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النشر الإلكتروني

MY LOVING.

By H. S. G. M.

COOL, Sweet, and pure was the wind that fluttered about and touched one's face so gently that it seemed soft, dewy, blissful kisses instead ; the half-moon shone through a faint, white cloud, which softened its light a little, paling the surrounding little stars that are forever and ever looking from the night-sky upon our earth; Luna and her train sent eye-glances down through the fluttering leaves that yet dressed the boughs with greenness, upon the large, white-columned portico containing two occupants, a box of overflowing myrtle, blossomless, anda young lady. Upon the street, lay massy, dark shadows breaking up the white moonlight pave into delicious stretches of soft, sweet light and blessed, restful shade. One by one the houses grew silent; lights were blown out, as if wholly unnecessary, or shaded until soft moonlight swelled "the air within as well as without. Here and there rose a voice in the shadow of the tall houses up street, and there was a sound of wheels far down the "pike." Some were yet abroad and busy in the sweet rest-time. The crickets sung dainty songs, and the katydids mocked each other with saucy, loving voices in the tree-tops.

Returning from a walk away into the moonlight with three giddy girls early in the evening, I encountered my large friend, who, having chosen a comfortable "position," filled the portico-entrance, and by way of salute informed me that he had, some new ideas about Adam's part of the affair of eating the apple. It had been a subject of discussion for some evenings past, and he had insisted that Adam's "gallantry" led him to partake of the fruit when Eve requested.

"Yes," had been my response, probably with a curling lip, "I suppose the 'perfect man' whom God made was very gallant, and perforce drew upon himself the great load of punishment consequent upon this one act of gallantry."

for her, induced him to eat of the fruit also, that he might go with her.

I was somewhat softened with this, yet I, not at all intending to be irreverent, replied with quiet, even tones, as I stood, "I, too, have new ideas; Adam was weaker than Eve, inasmuch as she had the insidious serpent to tempt her, while he allowed himself to be tempted by the weak woman he loved."

But my friend's thought to-night was this: Adam saw that Eve, having eaten of the forbidden fruit, would be driven out from the garden alone; and sympathy for her, together with his great love

"Do you suppose the Devil could have tempted Adam ?" queried my large friend, rising and seating himself on a chair, while I went in and sat upon the door-stone. It took Eve with all her charms and the prospect of losing her forever to induce him to eat of the fruit. If Adam had been present at the time of her temptation, he might, by a gentle hint, have induced her to restrain her appetite."

Here my tired friend Mattie came and sat beside me for a little, and I wilfully pulled the pins from her hair, and laid my cheek against hers.

"Do you like me when I have such a frizzly head? — where are my hairpins?" queried she.

"

"My Mattie is a lovely lady, - I mean lovable, which is more to me than lovely.' My Mattie, then, is a lovable lady with a gentle, manly husband and a sweet baby-boy. In your lap. Yes, I like you, anyhow," I answered, settling the matter of the hair-pins first. "How much?"

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ething about being that thea dyh ad asting atmosphere. Matt retire,” suggested I; sitting there, the suggestion to a of bugs slyly caught across his face, - of ps tickled with a branch sne into my mind.

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years that gave me He had a little wife, of his children that I had

the cup from which I drank of existence, away. Yes, so wicked and rebellious I had grown; and it seems to me now,

dica va Ving the graveyard almost while looking back from the "calm sei weld scarce two months of the rene" of outer things in which I now

of death added to her dwell, that the bitterness of those years

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my rare hour of

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ps of forty, while I but grew bitterer, until I was ready to dash

Warhearda z bright, breathing, happy was no illusion. I have left it all now, And I sat there on the door- "maybe forever." I think half in wonbeautiful night, unmarried; a der at the great thing I have done, was for user of his household, over this ruthless sundering of ties; and sit

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my pride allowed the ting in the locust shade I can feel the protection to extend but depths of infinite, longing tenderness in Therefore I wished to hold the my eyes while my lips are mute. the self-dependent stranger, ask

I have books and leisure and sweet

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of years. Back into my school-girl days date my aspirations to a higher place in life. Oh, how my heart has rebelled against my unsatisfying existence! I wanted to be respected, loved, honored; and to that end I aimed always. The only avenue through which I hoped to escape the bondage of adverse circumstances was education; and I may add through that I have risen to be whatever I am more than I was then.

