The conclusion is soon told. After Seaton left the scout, he repaired to the camp, and as Marion had not arrived, he assumed the command of the band, and led them to the place agreed upon by him and the scout. Here he fell in with Harry who was waiting for them, and he led them to the Tories’ encampment, where they arrived just in time to thwart the designs of the outlaws. Seaton and Wilson continued to serve with Marion until the close of the war. Both were in most of those daring and successful enterprises which so distinguished that gallant officer. Harry also served out the war in the capacity of scout, one of the most dangerous, as well as useful posts in the army. After the close of the war Seaton pressed his suit with Emma, and she again became a captive, though this time the chains were garlanded with flowers. They rebuilt the old family mansion, near which they erected a monument to the memory of Emma’s father, and with her brother, who still continued a bachelor, they made their residence there. Harry had his home there, and in the long winter nights would tell to the children the story of “THE CAPTIVES.” * * * * * THE POET. Who is the Poet? Know him by The downcast and abstracted eye; By careless mien and lofty brow; By tones so musically low; By a pale cheek of spirit light, Telling of hopes and visions bright; By a deep communing with all That earth can good or gentle call; By silent reveries and lone The Poet, God’s best work, is known. Where dwells the Poet? Seek him where Voices of music fill the air; Where flowers in beauty meet the sun; Where streams in gentle silence run; Seek him beneath the forest tree, Where bird and breeze meet whisperingly; Seek him where thunder peals are heard; Where the proud elements are stirred; Where Nature shows her giant force, And earth is troubled in its course. Seek him where all that stirs the soul Is independent of control; Where torrents rush, and lightning gleams, Till earth a fierce volcano seems; Where the proud ocean, boiling o’er, Lashes the weak and frightened shore; Where Nature moves in awful might, Or proudly smiles in living light; Wherever earth hath might or bloom— There is the Poet’s cherished home. What is the Poet? One who hath A lonely and a troubled path; He walks through life as in a dream— Among mankind, but not of them; A strange anomaly of earth— A compound of despair and mirth; A proud, high spirit, strange and wild, Yet gentle as a little child; A being filled with love and hate— Each powerful—a thing of fate!