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VOL. I. ,The following beautiful poem is from The Chapter, f volume in press by Shelddn Si Cos., a collection of I poems prepared for the press by Samuel Marsh, Jr., of Staten Island. The authoress is Mrs. John L. Flagg, the wife of the Mayor of Troy, N. Y.] After the Battle. A waste of land, a sodden plain, A lurid sunset sky, * Mild clouds that tied and faded fast In ghostly phantasy; A field upturned by trampling feet, A field up-piled with slain, With horse and rider blent in death. Upon the b«ttl^plaic. The dying and the dead lie low; For them no nfore shall rise The evening moon, nor midnight stars, ‘ Nor daylight’s soft surprise. They wake no more to tenderest call, Nor see again each home Where waiting hearts shall throb and break When this day’s tidings come. * * * * * * * Two soldiers lying as they fell Upon the reddened clay, In daytime foes, at night at peace, Breathing their lives away. Brave hearts had stirred each manly breast, Fate only made them foes; And lying, dying, side by side, A softer feeling rose. •‘Our time is short,” one faint voice said, “To-day we did our best On different sides; what matter now ? To-morrow we’re at rest. Life lies behind; I might not care For only my own sake, But far away are other hearts That this day’s work will break. “Among New Hampshire’s many hils There pray for me to night i A woman, and a little girl, With hair like golden light—” And at the thought, broke forth at last The cry of anguish wild, That would not longer be repressed— “o God! my wife—my child ! ” “And,” said the other dying man, “Across the Georgia plain, There watch and wait for me loved ones I’ll never see again. A little child, with dark bright eyes, Each day waits at the door The father’s step, the father’s kiss That never greet her more. “To-day we sought each other’s lives— Death levels all that now; For soon, before God’s mercy seat Together we shall bow. Forgive each other while we may; Life’s but a weary game; And, right or wrong, to-morrow's sun Will find us dead the same.” The dying lips the pardon breathe, The dying hands entwine; The last ray dies, and over all The stars from heaven shine; And the little girl with golden hair, The one with dark eyes bright, On Hampshire’s hill and Georgia’ plain, Were fatherless that night. UNDER SUSPICION. A dark day it was for us when the constable took poor Jamie to jail. He was ;t hoy, scarced turned of twenty, and, though Pm his mother that says it, an honester lad or better son never lived, hver since his father died, he labored hard and faithful, and ‘twas not in the 'ham shops he spent his earnings, either, hut lie brought them home every Satur day night, whenever it came, and he used to lay the bright silver dollars in my lap, a od then he’d say, with his canny smile: “Here’s the money, mother, that will huy us our Sunday dinner, and all the good things for next week.” I Pad noticed for a long time that •Jamie and Maggie Bryan were very huul of each other, and I was not sorry to notice it, for I knew the boy would be wanting to get married some day, and a ? Hcer, neater, girl, than Maggie, was Not to be found. I was a mile from our little cottage to "here Maggie lived, and on Sunday ! n c’d s Jarnie would clothe himseP'in his and walk over there, and when he ‘ a 1110 back, if I chanced to be up, it did good to look into his happy, contented f ;Ce ' :is he raked up the mouldering logs in the fire place, and took his seat by the chimney corner. I could tell by the half dreamy expression of his eyes that he saw Maggie’s soft curls and rosy cheeks in the flames, and that he was in love. One Sunday night, however, when he came home later than usual, there was a troubled, puzzled look on his face, and he didn't smile nor speak any of his pleasant words, but just paced the" floor in a nervous manner, and seemed doubtful whether or not to tell me something that burdened him. I ain’t question him. for I concluded that he had had a quarrel with Maggie, and if ’twas a heart wound that troubled him,, talking about it coukt but open it wides. ■ lie'went to bed very soon after lie came in. I was about to do the same, when I heard the fire bells in the village ringing'. I went to the door, and looking out, I saw a great light in the direction of one of the churches. I was glad our cottage was not situated in the heart of the town, for these fires had become very common of late, and the newspapers said thatthere was a gang of men engaged in kindling them, and that nobody’s property was safe, though it was not dwelling houses they burnt, but barns, and churches, and public buildings. A SI,OOO reward had been offered for the arrest of the incendiaries, but, who ever they were, they kept clear of the authorities. I don’t know how it happened, but as I stood at the door, listening to the bells, they seemed to say every time they clanged, “Ja-raie lii-ley, Ja-mie Ri-ley!” and I could not resist associating my dear boy’s name with some awful crime. I slept hut poorly that night, ami being awake very early in the morning, I heard Jamie come softly down the stairs, and go out at the door. After a time I got up, and just as as I had placed the breakfast on the table, Jamie came in. He looked very pale, and he had no appetite for his food. I began to be frightened about him. “Jamie,” said I, “are you sick, or what ails you ?” “No, mother,” he answered, “I’m not sick, and I cannot tell you what troubles me!” Then lie rose from the table, and put ting on his hat, he started for the factory where lie worked. He took up the tin pail in which I always placed his lunch, but he did it as if by habit; nor did he stop to inquire, as was his custom, what