On the door-step where she has paused to see
If he really meant it, and wouldn't repent.

"I couldn't go, Nelly, and leave you thus !"

He bends and looks deep in the sad, blue eyes, Then draws to his bosom the sly young puss― "Forgive me," says he, and the maiden cries.

The penitent head seeks its old soft place,
While he kisses the long damp lashes dry-
The moon winks down with a sly old face,
And the breeze on tip-toe steals tittering by.

ISN'T IT SO?

NE kindred are we here,

And each to each agrees, In mutual needs and aids, Supplies dependencies.

And some are made to bear

And some are made to cling;

As mates the sapling vine

With England's forest king.

And some are strong and brave,
And some are faint and frail;
The lily maiden weds

The warrior ribbed with mail.

And God to each hath given

A something here of good; A place for each to fill

In human brotherhood.

The strong to toil and fight,
Support, restrain, redress;

The weak to soothe and twine,
To comfort and caress.

The great of brain to think,
The iron of arm to toil,

The pure of heart to preach,
The fair of lip to smile.

And some are made to rule,

And some to serve the State;

And some to sit and eat,

And some to stand and wait.

Not one, however low,

But has a nook assigned

Within the busy mart

By God, the master-mind:

To ease the clamp of care,

And oil the wheels of toil;

Make anguish easier borne,
And pleasure worth the while;

To smooth the rugged edge.
Before the plodding seet;

R

Make earth more pure and fair, And life more calm and sweet.

And each has got a charge,
Something to cherish, too;

A little hand to lead,

A prop to cling unto.

He is thy brother-man,
However mean he be,
Who but his duty knows,
And does it faithfully.

We cannot all be kings,

Not all be grand and great ;

Why should we grasp and fret
For things beyond our state?

Why not take up our thread
And weave it patiently,
Among the myriad threads

That are but threads as we ?

Why should we blindly turn

From kindred needs and aims?

Why selfishly withhold

What our own nature claims ?

How blessed the world would be If each would search His will; If each his work would do,

And each his place would fill !

B

And

my

MELANCHOLY MOMENTS.

AR up in the garret I dream of thee,

O maiden, who dwell'st by the far-off sea. Stretched out on my couch with my limbs at rest, thin hands folded and still on my breast,

Shut out from the world and its care and strife,
I'm lying becalmed on the ocean of life.
Behind the past with its pain and toil,

And the present lies still in the soft calm smile
Of the radiant future that dawns for me,
O'er the dim-seen hills of eternity.

The tempest is lulled, and the heavens are clear,
And the lights glimmer out from an arbour near;
The fever of sickness burns low in my veins,
And silently wrestles and surely gains
A firmer hold on each vital part,
A surer grasp of the fluttering heart;
A mightier power and a sterner sway
O'er this shadowy tenement day by day;
I know that a work in the churchyard waits,
And a messenger stands at the golden gates,
But lovingly pauses a moment, the while
I take a last look at the dim old stile ;
My boat is half on and half off the shore
Awaiting the tide that shall float us o'er;
From the horologue glideth the last few sands,
And quivers the balance in Time's worn hands;
The cable unravelleth coil after coil,

And the shadows grow long in the sunset smile,

I bask in the twilight of two dim shores,

With my head strained back, and my hands on the oars—

'Tis a moment ere I brave the dark stream,

So what can I do but be silent and dream ;

'Tis the lull that precedes the last burst of the storm, Ere the clouds break up and the sun shines warm.

BISSEXTILE: A LADY'S VALENTINE.

ONG years have trod the wake of years,
And scores have wooed and mated,

And friends and beaux have come and gone,
And I have watched and waited,-

A woman with a woman's heart
Still unappropriated!

You've danced attendance on my suit,
You've given me smiles and sighing;
You've hinted, "Some folks would not care
If other folks were dying."

I've long discerned the prisoned love

Your queerness underlying:

And yet you never spoke, although
You gave me signs sufficient !
It might be diffidence: perhaps
You thought my love deficient ;

You may have deemed your home too mean,
Your income inefficient.