Gems In Verse

I beard the bob-white whistle in the dewy breath of mora: The blooni was ou the alder and the tassel on the coro. I stood with boating heart be&ide the bubbling Mac-o-chee, To see my love come dowu the glen to keep her taryst wiLh me. Isaw hT paco with quiet graee the afa&áed path along, And pause to pluck a flower or hear the thrush's song. Denied by her prouil father as a suitor to be seen, She carne to me, with loviug trust, my gracious little queen. Above my station, heaven knows, that gentle maiden si. m, For she was belle and wide beloved, and I a youth unknown. The rich aud great about her thronged, and sought on hended knee The love this gracious princesa gave, with all her heart, to me. So like a startled fawn bef ore my longing eyesshe stoc-d, With all the freshness of a girl in flush of womanhood. I trembled as I put my arm about her form divine. And staminered as in awkward speech I begged ner lo te muie. Tis sweet to hear the pattering rain that lulte a dim lit (1 reu ui ; Tis sweet to hear the song of birds, and sweet the ripplingstream; Tïs sweet aniid the mountain pines to hear the south winds sigh, More sweet thati these and all besides was the Ioting, low reply. The lit tic hand I held in mine held all I had in Ufe, ïo moid its better destiny and soothe to sleep lts strife. Tis said that angels watch o'er men, commissioned f rom abo ve; My angel walked with me on eartii and gave to me her love. Ah 1 dearest wife., my heart is stirred, my eyes are dim with tears - I tli in k upon the loving faith of all these bygone years; For now we stand upon this spot, as in that dewy mom, With bloom upon the alder and Ltiü tassel on the corn. - Donn Piatt. l Questioiilngs. I met a little cottage girl Eighteen years old, she said. Her brain was tired with the whir! Of questions in her head. She asked me, "What's an optimistf "Good luck made flesh!" I cried. "And what then is a pessimist?" '"Bad luck personifledl" With that she asked me to expíala A Christian Scientist. Said L "Ile's one who cures a paín That doesn't quite exist." "And what is an agnostic, prayr 'Sweetheart, I do not know." She tumed her pretty head away- "To Vassar I must go!" "Please don't, until yoti've answered me One question- you've asked four; My little wife, dear, will you be? I ask for love, ïiofc lore!" Five years ago to-night, my eyest I hear a sweet voice croon A lullaby, while Tommy cries, "But what ii in the moonï" -Ufe. Conductor Bradley. Conductor Bradley (always may his name Be said with reverence), as the swift doom cama, Smitten to death, a crushed and mangled frame Sonk with the brake he grasped, just where h stood To do the utmost a brave man conld, And die if need be, as a true man should. Vee Btooped over hün; women dropped thetr tears On that poor wreek beyond all hopes and feara. Lost in the strength and glory of his years. Whatheard they! Lo! the ghastly lips of pain, Dead to all thought save duty's, move again, "Put out the signal for the other train." No Dobler utterance since the world begaa From lips of saint or martyr ever ran Klectric through the sympathies of man. Ah me ! how poor and noteless seem to this The sickbtíd dramas of self consciousness. Out sensual f ars of pain and hopes of bliss. Oh, grand, supreme endeavor! not in vain That last brave act of failing tongue and brain 1 Freighted with life the downward rushing train. Following the wrecked one, as wave follows wave, Obeyed the warning which the dead lips gave; Others he saved, himself he could not save. Nay! the lost life was saved. He is not dead Who, in his record, still the earth shall tread, With GKxTs clear aureole shining round his head. We bow in the dust with all our pride Of Tirtue dwarfed the noble deed beside. God give us grace to live as Bradley died. - J. G. Whittier. lïeinjf a Woman, Oncï a woman canif, Withiu a churchyard close, Suddenly on a name Unhidden by vine or rose. There it was he lay Who long had wronged her sore, Harmed her many a day, But should never harm her mor. Bare and bleak the stone That marked his place of sleep; Slowly the days have flown - Had no one come to weepf Long she stood and gazed, Disarmed as he who slept; Then, with her eyes upraised, Being a wouian- she wept. -Oecü Charle. The Hypocriteo. Golden gleamings from summer sunshine garnish the eil ken strands That the spider has woven so cunningly in ft mesh of beautiful bands; Deep in the depths of his cone curved cell the spider, hideoas, its. Lüce to the spider's hideous truth are the hearta of hypocrites. -Marvin Hill Dan. Song. The sweetest songs are those That few men ever hear. And no men ever sing; The clearest skies are thoae That farthest oflf appear To birds of strongest wing; The dearest loves are those That no man can come near With his best following. - Jean Ingelow. The Chiltlren. Ah ! what would the world be to us If the chüdren were no more? We should dread the desert behind us Worse than the dark before. They are better than all the bailada That ever were sung or said, For they are living poems, And all the rest are dead. Joy. Not by appointment do we meet delight ■AJid joy; they heod not our expocLancy; But round some corner iu the Btreete of life, They on a sudden clasp us witli a smile, -Of'i.. 1 'laspfv A left-handed affair - !he wedding ring.