She about a year my junior,
I a youngster just sixteen!
In strange contrast comes another,
Written clear and gracefully;
Saddened, shuddering, I quickly
Drop the veil on memory;
Once I almost thought a halo
Circled, angel-like, her brow;
Would to God the grass were growing
Thick and high above her now!
Falling from another letter
Is a shining tress of hair;
Quick my thoughts flash o'er the ocean
Where its sister ringlets are.
Very dear is she who wears them,
Truest, kindest, best of friends;
May all good attend her pathway
Till her earthly journey ends!
Back the mists of years are rolling,
As these relics of the past,
With a wondrous fascination,
Have their spells around me cast.
Crowds of tender recollections
Fill my eyes with unshed tears;
Dimmer grows the weary Present—
Dimmer-till it disappears.
From the shadows in the distance
Vanished scenes are drawing nigh;
Clad in forms of matchless beauty
Sweet remembrances float by.
Loving eyes are gazing on me,
Loving lips are pressed to mine,
Loving voices softly whisper
To my spirit thoughts divine.
Hark! the clocks are striking midnight; Cold and dead my fire lies;
Passed the storm, the clouds are breaking
Calmly from the moonlit skies;
Still unburned. I lay the letters
In their casket once again,
Gently close the lid upon them,
Lock it-let them there remain.
A SCHOOL EPISODE.-EMMA SHAW.
Long years ago (how youth to-day
Would stand and stare if taught that way!)
In rural "deestricks" 'twas laid down
That meeting travelers through the town,
Boys from their heads their hats should take
And reverently their "manners" make;
Each little maid, her part to do,
Made "kurchies" wonderful to view.
It chanced that on a certain day
His yearly visit came to pay,
A school official yclept "trustee,”—
His form e'en now I seem to see,
In somber coat of homespun brown
And fine buff waistcoat bought in town;
Besides, yes, it was surely so,
He wore a wig, this ancient beau;
Else I'd no story have to tell
Of what that article befell;
He made his call,- -no matter where,
Since you, I'm sure, were never there;
He heard the scholars spell and read,
Talked long and learned of their need
The Rule of Three to practise well,
And the nine parts of speech to tell,
Then as a final flourish, "Now,"
He said, "I'll make a proper bow;
Look, one and all."
Alas to tell!
His wig came loose and off it fell,
Displaying to the general view
A pate that shone like billiard cue;
He stared a breath, with scarlet face,
His headgear seized and quit the place.
Upon the school a stillness fell,
Until an urchin broke the spell,-
A tow-haired child, the smallest there,
Who, running toward his teacher's chair
With hand upraised, piped shrilly out,
His freckled face expressing doubt
And direst wonder: "Schoolma'am, we
Can't take our hairs off clean like he!"
It was at Spirit Lake, at the very limit of the pier. They were all alone. There was no moon, but the stars were big and bright and so full of self-conceit that they looked at themselves in the water and winked. Far out a boat slid noiselessly along. In a nearer boat a fair tenor voice carelessly half-hummed, half-sang a common love song. From the hotel came now and then the twang of the strings of the orchestra of mandolins. On such a night as this did Dido stand upon the wild sea bank and wave her love to come again to Carthage. On such a night as this did Jessica-but a truce to the bard! It was the sort of night on which a man could make love to his own wife-and those two, Edouard and Alicia, had not yet bespoken their tender vows.
"Do you know anything about the stars?" inquired Edouard in a voice like the murmur of the wind in summer trees.
"A little," answered Alicia, tenderly. "I know some of the constellations,-the Great Bear-the-❞
"Yes," interrupted Edouard, "I know all about the big bear and I can find the north star; but right over there is a group. Do you know the name of that?" And Edouard threw his arm across Alicia's shoulder and pointed to a cluster of shining worlds in the east.
Alicia leaned toward him. "I don't know what that is," she breathed, as one who did not care.
"And there is another constellation just over our heads!"
Edouard passed his arm around her neck, and placing his hand under her chin so tilted it that it would be easy for her to see. And then to Alicia's eyes the heavens became one grand carnival of constellations. Shooting-stars chased each other athwart the firmament, comets played riotous games among the planets-and finally there came a soft and radiant blur which hid them all. Edouard had kissed Alicia.o
FATHOMING BRAINS.*-STOCKTON BATES.
I once took a fancy to fathom the brains
Of those I might meet on life's highways and lanes;
So I bought a good lead-line, of monstrous length,
And one that was noted for toughness and strength.
I resolved that, like David of old, I would sing,
And chronicle all the great deeds of my sling.
Well! the first one I met was a man with a hod,
Imported, no doubt, from the "Emerald sod."
I threw in my line, and prepared to find out
The depth of the brains that he carried about:
When lo! don't distrust it! the lead, at full stop,
Brought up, with a thump, very near to the top.
The next, a remarkably dressy young man,
Whose kids kept his hands from pollution and tan:
And, truly! the lead, with a sudden rebound,
Bounced out of his cranium on to the ground.
I was not surprised, for I scarcely expected
To find it much better in one so affected.
Then I came to a poet, with manners much sweeter;
Yet I thought I could fathom his brains in short metre
And threw in the "deep-sea" and paid out the twine,
And found that it took quite a volume of line.
No wonder, for surely it should be no worse,
When the man had completed such volumes of verse.
The fourth was a doctor, as grave as the dead-
I wondered what wisdom was stored in his head:
But, sad to relate of this curer of ills,
With his lotions, and potions, and plasters, and pills,
His brains, ill comporting with such knowing looks,
Were deceiving as pools in dark, shadowy nooks.
The fifth, a philosopher plodding along,
And arguing right out of everything wrong:
I found that the brains 'neath his forehead so sallow
Were frequently muddy, and often quite shallow;
That though he could tell that red ink was not blood
His whys and his wherefores were just clear as mud.
A minister, then, with his cap and his gown, Came jogging along on his way to the town. *By permission of the Author.
I awaited my chance, then threw in the lead,
To find that, in this good, old reverend's head,
The doctrinal rocks, with fissure and seam,
And sectarian sand-bars, had choked up the stream.
I next met a farmer all roughened by toil,
Whose hands were as brown as the freshly ploughed soil,
Whose voice was as rough as the low of his kine,
And his garments were certainly not very fine;
But the depth of his brains could by no means compare
With his surface appearance and countryfied air.
His wife was a good, honest, quiet old soul,
Who looked just as deep as a soup-plate or bowl:
Yet I heaved out my lead; it went in with a splash,
Sank deeper and deeper-and, quick as a flash,
I made up my mind that appearance inferior
Is no kind of gauge to the hidden interior.
A statesman, soon after, my notice engaged-
A maker of laws for the young and the aged-
But I found that his brain was so muddled by drink
That the lead I heaved over I could not make sink;
And this introduced a long train of sad thought
About the amount of distress rum had wrought.
I fathomed the wealthy, and oft found that gold
Took the place of the brains that for pelf they had sold;
That though they were styled the polite and refined,
They quite often lacked in refinement of mind.
I fathomed the poor in a similar manner,
And often found reason 'neath poverty's banner.
I found that great statesmen and merchants of rank
Oft into oblivion hopelessly sank
When compared with their neighbors of meaner degree,-
The farmer, the miller, the blacksmith-all three.
And therefore I came to conclusions that follow:
That the most solid looking are often most hollow;
That those who appear to have least depth of mind
We often the best informed scholars may find;
That roughness may, like the unpolished sea-shell,
Hide beauteous gems in its tortuous cell;
And that those who are highest in Church or in State
Are not of necessity always the great.
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