She dreaded that eclipse which might
Perpetually enclose

Sad memories of a leatless world,
A spectral realm of suows.

She'd rather that the verdure left
An evergreen to shine

. Within her heart, as summer leaves
Its memory on the pine.

She had her wish; for when the sun
O'erhung his eastern towers,
And shed his benediction on

A world of May-time flowers,
We found her seated, as of old,
In her accustomed place,
A midnight in her sightless eyes,
And morn upon her face!

GEORGE Washington DewEY

O weary heart, that throbbest so,
Thou hast but this one wish,- to be
A little dust beneath the tree.

I would thou hadst thy wish to-day,
And we were lying side by side
With her who took our life away
That heavy day whereon she died.

O grave I would thy gates were wide.

EDWARD YOUNG

THE VOICE OF THE GRASS

HERE I come creeping, creeping everywhere;

By the dusty roadside,
On the sunny hill-side,
Close by the noisy brook,

In every shady nook,

I come creeping, creeping everywhero.

Here I come creeping, smiling everywhere;
All around the open door,
Where sit the aged poor;
Here where the children play,
In the bright and merry May,
I come creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;

In the noisy city street

My pleasant face you'll meet,

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere;

You cannot see me coming,
Nor hear my low sweet humming;
For in the starry night,

And the glad morning light,

I come quietly creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping every where;

More welcome than the flowers
In summer's pleasant hours:
The gentle cow is glad,

And the merry bird not sad,

To see me creeping, creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping everywhere:

When you 're numbered with the dead
In your still and narrow bed,
In the happy spring I'll come

And deck your silent home-
Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.

Here I come creeping, creeping every where;

My humble song of praise
Most joyfully I raise

To Him at whose cominand
I beautify the land,

Creeping, silently creeping everywhere.

THE vicomte is wearing a brow of gloom
As he mounts the stair to his favorite room.
"Breakfast for two!" the garçons say,
"Then the pretty young lady is coming to-
day !"

But the patron mutters, A Dieu ne plaise!
I want no clients from Père la Chaise.
Silver and crystal-a splendid show!
And a damask cloth white as driven snow.
The vicomte sits down with a ghastly air, -
His vis-à-vis is an empty chair.

But he calls to the garçon, "Antoine !
Vite !

Place a stool for the lady's feet."

"The lady, monsieur ?" (in a wavering

tone).

"Yes-when have you known me to breakfast alone?

Fill up her glass! Versez! Versez !
You see how white are her cheeks to-day:

"Mini is dead of a broken heart.
Could I think, when she gave it with gen-
erous joy,

A woman's heart such a fragile toy?
Her trim little figure no longer I see!
Would I were lying with thee, Mimi!
For what is life but a hell to me?
What splendor and wealth but misery ?"
A jet of flame and a whirl of smoke I
A detonation the silence broke.
The landlord enters, and lying there
Is the dead vicomte, with a stony glare
Rigidly fixed on an empty chair.
"Il faut avertir le commissaire!

Ma foi! Chez Brébant ces choses sont rares !”

FRANCIS ALEXANDER DURIVAGE