Man connot mako. but may ennoblo, fata, By Bubly hearing t So let us trust Not to ourselves but God, and calmly wait Love's oriënt, out of darkness and of dust. Farewell, and yet a?ain farowell, and yet Never farewell- if t'arewell mean to fura Alone and disuuited. Love liath set Our days, in music, to the self same air ; And I shall feel, wherever we may be, Even tho" in absence and an alien clin:, Tbe shadow of the sunniness of thee, Hovering, in patience, through a clouded tin. Farewell! The dawn is rising and the light Is making, in the east, a faint endeavor To illuminate the inountain peaks. (lood night. Tnine own, aud only thine, my love, forever. - Owen Jleredith. Fidelis. Yoh have taken back the promise That you spoke so long ago; Taken back the heart you gave me - I must even let it go. Where Love once has breathed, Pride dieth; So I strugglei, but in vain, First to keep the links together, Then to piece the broken chain. 3ut it might not be- so freely All your friendship I restore. And the heart that I had taken As my own for evermore. No shade of reproach shall touch yon, Dread no more a claim f rom me; But I will not have you fancy That I count myself as free. , I am bound by the old promise; What can break that golden chain? Kot even the words that you have spoken, Or the sharpnese of my pain; Do you think, because you fail me And draw back your hand to-day, That from out the heart I gave you My strong love can fade awayf It will live. No eyes may see it; In my soul it will lie deep Hidden from all: but I shall feel it Often stirrmg in lts Bieep. So remember, that the triendshtp Which you uow think poor and vain, Will endure in hope and p&tienoe, TUI you ask for it agaiu. Terhaps in some long twilight honr, Iike thnse we have known of old, When past shadows gather round yon, And your present trlends grow cold, You may stretch your hands out towar Ba - Ah ! you will- I know not when- I shall nurse my love and keep it FaitMuüy, Lor you. till then. - Adelaide A. Procter. What of That? Tired! Well, what of that? Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, Fluttering the rose leaves scattered by the breeïo, Come, rouse thee: work while it is called touay! üoward, arLie! go forth upon thy wayl Lonelyl And what of tliat? Some must be lonely ! 'tis Dot given to all To feel a heart responsive rise and fall, To Maxi another lifo into its own. Work may be done in loneliness. Work on. Darkl Well, and what of thatt Didst tondly dream the sun would never set? Dost fear to lose tuy way? Take courage yetl Learn thou to walk by faith and not by sight; Thy steps will guided be, and guided right. Hard: Well, what of thatf Didst fancy life one summer holiday, With lessons none to learn, and naught but play? Go, get thee to tliy task! Conquer or die: It must be learuedl Learn it, then, patiently Sume Day of Days. Some day, sorae day of days, threading Ule street Wlth Míe, heedless pace, Unlooking for such grace, I shall behold your face! Some day, some day of days, thus may we meet. Perchance the sun may shine from skies of May, i Or winter's icy chill Touch whitely valo and hill. What matter? I sliall thrill Through eveiy vein with summer on tnat day. Once more life's perfect youth will all come back, And for a moment there I shall stand f resh and fair, And drop the garment care; Once more my perfect yotith will nothing lack. I shut my eyes, thinking how 'twill be- How face to face each soul Will slip it.s long control, Forget the disnial dolé Of dreary Fato's dark separating sea; And glance to glanee, and hand to hand in greeting, The past with all it-s fears, l!s silences and tears, Its lonely, yeaminj,' years, Shall vanish u the mouieut of that meftincí. -Nora Perry. The Bravest of Battles. The bravest battle that ever was fought, Shall I teil yuu where and wben? On the maps of the world you'll flnd it not; 'Twas fought by the mothers of men. Kay, not with cannon or battle shot, With sword or nobler pen; Nay, not with eloquent word or thought From mouth of wouderf ui men But deep in a walled up woman'a heart- Of wonian that would not yield, But bravely, silently bore her part- Lo: there is the battle field. No marshalins troop, no bivouac song, No banner to gleam and wave! But oh, these battles, they last so long- From babyhood to the grave. - Joaquín Milter. Remembrance. Do you remember, sweet, that day we passed Down that diin avenua where sungold beams Trembled thro' leaves that murmured in their dreams And waving rings across our pathway cast- Our velvet pathway, love, narrow, new grassed? You, slim and fearless, on your dappled mare, Robed all in black; ooly your pale gold hair Gave color to that dear dream of the past- That and the soft, sweet flush of throat and cheek. Your eyes were wet, I think, and low and clear Your words- but I remember all you said. Do you remember how I tried to speak, And could notf Oh, do you remember, dear? Kindheavenl I had forgot that you were deadl A Fragment There ia many a gem in the path of Ufa, Which we pass in our idle pleasure, That is richer far than the jeweled crown, Or the miseras hoarded treasure: It may be the love of a little child, Or a mother's prayer to heaven, Or only a bcgijar's gratef ui thanks Tor a cup of water given. Labor. Labor is Ufe! 'tis the still water faileth; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth; Keep the watch wound, orthe dark rust nssailetta; Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. Labor is glory :- ihe flyiug cloud lightens; Only the waving wind changes and brigutens, Idle hearts only the dark future frightens, PJay the sweet keys wouldst thüu keep them In tune. -Franc.es S. Osgood. Memory. I daré not languish, Daré not indulge in mrüiorv's r iptnrous pain Once drinkiiiK deep of tiíat, divicit angul How could I taste the empty orld aain? - Emily Bronte. With YrsUTilaj's Scven Thonsand Year. Ah! my beloved, Dll the cup that clears Toi! rets and future lears. To-inonv.v: why to-morrowl may be r.Uy'sseren thousandyeare. -Omar Kuayyam. Kx Hsive ngliness is a disqualification for service in the French army.