She moved her lips and seemed to moan. Her face had paled to ashen gray: “Then one is left me--one alone,” She said, “of four who marched away. Oh, overruling, All-wise God, How can I pass beneath Thy rod!” The soldier walked across the floor, Paused at the window, at the door, Wiped the cold dew-drops from his cheek And sought the mourner’s side again. “Once more, dear lady, I must speak: Your last remaining son was slain Just at the closing of the fight, ’Twas he who sent me here to-night.” “God knows,” the man said afterward, “The fight itself was not so hard.” ILLOGICAL. She stood beside me while I gave an order for a bonnet. She shuddered when I said, “And put a bright bird’s wing upon it.” A member of the Audubon Society was she; And cutting were her comments made on worldly folks like me. She spoke about the helpless birds we wickedly were harming; She quoted the statistics, and they really _were_ alarming; She said God meant His little birds to sing in trees and skies; And there was pathos in her voice, and tears were in her eyes. “Oh, surely, in this beauteous world you can find lovely things Enough to trim your hats,” she said, “without the dear birds’ wings.” I sat beside her that same day, in her own house at dinner-- Angelic being that she was to entertain a sinner! Her well-appointed table groaned beneath the ample spread; Course followed appetizing course, and hunger, sated, fled. But still my charming hostess urged: “Do have a _reed-bird_, dear; They are so delicate and sweet at this time of the year.” A SERVIAN LEGEND. Long, long ago, ere yet our race began, When earth was empty, waiting still for man, Before the breath of life to him was given The angels fell into a strife in heaven. At length one furious demon grasped the sun And sped away as fast as he could run, And with a ringing laugh of fiendish mirth, He leaped the battlements and fell to earth. Dark was it then in heaven, but light below; For there the demon wandered to and fro, Tilting aloft upon a slender pole The orb of day--the pilfering old soul. The angels wept and wailed; but through the dark The Great Creator’s voice cried sternly: “Hark! Who will restore to me the orb of Light, Him will I honor in all heaven’s sight.” Then over the battlements there dropped another. (A shrewder angel well there could not be.) Quoth he: “Behold my love for thee, my brother, For I have left all heaven to stay with thee. “Thy loneliness and wanderings I will share, Thy heavy burden I will help thee bear.” “Well said,” the demon answered, “and well done, But I’ll not tax you with this heavy sun.