"Mamma's busy, she must sew; Can't my darling baby go And ask Bridget for a cup? Tell her, 'Please to fill it up Full of milk.'" Twilight shadows crept apace, Slowly lengthened on his face As he whispered: "I'se afraid," And the curly head was laid On my knee. "But," I whispered, "God, you know, Leads you everywhere you go, In the darkness or the light, And He'll make the way all bright For my boy." Straight he went through room and hall, And I heard his sweet voice call: "Don't let nothin' hurt me, Dod, Don't let nothin' hurt me, Dod," Rev'rently. And my heart prayed, "Father, teach My boy to bring to Thee each Trouble, be it great or small; Be to him his 'All in All,' Throughout life." Oh! for childlike faith, so bright, That through sorrow's darkest night We can journey toward that land, Holding to our Father's hand Trustingly. "ERVANIE." NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. I HAVE seldom known a boy who was not interested in the history of Napoleon. To me his story is like a novel, and no character ever charmed me more than that of his wife, the Empress Josephine. But I cannot find it in my heart to admire a man who so ruthlessly shed human blood. He stopped at nothing for his own personal advancement. Never has any conqueror fought more battles perhaps than he. All Europe seemed draped in the weeds of mourning during the years of his power and greatness. I have often thought his reflections must have been sad indeed, when, during the last five years of his life, he was a weary exile on the little gum-tree island of St. Helena, with only a few friends around him, and subjected to great unkindness from the governor of the island. [Illustration: ON ST. HELENA.] St. Helena is an island in the South Atlantic Ocean, belonging to the British. It acquired celebrity from being the place of Napoleon's banishment. From the ocean it has the appearance of a lofty pyramidal mass of a dark-gray color, rising abruptly from out its depths. [Illustration: EMPRESS JOSEPHINE.] But on approaching, a number of openings are discovered, forming the mouths of narrow valleys or ravines, leading gradually up to a central plateau. On these, at all openings where a landing might be effected, military works have been erected for the purpose of making it secure. What a contrast does his life there present, to the time when great continents trembled before the power of his triumphant armies. Napoleon Bonaparte was born in Corsica, 1769, and died at St. Helena, 1821, where he was buried beneath a weeping willow, for nineteen years, when France demanded his remains, and gave such a funeral as few perhaps have ever witnessed. R. [Illustration: ROUND THE FAMILY LAMP]