"She I love and who loves me," the youth sang exultantly," and we will meet beyond the stars."

A charcoal burner on the mountain side crossed himself and believed the demon of the mountain held high revelry for he thought he heard a low sweet strain of music that never paused, while a second voice shrieked and shrieked in the very heart of the stone, then died slowly away till it was no more heard. But the sweet strain of music continued till deep in the night, then grew fainter and yet fainter till that too went out-and there was silence.

And in the castle the princess waited and waited for her song-bird.

ALL THE SAME.-F. E. WEATHERLEY.

They met, when they were girl and boy,
Going to school one day,

And, “ Won't you take my peg-top, dear?”
Was all that he could say.

She bit her little pinafore,
Close to his side she came;

She whispered, "No! no, thank you, Tom,"
But took it all the same.

They met one day the self-same way,
When ten swift years had flown;
He said, "I've nothing but my heart,
But that is yours alone.

And won't you take my heart?" he said,
And called her by her name.

She blushed and said, "No, thank you, Tom,"
But took it all the same.

And twenty, thirty, forty years

Have brought them care and joy;

She has the little peg-top still

He gave her when a boy.

"I've had no wealth, sweet wife," says he,
"I've never brought you fame."

She whispers, "No! no, thank you, Tom,
You've loved me all the same!"

THE WORK THAT IS BEST.-CARLOTta Perry.

Long centuries ago, in a famed city

Across the sea, a great cathedral stood,

A witness to the beauty Art had wrested
From marble, bronze and wood.

One day the sunlight, through a slanted window,
Upon a shadowed arch a moment shone,
Revealing unto those whose eyes were lifted,
What none before had known.

It was a sculptured face of such transcendent
And utter loveliness that those who saw
Deemed they had looked upon a heavenly vision,
And held their breath for awe.

And day by day, for many years thereafter,
Men came from far and near, happy to sit
And wait beneath the arch, for the brief sun-ray
That should illumine it;

And felt them well repaid for all their waiting

If they could catch-just for a moment's space, Whereon to speak, to dream, to live-a single Swift glimpse of that fair face.

This is the story: When the great cathedral
Was being built, one day, with meek respect,
There came a man, aged and feeble, unto
The master architect,

And asked that of the work, so sweet and sacred,
Some humblest portion might be granted him.
His feebleness and age compassionating,

Yet fearing that his dim,

Uncertain sight and trembling, eager fingers
Might mar some fair design, some perfect view,
The master, in the high roof's vaulted shadows
Set him his work to do.

Day after day, with sweet, untiring patience,
In his obscure and humble place he wrought;
From his more highly trusted fellow-workers
Winning scant speech or thought.

At last, one morning, still and cold they found him,
His right hand's cunning gone; the mystic grace
Of death enfolding him, his face upturning

Unto that other face

That he had wrought,-the face of the dear Virgin,
For she it was whom he had loved so well

That his last thoughts were how to make the sculpture
His adoration tell.

And as they gazed, the artists and the sculptors,
The craftsmen all, whose skill was making fair
And grand the vast cathedral, on the beauty

So strangely carven there,

"Grandest of all!" they cried; and then they whispered: "Who works for fame or gold doth something miss; Unheeding praise or blame, in shadowed silence, Love hath wrought this!

"Grandest of all!" they cried; "before whose perfect Ideal beauty all our boastings cease.

Hail to the love that thus for love's sake only
Hath wrought Art's masterpiece!"

So in the Temple of the Ages, builded

Out of men's lives, it comes to every one Some day to find there is no work so noble As that which love hath done.

KATIE'S QUESTIONS.

"Way down in the buttercup meadow
I saw a white baa-sheep to-day,
And close by her side, in the clover,

A dear little lamb was at play.

Does the sheep-mamma love her white lammie-
Just as you love me? Say, mamma, say?"

Yes, Katie, yes—

So I guess."

"In the orchard, up in the old pear tree,
There are four little birds in a nest.
Willie says they belong to the robin
That has a red bib on her breast,

In all the great, wide world of birdies,
Does she love her own birdies the best?"
"Yes, birdie, yes—

So I guess."

"The last time I played in the garden

There was just one red rose to be seen;

But to-day there's a tiny pink rosebud,
Wrapped up in a blanket of green.
Does the rose want to kiss baby rosebud
When she tries so far over to lean?"

"Last night I peeped out at the window,
Just before I repeated my prayer,
And the moon, with a star close behind her,
Was walking high up in the air.

Did God make the little star baby

'Cause the moon was so lonely up there?"
"Yes, darling, yes→

So I guess."

MAKING HIM FEEL AT HOME.-A MONOLOGUE.*-BELLE MARSHALL LOCKE.

(Little girl appears center and calls back.) All right! don't worry, I'll look after him. And say, put the chocolate-drops behind the piano-lamp, so Bob won't find 'em, while I'm in here. (Comes down.) Oh, it's just fun to earn candy this way! All I've got to do is to talk to Dick Sellers, until Mabel is ready to come down. The dressmaker kept her a half-hour longer than she expected and she's got to fix up before that dude beau of hers sees her. It's an awful bother but I suppose, when I'm grown up, I'll have to do just the same. Of course, it's kind of jolly to wear long dresses and highheeled slippers and look out of the corners of your eyes and make believe you're dead in love with 'em all.

If you only had to fix up for one, it wouldn't be so bad, but you'd get left awfully, if you did that. Couldn't go to half as many theatres, or have half as many rings and things. It's particular work, though, awful! not to get found out, but Mabel never does, and I s'pose I can learn.

Goodness! here comes Sellers. How do you do, Mr.

*Written expressly for this Collection.

Sellers. Mabel isn't quite ready and she asked me to stay with you, until she came down.

You're pleased to see me? Oh, come, now, are you, honest? They all say that, but I've noticed they didn't look sorry when I left the room and they would say, "Good-by, Daisy!" real cheerful like.

John Drew is rather nice! He always says to me, as soon as Mabel puts in an appearance, “Here's a nickel for you. See how much candy you can get for it." (Pauses, looks at Sellers intently. Aside.) Aint he stingy! Will Mabel be long? Oh, some time, I guess. She's been trying on dresses and it's made her late. She's got one-two-three new ones, 'cause she's going to visit Kate Ketchem, next week, and her brother's just got home from Europe. (Sits, hands over knees.) He's awful handsome and got lots of money.

Mother says she does hope something will come of this visit. You are kind of bashful, aren't you? Well, you needn't be afraid of me, for sister says I was to make you feel at home; and if you are tired, you needn't say a word, I'll do the talking, I love to!

Mabel's slow about dressing, always was, but she has a lot to do. She puts white stuff all over her face-she has to put on a lot now 'cause her nose is red with a coldand pink stuff on her cheeks, and red stuff on her lips and-and black stuff on her eyebrows. Then she has to brush out her switch and braid it, 'cause her hair is short, you know.

What, you didn't know it? Oh, yes, she hasn't got hardly a bit of hair. The hair-dresser says she spoiled it putting stuff on to make it lighter. Do you put anything on yours, to make it that color? No? Well I should think you'd be glad you didn't have to, for it's an awful bother!

Let me see, you are the (counting to herself on her fingers)-yes, the fourth beau Mabel has had this week. I've made three, besides you, feel at home. The last time you came, ma asked Mabel if you'd committed your.