MARY ANN'S ESCAPE.-S. JENNIE SMITH.

Written expressly for this Collection.

Good marnin' to yer, Mrs. O'Brien, and have yer heard how our ouwn Mary Ann this very wake had a rale narrer eschape from bain married? Sure I was that upsit I couldn't brathe fur twinty minutes afther. Yer see I wus sittin' quiet loike in me kitchen, a-palin' the peraties, and Mary Ann wus in her bidroom a-coaxin' up her montagueses wid a hot iron, whin who should wark in but young Misther Tierney, all drissed up loike a gintlemin. And how do yer fale, Mrs. O'Calligan?" says he, as perlite as yer plase.

"Wid me fingers as usual," says I, manin' to have a bit of fun.

"I've carld," says he, to see if I could have Mary-" "Yer have?" says I, a-shtoppin' him, for I wus that shtartled I almost lost me sinses. But of coorse I wus manin' to be respictful, though raluctint, for Timmy Tierney wus the pit of all the girruls on the hill, and I moinded me how Mary Ann wus twinty-foive the next wake, and it wus high toime she wus sittled wid a rale gintlemin loike Tim, so I says to him, "What incouragemint has she give?"

"I niver axed her," says he, turnin' as red as a bate. "How much do you airn a wake?" says I, intindin, to diskiver me darter's footyer prospicts.

"Tin dollars," says he, "taint enough, Mrs. O'Calligan, to be buyin' musical instrermints.

Be this toime I had begun to ralint tard the b'y. "To be shure, Timmy," says I, "yer can't do all ter wunst. I've inj'yed the connubial state this twinty year, and not a blissed pianny have I laid me fingers on. Girruls can't have the wurruld whin they be shtartin' out in loife, and me darter Mary Ann, bain a sinsible girrul, wad be continted wid dacent comforts barin' the luxuries. Whin do you intind to daprive me, Timmy?"

"Whot do you mane?" says he, lukin' that surprised yer could have topplid him over wid yer eyelash.

"Whin wad yer be loikin' to stip arf wid me darlin?" says I.

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Stip arf, Mrs. O'Calligan?" says he, "I axed for Mary-"

"Indade and yer did," says I," and if yer contimplate it's an aisy thing for a mother to part wid her darter, yer mishtaken, me b'y."

"Mrs. O'Calligan," says he, lukin' that disperate I narely fainted, "I niver axed yer to part wid yer darter or anny blissed thing; I shtipped over to borry Mary's accorgin what she won at Moike's raffle last wake. Me and the b'ys think of takin' a row up the water, and we dasired some music, that's all.”

Did I lind the accorgin? Nary a bit, Mrs. O'Brien. I give him foive minutes to lave our risidince wid the warnin' that I'd scarld him wid the contints of the kittle, the dirty, insultin' rascal, an if Mary Ann iver turns wan eye in the diriction of Tim Tierney agin, the saints presarve her from me howly wrath.

FOUNDATIONS.-MARTHA M. SCHULTZE.

I made me a beautiful castle
In a strange and wondrous land,
And the glitter of gold and silver
Were about it on every hand;
I built it of bars of iron,

But 1 built it upon the sand.

I made me a little cottage,
With never a bar or lock,

For I opened it up to the sunshine,
And the mother bird and her flock.
I built it with trust and longing,
For I built it upon a rock.

And the gold and silver and jewels,
With the castle that towered above,

They fell with a crash together,

And great was the fall thereof.

But the cottage stood forever,

For the name of the rock was Love.

"SCIPIO."-WALTER S. KEPLINGER.

As an instance of Scipio's magnanimity, ancient authors state that, after the taking of New Carthage, he restored a captive maiden to her lover, and gave them, as a marriage dowry, the money which her parents had brought to pay her ransom.

All silent now the clash of war, the Roman hosts have won; The knights, who held the city's gates, lie bleeding in the

sun.

Proud Rome, in victory, will quaff the Carthaginian wine; And lictors, lords and plumed knights will in the feast combine.

And to the conqueror will be given a captive maid so fair, There's not a single maid in Rome with beauty half so rare.

