Nay, this thing will I do, while my mother tarrieth,
I will take my fine spun gold, but not to sew therewith,
I will take my gold and gems, and rainbow fan and
wreath;

With a ransom in my lap, a king's ransom in my hand, I will go down to this people, will stand face to face, will stand

Where they curse king, queen, and princess of this cursed land.

They shall take all to buy them bread, take all I have to give:

I, if I perish, perish; they to-day shall eat and live;
I, if I perish, perish; that's the goal I half conceive:

Once to speak before the world, rend bare my heart and

show

The lesson I have learned, which is death, is life, to

know.

I, if I perish, perish; in the name of God I go.

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI.

WE

SISTER AND 1.

E were hunting for wintergreen berries,
One May day, long gone by,

Out on the rocky cliff's edge,

Little sister and I.

Sister had hair like the sunbeams;

Black as a crow's wing, mine;

Sister had blue, dove's eyes;
Wicked, black eyes are mine.

Why, see how my eyes are faded—

And my hair, it is white as snow!
And thin, too! don't you see it is?
I tear it sometimes; so!

There, do n't hold my hands, Maggie,
I don't feel like tearing it now;
But where was I in my story?
Oh, I was telling you how

We were looking for wintergreen berries;
'T was one bright morning in May,
And the moss-grown rocks were slippery
With the rains of yesterday.

'But I was cross that morning,

Though the sun shone ever so brightAnd when sister found the most berries, I was angry enough to fight! And when she laughed at my poutingWe were little things, you knowI clinched my little fist up tight,

And struck her the biggest blow! I struck her I tell you-I struck her, And she fell right over belowThere, there, Maggie, I won't rave now; You need n't hold me soShe went right over, I tell you,

Down, down to the depths below! 'Tis deep and dark and horrid There, where the waters flow! She fell right over, moaning, "Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so sad, That, when I looked down affrighted, It drove me mad-mad!

Only her golden hair streaming

Out on the rippling wave,

Only her little hand reaching
Up, for some one to save;

And she sank down in the darkness,
I never saw her again,

And this world is a chaos of blackness

And darkness and grief since then.
No more playing together

Down on the pebbly strand;
Nor building our doll's stone castles
With halls and parlors grand;

No more fishing with bent pins,
In the little brook's clear waves;
No more holding funerals.

O'er dead canaries' graves;

No more walking together

To the log school-house each morn;

No more vexing the master

With putting his rules to scorn; No more feeding of white lambs With milk from the foaming pail;

No more playing "see-saw

Over the fence of rail;

No more telling of stories

;

After we've gone to bed Nor talking of ghosts and goblins Till we fairly shiver with dread; No more whispering fearfully And hugging each other tigat, When the shutters shake and the dogs howl In the middle of the night; No more saying "Our Father," Kneeling by mother's kneeFor, Maggie, I struck sister!

And mother is dead, you see;

Maggie, sister's an angel,

Is n't she? Isn't it true?
For angels have golden tresses
And eyes like sister's, blue?
Now my hair is n't golden,

My eyes aren't blue, you see-
Now tell me, Maggie, if I were to die,
Could they make an angel of me?
You say, "Oh, yes;" you think so?
Well, then, when I come to die,
We'll play up there, in God's garden-
We'll play there, sister and I.
Now, Maggie, you need n't eye me,
Because I'm talking so queer;
Because I'm talking so strangely;
You need n't have the least fear.
I'm feeling to-night, Maggie,
As I never felt before-

I'm sure, I'm sure of it, Maggie,
I never shall rave any more.、
Maggie, you know how these long years
I've heard her calling, so sad,
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so mournful?

It always drives me mad!

How the winter wind shrieks down the chimney,

"Bessie, oh, Bessie, oh! oh!"

How the south wind wails at the casement,

"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so low.

But most of all, when the May days

Come back, with the flowers and the sun,

How the night bird, singing, all lonely,

66

'Bessie, oh, Bessie!" doth moan;

You know how it sets me raving—

For she moaned, "Oh, Bessie!" just so,

That time I struck little sister,
On the May day long ago!

Now Maggie, I've something to tell you-
You know May day is here-
Well, this very morning, at sunrise,

The robins chirped "Bessie!" so clear-
All day long the wee birds, singing,
Perched on the garden wall,

Called "Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so sweetly,
I could n't feel sorry at all.

Now Maggie, I've something to tell you-
Let me lean up to you
close-

Do you see how the sunset has flooded
The heavens with yellow and rose?
Do you see o'er the gilded cloud mountains
Sister's golden hair streaming out?
Do you see her little hand beckoning?

Do you hear her little voice calling out
"Bessie, oh, Bessie!" so gladly,
"Bessie, oh, Bessie! Come, haste?"

Yes, sister, I'm coming; I'm coming,
To play in God's garden at last!

NEL

THE DEATH OF NELSON.

TELSON, having despatched his business at Portsmouth, endeavored to elude the populace by taking a by-way to the beach; but, a crowd collected in his train, pressing forward to obtain a sight of his face; many were in tears, and many knelt down before him and blessed him as he passed. England has had many heroes, but never one who so entirely possessed the love