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hat when the mortals vex us, as often they ar tain,
That we may use that sting to their excruciating pain."
Then Jupiter was sorry, and thus in griet said he:
“Your choice does you no honor, O golden-belted bee.
I. deemed that to your graces-they are many, well I know-
You would ask that I some greater and sweeter would bestow.
That some all-crowning beauty or secret charm I'd add,
Your choice, I must confess, O queen! has made me very

sad.
Still, since my word is given, my thoughtless vow I will,
With certain sad conditions, most honestly fulfil.
I give the keen and subtle sting to you, O queen, and yet,
Whenever it within the flesh of mortal man is set,
In the wound it shall remain. Oh, behold your heartless

choosing Is a bane and not a blessing! for you perish with its using!The queen was very sorrowful and saw with pain and

wonder, That in her selfish wishing she had made a wretched blun

der. She saw, what all the years since then have been most surely

proving, That gain is to the giver and love is for the loving; That blows strike back, that haters for hating but the worse

are; That curses evermore come back and dwell beside the curser.

- Good Cheer.

CHERISHED LETTERS.*_ MRS. Alex. McVerge MILLER.

I am sitting alone by the desolate hearth-stone,

Reading their letters while memories flow,
Stirring my soul to the depth of its fountains,

Like "echoes of harpstrings" that broke long ago;
I am keeping them all for the sake of my darlings,

Loved ones and lost ones,—they number but seven;
Two who are sorrowing, one who is wandering,

Four who have passed through the portals of heaven.
Here is the letter all post-marked and blackened,

Jamie was a ming from over the sea,
Idolized Jamie, our blithe brother Jamie,

Coming to home and to mother and me.
From the author's revised manuscript by permission

Here is another for Jamie's pet sister,

Some pitying stranger had written to me:
Jamie was sleeping,-our Jamie was sleeping

Under the beautiful, sorrowful sea.
Here is the missive from Bertha, our beauty,

Bertha who wedded the heir of the Grange;
She is a lady in satin and diamonds,

Beautiful Bertha, but altered and strange.
Still for the sake of the winsome, wee sister-

Dear little Bertha, so gentle and fair-
I am keeping this record of Bertha's first sorrow,

Bertha's affection and Bertha's despair.
I see her sometimes in the pride of her grandeur,

Haughty and stately, and cold as the snow,
And pity the child for the mask she is wearing

And sigh for the heart lying broken below; It seems like a dream that her fair jeweled fingers

In bitterness traced the few lines that I read: “Come to me, sister, I seem to be dying,

I loved bim, I lost him, I would I were dead !” This in its envelope war-worn and tattered

Is a letter from father to her he loved best, Father who died on the red field of honor

With liberty's blood flowing out from his breast. Glad was the hour when the wild shout of victory

Swelled at the nation's high heart like a flood, But costly the triumph, ah, dear was the victory

Bought at the price of my father's best blood. Here is the tear-blotted farewell from Lula,

Lula who would be an actress, she said; Silver-voiced Lula who flitted with summer

Where is she? where is she? living or dead! Never a word from the wilful young rover,

The joy or the grief of her fate is untold ;
But the bitterest drop in my cup is for Lula,

Lula the darling lost lamb of the fold.
Under the turf daisy-starred and fresh springing,

My dearest has folded her hands on her breast. They wanted new angels to praise Him in heaven,

And mother, dear mother was called with the rest Ah, but I missed her through long nights of anguish,

Choking with sobs that I could not repress,

While the fair, golden head of poor motherless Lily

Nestled to sorrowful sleep on my breast. Here is the message that Lily was dying,

Mother's sweet baby I reared as my own; Seventeen summers the angels had lent her,

Then Lily, the bride of a twelvemonth, was flown. I kissed her cold lips, and I kissed her dead baby,

Lily's fair baby, and robed them in white;
And the fair, golden head that once slept on my bosom

Dreams on a drearier pillow to-night.
I am keeping this one for the sake of my lover,

The loving and loved of my youth's perished May: And here is the ringlet whose gold matched my tresses

