between the frail present and the eternal future grows thin, -then came the messenger!

There was a sound in that chamber, first of one who stepped quickly. It was Miss Ophelia, who had resolved to sit up all night with her little charge, and who at the turn of the night had discerned what experienced nurses significantly call "a change." The outer door was quickly opened and Tom, who was watching outside, was on the alert in a moment.

"Go for the doctor, Tom! Lose not a moment,” said Miss Ophelia; and stepping across the room she rapped at St. Clare's door.

"Cousin," she said, "I wish you would come."

Those words fell on his heart like clods upon a coffin. Why did they? He was up and in the room in an instant, and bending over Eva, who still slept.

What was it he saw that made his heart stand still? Why was no word spoken between the two? Thou canst say, who hast seen that same expression on the face dearest to thee,— that look indescribable, hopeless, unmistakable, that says to thee that thy beloved is no longer thine.

On the face of the child, however, there was no ghastly imprint,—only a high and almost sublime expression,-the overshadowing presence of spiritual natures, the dawning of immortal life in that childish soul.

They stood there so still, gazing upon her, that even the ticking of the watch seemed too loud. In a few moments Tom returned with the doctor. He entered, gave one look, and stood silent as the rest.

"When did this change take place?" said he, in a low whisper to Miss Ophelia.

"About the turn of the night," was the reply.

Marie, roused by the entrance of the doctor, appeared hurriedly, from the next room.

Augustine! Cousin !-Oh!-what!" she hurriedly began. "Hush!" said St. Clare, hoarsely, " She is dying!"

Mammy heard the words and flew to awaken the servants. The house was soon roused,-lights were seen, footsteps heard, anxious faces thronged the veranda and looked tearfully through the glass doors; but St. Clare heard and

said nothing, he saw only that look on the face of the little sleeper.

"Oh, if she would only wake, and speak once more!” he said: and stooping over her, he spoke in her ear, —“ Eva, darling!"

The large blue eyes unclosed,-a smile passed over her face; she tried to raise her head, and speak.

แ

Do you know me, Eva?"

'Dear papa," said the child, with a last effort, throwing her ains about his neck. In a moment they dropped again; and as St. Clare raised his head he saw a spasm of mortal agony pass over the face; she struggled for breath, and threw up her little hands.

"O God, this is dreadful!" he said, turning away in agony, and wringing Tom's hand, scarce conscious what he was doing. "Oh, Tom, my boy, it is killing me!"

Tom had his master's hands between his own, and with tears streaming down his dark cheeks, looked up for help where he had always been used to look.

"Pray that this may be cut short!" said St. Clare : wrings my heart!"

this

"Oh, bless the Lord! it's over,-it's over, dear master!" said Tom. "Look at her."

The child lay panting on her pillows as one exhausted,― the large clear eyes rolled up and fixed.

Ah, what said Earth was past,

those eyes that spoke so much of heaven? and earthly pain; but so solemn, so mysterious, was the triumphant brightness of that face, that it checked even the sobs of sorrow. They pressed around her, in breathless stillness. "Eva!" said St. Clare, gently. She did not hear. “Oh, Eva, tell us what you see! father.

What is it?" said her

A bright, a glorious smile passed over her face, and she said, brokenly, "Oh! love-joy-peace!" gave one sigh, and passed from death unto life!

Farewell, beloved child! the bright, eternal doors have closed after thee; we shall see thy sweet face no more. Oh, woe for them who watched thy entrance into heaven, when they shall wake and find only the cold gray sky of daily life, and thou gone forever!

THE SUICIDAL CAT.

There was a man named Ferguson,
He lived on Market street,

He had a speckled Thomas cat
That couldn't well be beat;

He'd catch more rats and mice, and sich,
Than forty cats could eat.

This cat would come into the room

And climb

upon a cheer,

And there he'd set and lick hisself,

And purr so awful queer,

That Ferguson would yell at him—

But still he'd purr-severe.

And then he'd climb the moon-lit fence,

And loaf around and yowl,

And spit and claw another cat

Alongside of the jowl;

And then they both would shake their tails
And jump around and howl.

Oh, this here cat of Ferguson's
Was fearful then to see;

He'd yell precisely like he was
In awful agony;

You'd think a first-class stomach-ache
Had struck some small baby.

And all the mothers in the street,

Waked by the horrid din,

Would rise right up and search their babes

To find some worrying pin;

And still this viperous cat would keep
A hollerin' like sin.

And as for Mr. Ferguson,

'Twas more than he could bear,
And so he hurled his boot-jack out
Right through the midnight air;
But this vociferous Thomas cat,
Not one cent did he care.

For still he yowled and kept his fur
A standin' up on end,

And his old spine a doublin' up
As far as it would bend,

As if his hopes of happiness

Did on his lungs depend.

But while a curvin' of his spine,

And waitin' to attack

A cat upon the other fence,

There come an awful crack ;-
And this here speckled Thomas cat
Was busted in the back!

When Ferguson came home next day,
There lay his old feline,
And not a life was left in him,
Although he had had nine.

"All this here comes," said Ferguson,
"Of curvin' of his spine."

Now all you men whose tender hearts
This painful tale does rack,

Just take this moral to yourselves,
All of you, white and black;
Don't ever go like this here cat,
To gettin' up your back.

OTHELLO'S APOLOGY.-SHAKSPEARE.

Most potent, grave, and reverend seigniors:
My very noble, and approved good masters:
That I have ta'en away this old man's daughter,
It is most true; true, I have married her:"
The very head and front of my offending
Hath this extent, no more.

Rude am I in speech,

And little blessed with the set phrase of peace:
For since these arms of mine had seven years' pith,
Till now some nine moons wasted, they have used

Their dearest action in the tented field;

And little of this great world can I speak,

More than pertains to feats of broils and battle;
And therefore, little shall I grace my cause,

In speaking of myself.

Yet by your patience,

I will, a round, unvarnished tale deliver,

Of my whole course of love; what drugs, what charms,
What conjuration, and what mighty magic-
For such proceedings I am charged withal-
I won his daughter with.

Her father loved me; oft invited me;
Still questioned me the story of my life
From year to year: the battles, sieges, fortunes,
That I had past.

I ran it through, e'en from my boyish days,
To the very moment that he bade me tell it.
Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances:

Of moving accidents by flood and field;

Of hairbreadth 'scapes, in the imminent deadly breach;
Of being taken by the insolent foe,

And sold to slavery; of my redemption thence,
And with it all my travel's history.

All these to hear,

Would Desdemona seriously incline;

But still the house affairs would draw her thence,
Which ever as she could with haste despatch,
She'd come again, and with a greedy ear,
Devour up my discourse. Which, I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof, by parcels, she had something heard,
But not distinctly.

I did consent;

And often did beguile her of her tears,

When I did speak of some distressful stroke,

That my youth suffered. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

She swore in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange;

'Twas pitiful; 'twas wondrous pitiful;

She wished she had not heard it; yet she wished
That heaven had made her such a man.

She thanked me,

And bade me, if I had a friend that loved her,
I should but teach him how to tell my story,
And that would woo her. On this hint I spake;
She loved me for the dangers I had passed;
And I loved her that she did pity them.
This is the only witchcraft which I've used.