And Scipio, 'tis said, will be so raptured with her charms, He'll boast her love with greater pride than all his deeds of

arms.

But lo! where yonder chariot moves, the axes all are hung With garlands, and the banners wave the laureled knights among.

Behold how sways the surging crowd, the victors' robes they know;

And mark the rabble's noisy shout, " Make way for Scipio."

Before the open palace doors now prance the fretful steeds; From chariot wheels to banquet hall, a flowery pathway leads.

O'er arch and pillared portals hang the perfumed wreath and vine,

While from within the battered arms and costly trophies shine.

Right haughtily the hero smiles, the laurel on his brow; To joyous sounds of revelry right proudly treads he now.

The curule chair he slowly mounts, with kingly air looks round,

When, from the crowded doorway, comes a low, a murmuring sound.

With slow and faltering steps they come, the captive maid and knight;

The pompous lictors lead them in, to kneel in Scipio's sight. What wondrous eyes, so darkly bright! How pale her brow and cheek!

She cannot meet the dreaded glance, her mute lips dare not speak.

Through her despair, one last hope gleams; with white

hands wildly pressed,

She kneels, her dark dishevelled hair upon her heaving breast:

"Oh! If in chains you must take me, upon your Appian way, Give freedom to my lover knight, I plead, I kneel, I pray."

First looked he on the silent knight, and then upon the maid;

And when the murmuring crowd was still, with haughty mien he said:

"Right royal maid and knight, the laws of war, by land and

sea,

Give to the conqueror, ye know, the spoils of victory.

"Proud Carthage knew no mercy, when on Canna's bloody plain,

Full fifty thousand Roman knights were left among the slain.

"The Roman pride has long succumbed to Carthaginian

power;

Our daughters have been captives made, e'en at the bridal

hour;

"And, though they ever knelt in vain, their prayers and pleading spurned,

Though coldly have your victors from our suppliants ever turned;

"Yet Rome will deem the mercies, which in war her victor

shows,

Worth more than all the honors won in conflict from her foes."

And while in wonder, looking on, stood vassals, lords, and all,

He freed the captive maid and knight, and led them from the hall.

A VACATION FRAGMENT.-SUSAN HALL.

We sat on the old gray bridge under the trees, and looked down upon the Granby brook. It was the brownest of brooks, the clearest and most musical. The rocks near its bed were carpeted with thick green moss; the ferns grew in masses by its side; birches, alders, and maples crowded near it, with the darker hemlock and

stronger oak. There were cool hollows where birds came to dip their bills and spray their feathers, and rocky steps where children climbed, joyous as the brook, laughing as they caught at the roots and stems which the trees lent for their aid. Cardinal flowers glowed here and there among the ferns on the margin, and the sunlit brook reflected their beauty. The blue sky leaned down over the close gathered treetops, to find its own color given back by the still waters. It was a friendly brook, that sang as it twisted and turned on its winding way to the sea,―sang all the more when the way was rough. I smiled to hear it sing.

A comrade called to me from a shady hollow farther up, where the brook was wider and more serene: "Do hear this musical little gurgle where the water flows over these round stones!"

I answered, half impatiently: "How can I hear that ripple, when the brook is rushing and tumbling over these rocks here close beside me! 'Tis tumult here; the music is there with you."

"But listen, and try to hear," persisted my friend, quietly.

So I listened. The noise of the down pouring water, rushing from rock to rock, dashing against the boulders beneath the bridge, drowned every other sound. But as I harkened I became conscious of the peaceful singing of the calmer waters above. I listened till the turmoil was forgotten, and only the song was heard.

"I can hear it!" I called to my friend. "I can hear your music up there; and now I seem to hear nothing else."

My comrade smiled. "I fancied you might like to remember that you need not of necessity listen to the sound that seems the loudest and nearest, if you choose to hear something else."

I listened, and the brook sang on. I watched the spray and the shadows, the ripples and the foam; I rested in the beauty of it all, and thought of my new lesson. It was good to know that I might hear music in the midst of tumult, if I would.