having such a happy time walking over the hills! From Mount Oread, he showed me the prairies all covered with farm-houses and fields of corn. Bells were ringing, and swarms of children pouring into the school houses. All round the horizon were church-spires, and beautiful houses, with windows glittering in the sunlight. When I told him it seemed just like dear New England, he smiled, and said, ‘This is Free Kansas!’ Then he pointed to a great University on the highest of the hills, and said, ‘Little Johnny is President, and the Blue Mound is called Free Mont.’” “I hail the omen!” exclaimed Kate. The thin lips of Alice quivered tremulously. It was her last smile on earth. I WANT TO GO HOME. There once wandered with me a beautiful child, With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild; And she looked at me long, with an earnest gaze, As I watched the sun sink in a golden haze. She knew not the thoughts that were floating away, Through the closing gates of that radiant day; But a something she read in my dreaming eyes, Of the pale autumn leaves, and the sunset skies; And a chill came over her, she knew not whence-- ’Twas the shadow of older experience. She looked up afraid at the heaven’s blue dome, And murmured, “I’m _tired_. I want to go _home_.” The child’s timid glance, and her quivering tone, Came gliding like ghosts, when my soul was alone; And oft, when I gazed at the heaven’s blue dome, She seemed to be saying, “I want to go _home_.” She grew up a woman, that lovely young child, With eyes like the antelope, lambent and mild; But she lived not to see life’s drear autumn day Fade slowly in silence and darkness away. In her spring-time of freshness, fragrance, and bloom, Disease stole her roses to strew on the tomb. Then often she looked at the heaven’s blue dome, And sighed, “I am _tired_. I want to go _home_.” My autumn of life is fast passing away, Bringing on the long night, and cold winter day; And I often remember her childish sigh, As she turned from my face to the twilight sky. When I sit on her grave, at sunset, alone, Her voice seems to speak in that tremulous tone; And longing I look up to heaven’s blue dome, Saying, “Father! I’m _tired_. I want to go _home_.” THE END.