it contained. I felt worried all day. Some trouble seemed hanging over us, but what it was I couldn’t guess. In the afternoon Maggie .Bryan came in to see me. She was very handy with the needle, and the folks who lived in the big house, on yonder hill, hadsent for her to do some sewing. She was returnrng, and had cabled to tell me how kind the lady had been to her, and how much pay she had reeived for her work. Maggie saw in a moment that I was not in good spirits, and so she ceased her pleasant prattle, and asked in a serious tone ; “Has anything bad happened, Mrs. Riley ? You seem sorrowful to-day.” Then I spoke out boldly. “You have quarreled with Jamie— have you not, Maggie ?” “Nay, nay, Mrs. Riley,” she answered. “I quarrel with Jamie ? You know I love him dearly.” And then the sweet girl blushed at her own confession. You may guess that this knowledge didn't ease my rnind much. How now could I account for Jamie’s pale face and nervous manner ? It did not seem possible to me that the lad could have done any wrong act, but I couldn’t, forget how the bells seemed to ciang, “Jamie Ri-ley, Ja-mie Ri-ley,” and when I remembered the boy’s strange actions, an awful fear grew upon me. tried in vain to discover what .A.TJGTJST.A, GAg NOVEMBER 14, 1868. disturbed uie. She went away in a little time, but promised to call again the next day; “for I’m afraid the fever is coming on you,” she said, as she kissed me, and bade me good-bye. After she bad gone, I busied myself in getting ready the supper, for Jamie al ways enjoyed his supper, and what won der that, with a hard day’s work, an early breakfast, and only a lunch at noon, he should eat heartily 2 -at night. I baked some biscuits and kept them smoking hot, cooked a nice bit of meat, and boiled the potatoes, and then F got out a lit tle dish of preserves, and*steeped the tea. Just in the nick of time, as we say, and when everything was ready, Jamie came in. ITc looked more cheerful than he did in the morning, and smiled and praised the appearance of the table. But there was a look of firm and reso lute determination in his face that I had not seen there before, and it troubled me to know what it betokened. “Well, mother,” he said, “if everything is ready we’ll eat, for I’m as hungry as a bear, and after supper I’ve something important to tell you.” These last words he spoke hesitating ly, but I was glad to know that he was about to unburden his soul of whatever secret it contained. So we sat down to the table. I was just pouring out the tea, when there came a loud anid unexpected rap at the door. I opened it, and found Mr. Keat ing, the constable. He lived not far off, and had been a friend of my husband’s. “Good evening, Mr. Keating,” I said. “Good evening, madam,” lie replied ; “does James Riley live here?” “Anddou’tyou know he lived here ?” I answered. “Is he at home ?” “Supposing he is—what then ?” “I must see him. I have an order for his arrest.” “What do you mean by that ?” I asked angrily. “Surely you’re joking, Mr. Keating. You certainly wouldn’t carry Jamie to jail? You know he’s never done any evil deed!” “It’s a sad duty,” answered the con stable; “but arrest him I must, if he’s in this house.” “Well, he’s not In the house, nor has he been to-night.” Before the words were fairly out of my mouth, Jamie himself stepped to the door. He had listened to all our conversa tion, and now he spoke, in his clear, manly voice: “I’m ready to accompany you, Mr. Keating; but with what crime am I charged ?” Mr. Keating spoke very low, so that l should not hear, but hear I did, and the words made me faint and sick. I tried to banish the horrible suspicion of my son’s guilt, but I could not forget how the bells had clanged the night before. “Mr. Keating,’* I said, as calmly as I could, though my voice trembled, “will you let me speak to my son, alone, one minute.” “Certainly, Mrs. Riley.” I hen the lad came into the room, and the constable stood without the door, and I took my boy’s hand in mine, and, looking up into his face, I spoke these words : “James Riley, by the love you bear me; by the memory of your dead father; by the hope of your soul’s salvation, speak truly. Are you guilty or inno cent ?” “Innocent mother—before God, inno cent !” and lie bent down and kissed my wrinkled forehead, and lifted the great load of doubt from my mind. “Then go, darling,” 1 said, “and may the Lord in his mercy watch over you, aud bring you forth from this tribulation.” So Jamie went away with the consta ble, and I sat all night by the tire-place, moaning and crying, as I thought of my poor boy in the stone-cold cell of the jail. When morning dawned I tried to rouse myself for the duties of the day, but, oh, how lonely and desolate the little kit chen looked, and when I laid the table and put Jamie’s plate in its accustomed place, and thought how for long days he would not be there to eat an} r more, my eyes filled with tears, and I could do nothing. The news of Jamie’s arrest spread quickly through the village. When they told it to Maggie Bryan, the brave girl tied on her hood, and going straight to the jail, demanded an interview with her lover. She never doubted his innocence for a moment and, there, with the bleak, dreary walls surrounding her, she vowed to re main faithful and true to him always, and devote every energy to secure his vindication and release. Her presence cheered Jamie, and she came from the jail to my cottage, bring ing many hopeful messages from the dear boy. From her, I first learned in full the charge against him. It seems that, on Sunday night, Jamie had been seen near the Presbyterian Church, shortly before the fire was dis covered there. Nor, was that the worst. Joseph Mil ward, whose