Ere trouble and time turned the golden to gray. Something about it-a thought of caresses,

A waft of the perfume he fancied the best-
Touches the spring of a grief unforgotten,

And gushes of feeling are shaking my breast.
Ah, me, when the sad tears of mem'ry are flowing

In sorrowful retrospect over the past,
What trifles they seem that have made up the measure

Of anger that sunders our hearts to the last; A word lightly spoken, a ring and a ringlet

Sent back to the hearts that could prize them no more, And the fate of two proud loving hearts has been written

And life's lonely problem is—how to endure? Pshaw! this is weakness, I thought I was braver,

I, who am gray-haired and wrinkled and old; I am scarcely so brave as my poor little Bertha

Who trampled her sorrow and wedded for gold; Poor ringlet! poor letter! good-bye, lonely pledges

That torture my soul with such hopeless regret, For never again will I gaze on the pages

Where the love and the hopes of a lifetime have set! Where is the ribbon? There, tie up the letters!

Sorrowful records of home's scattered band. "Tis lonely without them-I weary of waiting

To clasp them again in a happier land.
I was their first-born, their comfort, their darling,

I am the last and the loneliest now,
Waiting to go when the Father shall call me,-

The last lonely leaf autumn hangs on the bough.

DE QUINCY'S DEED.-HOMER GREENE

By permission of the Author. Red on the morn's rim rose the sun;

Bright on the field's breast lay the dew;
Soft fell the light on saber and gun

Grasped by the brave and true.
Death to the many and fame to the one

Came ere the day was through.
Loud on the sweet air rang the call,

Blast from the bugle and quick command;
Swift to their saddles they vaulted all,

Sat with the reins in hand,
Spur to the steed's flank, fears in thrall,

Eager to sweep the land.
“Straight to the hill-top! Who's there first,

We or the foe, shall win this day.”
So spake De Quincy; then, like a burst

Of splendor, he led the way,
He and his white steed both athirst

For the mad sport of the fray.
“Charge!” What a wild leap! One bright mass

Whirls, like a storm cloud, up the hill ;
Hoofs in a fierce beat bruise the grass,

Clang of the steel rings shrill,
Eyes of the men flash fire as they pass,

Hearts in the hot race thrill.

See! from an open cottage lane

Sallies a child, where the meadow dips; Only a babe with the last refrain

of the mother's song on its lips.
Straight in the path of the charging train,

Fearless, the little one trips.
Under the iron hoofs! Whose the fault?

Killed ? It is naught if the day be won.
On! to the—“Halt!” How he thunders it! “Halt!"

What has De Quincy done?
Checked, in a moment, the swift assault,

Struck back saber and gun.
" Back!” till the horses stand pawing the air,

Throwing their riders from stirrup to mane.

Down from his saddle he bends to where

The little one fronts the train,
Lifts her with care till her golden hair

Falls on his cheek like rain.
Bears her from harm as he would his child,

Kisses and leaves her with vanquished fears,
Thunders his “Forward!” and sees the wild

Surge of his troops through tears.
The fight? Did they win it? Ayel victory smiled

On him and his men for years.

IN THE DIME MUSEUM. A woman, on whose face deep lines had traced the words, “old without age,” walked about in a dime museum leading a boy.

"Hoo, wee!” the boy exclaimed, “look there."
“ That's the fat woman.'
“ What made her so fat?”
“I don't know.”
“Eating so much ?”
“I don't know, I tell you."
“Will you ever be that fat ? "
“I hope not.”
" Why?"
“Because I don't want to be so fat."
Does it hurt?”
“No I think not."
“ Then why don't you want to be so fat?”
“ Because I couldn't get around.”

“ But you wouldn't have to get around. Papa could get a big table an' you could set on it and

“ Hush !”
" Why?"
“ If you don't hush I'll take you out of here."
Do
you

have to pay to go out?”
“ No.”
But
you
had to pay to come in, didn't

you 1999 “ Yes." “Why don't you have to pay to go out ?" " If you don't

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