Thy right hand holdeth chance, thy strong arm ruleth fate, To thee, the God of battles, our lives are consecrate. Not at the foeman's call, not to the foeman's sword, But we come at the disposal and the summons of the Lord.' 'This,' said the second angel, and his smile was fair to see, 'Of all the sights on earth is the noblest one to me; No brutelike men are these, nay, rather to my eyes, Men raised to angels' heights of calm self-sacrifice.' Yet he wept, and weeping prayed, 'Oh, may these sons of men Keep faith and strength and patience, till thou comest, Christ, again!' A TRAGEDY OF ERROR. I. A low English phaeton was drawn up before the door of the post office of a French seaport town. In it was seated a lady, with her veil down and her parasol held closely over her face. My story begins with a gentleman coming out of the office and handing her a letter. He stood beside the carriage a moment before getting in. She gave him her parasol to hold, and then lifted her veil, showing a very pretty face. This couple seemed to be full of interest for the passers by, most of whom stared hard and exchanged significant glances. Such persons as were looking on at the moment saw the lady turn very pale as her eyes fell on the direction of the letter. Her companion saw it too, and instantly stepping into the place beside her, took up the reins, and drove rapidly along the main street of the town, past the harbor, to an open road skirting the sea. Here he slackened pace. The lady was leaning back, with her veil down again, and the letter lying open in her lap. Her attitude was almost that of unconsciousness, and he could see that her eyes were closed. Having satisfied himself of this, he hastily possessed himself of the letter, and read as follows: SOUTHAMPTON, _July 16th, 18--._ MY DEAR HORTENSE: You will see by my postmark that I am a thousand leagues nearer home than when I last wrote, but I have hardly time to explain the change. M. P---- has given me a most unlooked-for _conge_. After so many months of separation, we shall be able to spend a few weeks together. God be praised! We got in here from New York this morning, and I have had the good luck to find a vessel, the _Armorique_, which sails straight for H----. The mail leaves directly, but we shall probably be detained a few hours by the tide; so this will reach you a day before I arrive: the master calculates we shall get in early Thursday morning. Ah, Hortense! how the time drags! Three whole days. If I did not write from New York, it is because I was unwilling to torment you with an expectancy which, as it is, I venture to hope, you will find long enough. Farewell. To a warmer greeting! Your devoted C.B.