"And more, much more,-for now
The life-sealed fountains of my nature move
To nurse and purify this human love,
To clear the God-like brow

Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it down,
Worthy and beautiful, to the much-loved one;
"This were indeed to feel

The soul-thirst slaken at the living stream;
To live-O God! that life is but a dream!

Dim,-dim,-I faint, darkness comes o'er my eye,-
Cover me! save me! God of heaven! I die!"

'Twas morning, and the old man lay alone.
No friend had closed his eyelids, and his lips,
Open and ashy pale, th' expression wore
Of his death-struggle. His long, silvery hair
Lay on his hollow temples, thin and wild;
His frame was wasted, and his features wan
And haggard as with want, and in his palm
His nails were driven deep, as if the throe
Of the last agony had wrung him sore.

The storm was raging still. The shutter swung,
Creaking as harshly in the fitful wind,
And all without went on,-as aye it will,
Sunshine or tempest, reckless that a heart
Is breaking, or has broken, in its change.
The fire beneath the crucible was out;
The vessels of his mystic art lay round,
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand
That fashioned them, and the small rod,
Familiar to his touch for threescore years,
Lay on th' alembic's rim, as if it still
Might vex the elements at its master's will.
And thus had passed from its unequal frame
A soul of fire,-a sun-bent eagle stricken
From his high soaring, down,-an instrument
Broken with its own compass. Oh, how poor
Seems the rich gift of genius, when it lies,
Like the adventurous bird that hath out-flown
His strength upon the sea, ambition-wrecked,~
A thing the thrush might pity, as she sits
Brooding in quiet on her lowly nest.

SOLILOQUY OF KING RICHARD III.-SHAKSPEARE.

Give me another horse-bind up my wounds-
Have mercy, Jesu!-soft! I did but dream.
O coward conscience, how dost thou afflict me!
The lights burn blue. It is now dead midnight.
Cold, fearful drops stand on my trembling flesh.
What do I fear? Myself! There's none else by.
Richard loves Richard: that is, I am I.

Is there a murderer here? No-yes; I am.

Then fly. What! From myself? Great reason: Why!
Lest I revenge. What? Myself on myself?

I love myself. Wherefore? For any good
That I myself have done unto myself?
Oh, no: alas! I rather hate myself
For hateful deeds committed by myself.

I am a villain, yet I lie: I am not.

Fool, of thyself speak well-fool, do not flatter-
My conscience hath a thousand several tongues;
And every tongue brings in a several tale;
And every tale condemns me for a villain.
Perjury, perjury in the highest degree;
Murder, stern murder in the direst degree;
All several sins, all used in each degree,
Throng to the bar, crying all, Guilty! guilty!
I shall despair. There is no creature loves me,
And, if I die, no soul will pity me;

Nay; wherefore should they; since that I myself
Find in myself no pity to myself?—

Methought the souls of all that I had murdered
Came to my tent, and every one did threat
To-morrow's vengeance on the head of Richard.

THE SILVER WEDDING.-MRS. C. M. STOW

Did you think I could forget it,

Five and twenty years a-gone?

On a beautiful May morning,

Flowers were blooming on the lawn;

My heart was filled with gladness,

And my cheeks were flushed with pride

While I waited for your coming-
I was soon to be a bride.

Five and twenty years, my darling,
Since that morn, have passed away;
Let us count them, looking backward,
Till we reach our wedding day.
Do you see the sun above us,

And the blue and cloudless sky,
And remember how that morning,
We were happy, you and I?

Do you see the low-roofed dwelling,
With its white and shining floor,
And the hewed logs matched so nicely,
And the rose-tree by the door?
And the wedding guests,-I see them
Through the five and twenty years,
Sitting quietly around us,

Smiling fondly through their tears.
They were only those who loved us,
As we stood there, you and I,
Looking forward to the future,
Through a clear and cloudless sky.
Ah, to-day in looking backward,
I can see you standing there,
In your pride of youthful manhood,
With your brow unmarked by care!
And I stood that day beside you,
In my robe of simple white,
Without gems or costly jewels,
Flashing in the morning light.
Just a loving heart I gave you,

As our hands were clasped that day,
With no cloud upon our future-
Only sunshine in our way.

Five and twenty years, my darling,
Through the sunshine and the shade,
We have walked beside each other,
In the path our love has made.
But the clouds have gathered o'er us,
Drifting down the stream of life,

And our hearts have throbbed with sorrow,
Since you claimed me as a wife.

But to-night, in looking backward,
Looking backward all the way,

Through the clouds, the storms, the sunshine,
That have gathered since that day,
There is more of good than evil,

Though our feet have tired grown ;-
Five and twenty years, my darling,
Since our wedding day, have flown.

A CENSUS-TAKER'S EXPERIENCE.

At one house I saw the women up-stairs at the window as I went up the front steps. A fat, good-looking girl came to the door, and I commenced asking questions.

"Any children been born here during the last year?" "Don't know," says she. "I hain't been here but three weeks. I'll go and ask missis," and away she toddled up-stairs. Pretty soon she came back and says:

"Missis wants to know what you want to know for?" "Tell her I am taking the city census, as required by law each year," says I, and away went the girl again. When she got back she said:

66

66

"What's her real,

I'll ask missis," says she, and up she went.

Beatrice Branscombe Brown," says she.

"When was she born?" says I.

"I'll ask missis," says she, and I whistled "The Watch

on the Rhine" clear through before she came back.

66

Day before Christmas," says she.

"What is her father's name?" says I.

"Mr. Brown, of course," says she.

"What's his first name?" says I.

"I'll ask missis." The girl was fat and began to puff as she went up-stairs.

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Benjamin Bruce Brown," says she.

"What does he do for a living?" says I.

Keeps a store," says she.

"What's her mother's name?" says I.

"I'll ask her;" and away she went again.

"Betholinda Berthelet Brown," she gasped on her return, entirely overcome by the exertion.

Just then the woman came to the head of the stairs, and says:

"Seems to me you're asking a great many impertinent questions."

Law requires it," says I. "Buffalo."

"How old are you?"

Where were you born?"

"None of your business! Matilda, shut the door!"

-Detroit Free Press.

WHERE MAN SHOULD DIE.-MICHAEL JOSEPH Barry.

How little recks it where men lie,
When once the moment's past
In which the dim and glazing eye
Has looked on earth its last,-
Whether beneath the sculptured urn
The coffined form shall rest,

Or in its nakedness return

Back to its mother's breast!

Death is a common friend or foe,
As different men may hold,

And at his summons each must go,
The timid and the bold;

But when the spirit, free and warm,

Deserts it, as it must,

What matters where the lifeless form
Dissolves again to dust?