'Instead of a painting, I should think you would have made a panting of it,' spoke Mr. Van Brick. 'The idea seems to me artful,' added Mr. Pinchfip, 'but after all, this pedestrian work was not on the painting, but under it; therefore, according to Blackstone on contracts, this comes under the head of a consideration _do, ut facias_, see vol. ii. page 360. How far moral obligation is a legal consideration, see note, vol. iii. p. 249 Bossanquet and Puller's Reports. The principle _servus facit, ut herus det_, as laid down by....' 'Jove!' exclaimed Uncle Bill, 'couldn't you stop off the torrent for one minute? I'm drowning--I give up--do with me as you see fit.' * * * * * 'And now,' said Mr. Van Brick, 'that we have seen the four paintings, let us, Mr. Pinchfip, proceed calmly to discover who has won the five hundred dollars. Duly, deliberately, and gravely, let us put the four names on four slips of paper, stir them up in a hat. Mr. Browne shall then draw out a name, the owner of that name shall be the winner.' It was drawn, and by good fortune for him, Bagswell won the five hundred dollars. Thus Uncle Bill Browne bought one painting for a good round sum, and three others at the stipulated price. Which one of the four had the _most work_ on it, is, however, an unsettled question among three of the artists, to this day. FOR THE HOUR OF TRIUMPH. Victory comes with a palm in her hand, With laurel upon her brow; Cypress is clinging about her feet, But its dark blossoms are red and sweet, And the weeping mourners bow. It is well. Through her tears, the widow smiles To the child upon her knee; 'Thou'rt fatherless, darling; but he fell Gallantly fighting, and long and well, For the banner of the free!' Then, weeping: 'Alas! for my lost, lost love; Alas! for my own weak heart; I know, when the storm shall pass away, My boy, in manhood, would blush to say: 'My blood had therein no part." The maiden her lover weeps, unconsoled, So desolate is her gloom; But a voice falls softly through the air, Whispering comfort to her despair, 'Love _here_ hath fadeless bloom.' The father laments for his boy, who fell By Cumberland's river-side; The sister, her brother loved the best, Whose blood, in the dark and troubled West, The father of waters dyed. The mother--oh! silence your Spartan tales-- Says bravely, hushing a moan: 'I have yet _one_ left. My boy! go on; Rear freedom's banner high in the sun!' Then sits in the house alone.