"Gone! Her pure young life beguiled the hours. Oh, weary days! Oh, lonely nights! Gone all the happiness of care! All life's sweet pleasures ended! Henceforth her steps I shall not hear. Nor will there be an answer to my calling. But I shall meet her yet again,—not here, but there!"

"Gone!" Hand in hand, Bell and Linda, Daisy and Mary, and after them Caleb and Moses, Job and Ben, and all the school, slowly along the pathway moving. With swelling hearts they bear her through the churchyard gates.

"Gone!" Leaning on his spade the gray-haired sexton waits. He lifts the coffin-lid; they see her smiling face, and on her brow the light of heaven! So will she look for evermore.

"Gone!" It is over. They drop their flowers in the grave and move away, the bell above them tolling. So they lay her down to sleep, and yet they do not think of her as being there, but as having gone where everything is bright and beautiful and pure.

-Extract from "Caleb Krinkle."

A BACHELOR'S GROWL.

I'm a grumpy old bachelor,
Grizzly and gray;

I am seven-and-forty
If I am a day;

I am fussy and crusty,

And as dry as a bone;

So, ladies-good ladies!-
Just let me alone!

Go shake out your ringlets,
And beam out in smiles;
Go tinkle your trinkets,

And show off your wiles;
Bewitch and bewilder
Wherever you can-

But pray, pray remember

I am not the man!

I'm frozen to blushes;

I'm proof against eyes;
I'm hardened to simpers,
And stony to sighs;
I'm tough to each dart

That young Cupid can lance; I'm not in the market

At any advance!

I sew my own buttons;
I darn my own hose;
I keep my own counsel,
And fold my own clothes;
I mind my own business,
And live my own life;
I won't-no! the dickens!-
Be plagued with a wife!

I walk forth in trembling,
I come home in dread;
I don't fear my heart,

But I do fear my head;
My civilest speech

Is a growl and a nod;
And that-Heaven save me!-
Is "charmingly odd!"

So, ladies-déar ladies!-
Just hear me, I pray;
I speak to you all

In the pluralest way;
My logic is simple

As logic can be:

If I don't marry you,
Pray don't marry me!

And yet there's nine spinsters
Who believe me their fate;

There's two dozen widows

Who'd change their estate; There's silly young maidens Who blush at my bow, All-all bent on marrying me, No matter how!

WHAT I LIVE FOR.-G. LINNEUS BANKS.

I live for those who love me,

Whose hearts are kind and true;

For the heaven that smiles above me,
And awaits my spirit too;

For all human ties that bind me,
For the task by God assigned me,
For the bright hopes left behind me,
And the good that I can do.

I live to learn their story,

Who've suffered for my sake;

To emulate their glory,

And follow in their wake;
Bards, patriots, martyrs, sages,
The noble of all ages,

Whose deeds crown history's pages,

And time's great volume make.

I live to hold communion

With all that is divine;
To feel there is a union

"Twixt nature's heart and mine;
To profit by affliction,

Reap truths from fields of fiction,
Grow wiser from conviction,
And fulfil each grand design.

I live to hail that season,
By gifted minds foretold,
When men shall live by reason,
And not alone by gold;
When man to man united,
And every wrong thing righted,
The whole world shall be lighted
As Eden was of old.

I live for those who love me,

For those who know me true;

For the heaven that smiles above me,

And awaits my spirit too;

For the cause that lacks assistance,

For the wrong that needs resistance,

For the future in the distance,

And the good that I can do.

THE SIREN'S WEDDING-RING.-G. H. JESSOP.

Where the river's mimic billows
Darken 'neath the drooping willows
That hang, playfully coquetting,
With the water and the breeze;
Where the morning's westward glimmer
Casteth on the stream the shimmer
Of the leaflets, like the fretting

On some old cathedral frieze-
Dwelt (so runs the legend olden)
A fair maid with tresses golden,
And soft eyes whose sorrow-laden
Azure mocked the blue above.
All the harvest knights assembling
Wooed her hand in fear and trembling.
Fairer she than mortal maiden,

And to see her was to love.

Day by day the shadows shifted,
But her eyes were never lifted;
Day by day the crystal river

From her tears a tribute drew;
And, whene'er a wooer sought her,
She would show the whirling water,
Pointing where a transient quiver,

Like a diamond, sparkled through,
Saying: "Ere I may be wedded,
Yonder ring, which lies embedded,
Must be snatched, all pure and glistening,
From the river ooze beneath."
And each knight, his soul made braver
By the promise of her favor,

To her siren whisper listening,

Sought the talisman-and death.

Some, nerved on by wild affection,
Followed down the bright reflection;
Grasped the amulet, and bore it,

Breathless to the sedgy bank;
But, before the sunlight, streaming,
Glinted from the diamond's gleaming,
The pale fingers folded o'er it,

And the ring and swimmer sank.

Still, they say, the maid doth linger
By the stream, with beckoning finger
Pointing downward through the water
Where the treacherous lustre shone;
Still our bravest come to woo her,
Fewer now, and waxing fewer,
For she sends them down to slaughter,
And the work of death goes on.
Pensive by the willows leaning,
Fancy gives the legend meaning,
And my thoughts are dark and bitter,
And as chilling as the stream.

To a siren whisper hearkening,

Though the waves above are darkening,

Men still seek a golden glitter,

And would realize a dream.

THE SOLDIER'S CRADLE-HYMN.-MARY MCGUIRE.

From a field of death and carnage
To the hospital was borne,
One May morn, a youthful soldier
With a face all white and worn.

Day by day he pined and wasted
And 'twas pitiful to hear

Through the dreary, long night watches
That sad call of, "Mother, dear."

Weary sufferers moaning, tossing,
Turned their sad eyes toward his cot;
But that cry was still incessant,
The young soldier heeded not.

It was night; the lights burned dimly;
O'er the couch his mother bent
Lovingly; with soft caresses

Through his hair her fingers went.
But he tossed in wild delirium,
From his pale lips still the cry,

With that same sad, plaintive moaning,
66 'Mother-come-before-I--die."

Then in song her voice rose sweetly,
On her breast she laid his head,