The years crept by, and though I must have made some progress in them, life

is avoit in that dear old house had were mine I should be supremely happy. July to keep always the love they friends. I used to think that when these

I think I am happy, very

***

I know not of what my large friend love my soul has conceived makes exist

ence sweet, despite my efforts to crush it. put the cup which seems overflowing life's wine" to my

king, sitting so silently, while crept down toward the west and I storted figures of light upon him, with "] g away our shadow. As for my- drinking deep of its sweetness; for in sitsat there toying with memories of ting late in the portico with the glossy B and places, setting them in a myrtle at my feet, and listening to the was like rare flowers, bedewing them mocking voices in the trees, a calm like with fears of tenderness, of partings, of the moonlight came upon me and I ceased of forgiveness sin and to war my heart. "Humility's so It was a rare and costly wreath sweet when pride's impossible." cory's fingers were braiding, and in wach incident-flower lay a warmly-beat- man who is so dear to my woman's heart, human heart.

MOTUS, schatter

My love for this noble creature, this

head bent in tearless grief over the best and sweetest love of all my lovings, shame in it.

My

is founded on respect of his noble qualities as a man, therefore there can be no

murder of the best and sweetest

The bitter struggle to repress the flow

Editor's Table.

HEARTH-SONG.

Our of doors the storm wirds whistle, Softly, swiftly falls the snow; Snugly by the hearth I nestle,

In the bright and cheering glow.

Pensive sit I on the settle,

Watch the smoke wreaths as they rise; From the merry, bubbling kettle

Come long-perished memories.

By the fire the kitten sitting,

Revels in the warmth and light; In the shadows vague and fleeting, Forms fantastic meet my sight.

At my memory's portal knocking, Come the long-forgotten days, Countless recollections flocking,

In the dazzling, glittering maze.

Lovely maids with flashing glances, Beckon with seductive air; Harlequins in agile dances

Spring and glisten here and there.

Lucent marbles glimmer faintly,

Hidden in a leafy veil; White-haired friars, grave and saintly, Stand within the altar rail.

And I hear the bluebells tinkle,

And beneath their foliage bright, See the fairy violets twinkle

In the moon's soft flood of light.

In the fire-caves, red and glowing, Many an old enchanted tower,

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house-place," the fire blazing on the hearth, the kettle singing before it, and the kitten stretching and sleeping in the cosy warmth. The snow may fall, and the cold may creep in at a thousand crevices to fret the roaring fire, but "the settle" on which he sits is a buckler and a shield against it all, and the happy poet laughs at the winter without doors. You would know his song was the offspring of a northern county. Nowhere else is life so intense and so encircled, so thought-haunted as in a land of snow. In the land of sunshine and flowers, of balmy air and wooing odors, indolence is engendered and thought lags and is feeble, and, like the lotus-caters or the rebels, pleads only to "be let alone," asking, with half-shut eyes, "Why should life all labor be?" And they say,

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"Let us swear an oath and keep it with an equal mind,

In the hollow lotus-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like gods together, careless of mankind."

"How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,

With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream!"

But in the north life is full of energy and vigorous action while daylight lasts. Who cares though the wind blows keen and sharp and straight onward? Northern life faces it bravely and with a rough, strong delight. The woodman, wading knee-deep to the woods, plies his busy axe, singing, as his vigorous strokes cleave the brittle fibre, and tree after tree falls prostrate and growe stronger overu haus

The

and there was no passing to and fro in our street; this, then, gave my rare hour of deep sweetness.

My friend said something about being very sleepy, remarking that thea dyh ad borne with it an exhausting atmosphere. "You had better retire," suggested I; "or take a nap there-sitting there, please!" changing the suggestion to a request, as visions of bugs slyly caught and set to walking across his face, of ears, nose, and lips tickled with a branch of sweet-brier, came into my mind.

of years. Back into my school-girl days date my aspirations to a higher place in life. Oh, how my heart has rebelled against my unsatisfying existence! I wanted to be respected, loved, honored; and to that end I aimed always. The only avenue through which I hoped to escape the bondage of adverse circumstances was education; and I may add through that I have risen to be whatever. I am more than I was then.

The years crept by, and though I must have made some progress in them, life He was upwards of forty, while I but grew bitterer, until I was ready to dash stood securely on the years that gave me the cup from which I drank of existence, my womanhood. He had a little wife, away. Yes, so wicked and rebellious I and the seventh of his children that I had had grown; and it seems to me now, known was lying in the graveyard almost while looking back from the "calm sein sight, with scarce two months of the rene " of outer things in which I now dust and gloom of death added to her dwell, that the bitterness of those years two-and-a-half bright, breathing, happy was no illusion. I have left it all now, years. And I sat there on the door-"maybe forever." I think half in wonstone that beautiful night, unmarried; a der at the great thing I have done,nominal member of his household, over this ruthless sundering of ties; and sitwhom pride my pride — allowed the ting in the locust shade I can feel the wing of his protection to extend but depths of infinite, longing tenderness in lightly. Therefore I wished to hold the my eyes while my lips are mute. place of the self-dependent stranger, asking only to keep always the love they who dwelt in that dear old house had given me.