father owned the factory where my son worked, was ready to swear that he saw Jamie rush from the vicini ty of the vestry, where the fire broke out, and that he spoke to him as he pass ed. David Butler, a wealthy } r oung man, was Mil ward’s companion, and his state ment was the same, Jamie’s examination—the preliminary examination they called it—took place on Tuesday. The Magistrate heard the evi dence, and said that he must commit the prisoner to await the action of the Grand Jury. We might have got him out on bail, but there was none to be come his bondsmen; for though Jamie had plenty of friends, they were all poor. The boy spoke no harsh words whatever. “’Twill make no difference, mother,” he said, when I first saw him in his cell, “for the Jury is in session, and if they (ind an indictment against me I shall be tried in a few days. You have money enough saved up to live on these many weeks, and they will acquit me in the end.” “But, Jamie,” I asked, “what does young Milward mean by his evidence ? He has perjured himself, has he not?” Jamie hid his face in his hands for a moment, then looking up, lie said resol utely : “I can’t answer your question, mother; God must judge betwecu him and me.” Then, changing the subject, “Can you get me a lawyer, mother?” “Os course I can, and will. And, after a little more talk, I left Jamie and sought the office of ’Squire Carnan. A g®od man the ’Squire was, and an honest lawyer. When he discov ered who I was and my business, he told me bluntly that he did not wish to under take the ease. “Aud are you afraid that I’ll not pay you ?” I asked. “Indeed, sir, if it costs years of labor, you shall receive every cent that you charge.” He smiled sadly. “No madam, ’tis not the money,” he said; “but Ido not like to feel that the saving of anybody’s life depends on my efforts.” “Life,” I replied; “would they hang Jamie ?” “If found guilty, in all probability they will,” he replied. 1 scarcely knew what I said, but I begged and implored Mr. Carnan to save the poor boy. At last he consented to visit him; “and if I am convinced of his innocence,” he added, “I will endeavor to obtain his acquittal.” So the ’Squire went to the jail, (as I was told afterwards,) and saw my son alone in his cell. “James,” said he, kindly, “I want to know the truth in this case. My position as a lawver, and the rules of the Court render whatever you may tell me now a sacred secret. By acknowledging your guilt—if you are guilty—l shall be able to shape my defence so as to obtain the lightest possible punishment.” “Then Jamie stood up boldly in his cell, and raising his right hand towards Heaven, he said : “Mr. Carnan, they may hang me if they want to, but I am entirely innocent of this charge, and I am willing to die wfith these words on my lips.” Ti ie lawyer looked steadily into Jamie’s eyes for a moment, and he must have seen truth written there, for he took his hand, and said: I believe you, Riley, and I will de fend you. Now tell me where you were last Sunday night ?” Well,” answered Jamie, “I spent the evening at a friends’s house, in the Northern part of the village. I returned home between eleven and twelve o’clock.” “And passed the Presqyterian Church on your way ?” “I did,” replied Jamie. “Did you see any one in t hat vicinity ?” “Yes, sir.” “Who ?” “I cannot answer that question, Mr. Carnan.” Then the lawyer sat, and thought for a little while, and without auother word, he left the cell and went straight to his office; nor did Jamie see him again until the day of the trial. Buthe was not idle in the meantime, and when I called on him once, he told me to be of good cheer; that lie believed my son to be innocent, and hoped to clear him. Maggie Bryan grew paler and paler day by day, and it was little sleep that she got at nights*. When the thought less villagers talked of Jamie’s guilt, her cheeks turned red, and her eyes flashed bright as the stars in Heaven. The trial came off in two weeks—and long weeks they were to me; but I prayed for strength, and I think the good Lord heard my prayers, and he gave me power to bear my cross. A great crowd there was in the Court room when the day came. Jamie was led in by the constable, and took his seat in the prisoner’s box, as calm and collected as though be had been sitting by the fireside at home. Mr. Carnan, was seated near Jamie, and his face looked very serious, while he showed by all his actions that he was deeply interested in the case. Maggie and I had a seat together, but we scarcely spoke a word during the pre paration for the trial. We thought it would occupy the whole day, but it came to an unexpected termination. Joseph Milward was the first witness called. He told the same story that he had at Jamie’s former examination. 1 remember the scene well. The District Attorney had asked the question, and, having finished, he said : “That will do, sir.” Milvvard was about to leave the wit ness stand, when Mr. Curium spoke up: • “We will, cross-examine the witness.” Oh! what a cross-examination that was! And what an excitement there was in Court. The old Judge dropped his spectacles, the District Attorney looked blank, the Jury scratched their heads, and the vast crowd kept still as mice, that they might hear every word. Mr. Carnan had ferreted out the whole case, and from the mouth of that same witness lie proved that Joseph Milward and his companion were the guilty parties, and that they had been aided by many of the wealthy young men of the village, and, before he had finished, the District Attorney jumped up and said : “May it please the Court, we throw up the case.” Then Jamie was discharged forthwith and the people gathered around to shale hands with him; but he hastened awa c No. 35.