THE FAMILY MEETING. We are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brother, All who hold each other dear. Each chair is fill'd, we're all at home, To-night let no cold stranger come; It is not often thus around Our own familiar hearth we're found. Bless, then, the meeting and the spot; For once be every care forgot; Let gentle Peace assert her power, And kind affection rule the hour; We're all--all here. We're NOT all here! Some are away--the dead ones dear, Who throng'd with us this ancient hearth, And gave the hour to guiltless mirth. Fate, with a stern, relentless hand, Look'd in and thinn'd our little band: Some like a night-flash pass'd away, And some sank, lingering, day by day; The quiet grave-yard--some lie there-- And cruel Ocean has his share-- We're _not_ all here. We _are_ all here! Even they--the dead--though dead so dear. Fond Memory, to her duty true, Brings back their faded forms to view. How life-like, through the mist of years, Each well-remember'd face appears! We see them as in times long past, From each to each kind looks are cast, We hear their words, their smiles behold, They're round us as they were of old-- We _are_ all here. We are all here! Father, mother, Sister, brother, You that I love with love so dear. This may not long of us be said, Soon must we join the gather'd dead, And by the hearth we now sit round Some other circle will be found. Oh, then, that wisdom may we know, Which yields a life of peace below! So, in the world to follow this, May each repeat, in words of bliss. We're all--all _here_! CHAPTER XI. Yesterday we were more than usually still after the enjoyment of Christmas, and a little quiet chit-chat seemed all of which we were capable, but to-day every thing about us and within us began to settle into its usual form, and this evening there was a general call for our accustomed entertainment. I was inexorable to all entreaties, and Mr. Arlington was compelled to open his portfolio for our gratification. "Select your subject," he said with a smile, as he drew forth sketch after sketch and spread them on the table before us. "I have no story to tell of any of them." "I select this," said Annie, as she held up a drawing, entitled, "The Exiled Hebrews." "Ah!" said Mr. Arlington, as he glanced at it, "you have chosen well; the subject is interesting." "But can you really tell us nothing of these figures, so noble yet so touching in their aspect?" "No; nothing of _them_. I could tell you indeed of a _dying_ Hebrew, whose portrait you may imagine you have before you in that turbaned old gentleman." "Well, let us hear it." THE DYING HEBREW.