I know not of what my large friend was thinking, sitting so silently, while Luna crept down toward the west and threw distorted figures of light upon him, chasing away our shadow. As for my self, I sat there toying with memories of faces and places, setting them in a wreath like rare flowers, bedewing them with tears of tenderness, of partings, of meetings, of forgiveness of sin and shame. It was a rare and costly wreath memory's fingers were braiding, and in each incident-flower lay a warmly-beating human heart.

I have books and leisure and sweet friends. I used to think that when these were mine I should be supremely happy. I think I am happy, very happy. This love my soul has conceived makes existence sweet, despite my efforts to crush it. I put the cup which seems overflowing with "life's high wine" to my lips, drinking deep of its sweetness; for in sitting late in the portico with the glossy myrtle at my feet, and listening to the mocking voices in the trees, a calm like the moonlight came upon me and I ceased to war with my heart. "Humility's so sweet when pride's impossible."

My love for this noble creature, this man who is so dear to my woman's heart, is founded on respect of his noble quali ties as a man, therefore there can be no shame in it.

My head bent in tearless grief over the best and sweetest love of all my lovings, the murder of the best and sweetest of my lovings; for I was trying to crush it to death! It was not a sudden blossom of affection, whose misty sweetness

The bitter struggle to repress the flower's unfolding, lest it, in its full-blown strength and glory, require my very heart's blood for its sustaining, is mine

Editor's Table.

HEARTH-SONG.

Out of doors the storm wirds whistle, Softly, swiftly falls the snow; Snugly by the hearth I nestle,

In the bright and cheering glow.

Pensive sit I on the settle,

Watch the smoke wreaths as they rise; From the merry, bubbling kettle Come long-perished memories.

By the fire the kitten sitting,

Revels in the warmth and light; In the shadows vague and fleeting, Forms fantastic meet my sight.

At my memory's portal knocking, Come the long-forgotten days, Countless recollections flocking,

In the dazzling, glittering maze.

Lovely maids with flashing glances, Beckon with seductive air; Harlequins in agile dances

Spring and glisten here and there.

Lucent marbles glimmer faintly,

Hidden in a leafy veil; White-haired friars, grave and saintly, Stand within the altar rail.

And I hear the bluebells tinkle,

And beneath their foliage bright, See the fairy violets twinkle

In the moon's soft flood of light.

In the fire-caves, red and glowing,
Many an old enchanted tower,
Many a knight to battle going,

Rise, called up by memory's power.

With the fire's expiring glimmer, Shadow-like, they all are gone; Still I hear the kettle simmer

And the sleepy kitten yawn.

So sings Heinrich Heine, one of Germany's sweetest poets, as he sits in his old-fashioned

66

house-place," the fire blazing on the hearth, the kettle singing before it, and the kitten stretching and sleeping in the cosy warmth. The snow may fall, and the cold may creep in at a thousand crevices to fret the roaring fire, but "the settle" on which he sits is a buckler and a shield against it all, and the happy poet laughs at the winter without doors. You would know his song was the offspring of a northern county. Nowhere else is life so intense and so encircled, so thought-haunted as in a land of snow. In the land of sunshine and flowers, of balmy air and wooing odors, indolence is engendered and thought lags and is feeble, and, like the lotus-caters or the rebels, pleads only to "be let alone," asking, with half-shut eyes, 66 Why should life all labor be?" And they say,—

-

"Let us swear an oath and keep it with an equal mind,

In the hollow lotus-land to live and lie reclined On the hills like gods together, careless of mankind."

"How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,

With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream!"

But in the north life is full of energy and vigorous action while daylight lasts. Who cares though the wind blows keen and sharp and straight onward? Northern life faces it bravely and with a rough, strong delight. The woodman, wading knee-deep to the woods, plies his busy axe, singing, as his vigorous strokes cleave the brittle fibre, and tree after tree falls prostrate, and grows stronger every hour. The crimson cheeked school-boy, seizing his sled, shoots like an arrow down the hill on his way to the old time-worn schoolhouse, stopping at its foot to blow his fingers, but caring little for the cold which only makes his blood course more swiftly through his veins. The cutter, with its accompaniments of fur robes and bells, bears us flying over the snow-path, rounded as it is, high above the top of the fences, where

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