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MY LOVING.

for her, induced him to eat of the fruit By H. S.G.M.

also, that he might go with her. Cool, sweet, and pure was the wind that was somewhat softened with this, yet fluttered about and touched one's face so I, not at all intending to be irreverent, gently that it seemed soft, dewy, blissful replied with quiet, even tones, as I stood, kisses instead ; the half-moon shone “Í, too, have new ideas;

Adam was through a faint, white cloud, which soften- weaker than Eve, inasmuch as she had ed its light a little, paling the surrounding the insidious serpent to tempt her, while little stars that are forever and ever looking he allowed himself to be tempted by the from the night-sky upon our earth; Luna weak woman he loved.” and her train sent eye-glances down through “Do you suppose the Devil could the fluttering leaves that yet dressed the have tempted Adam ?” queried my large boughs with greenness, upon the large, friend, rising and seating himself on a white-columned portico containing two oc- chair, while I went in and sat upon the cupants, -a box of overflowing myrtle, blos- door-stone. "It took Eve with all her somless, and a young lady. Upon the street, charms and the prospect of losing her lay massy, dark shadows breaking up the forever to induce him to eat of the fruit. white moonlight pave into delicious stretch. If Adam had been present at the time of es of soft, sweet light and blessed, rest- her temptation, he might, by a gentle ful shade. One by one the houses grew hint, have induced her to restrain her apsilent; lights were blown out, as if wholly petite." unnecessary, or shaded until soft moon- Here my tired friend Mattie came and light swelled 'the air within as well as sat beside me for a little, and I wilfully without. Here and there rose a voice in pulled the pins from her hair, and laid the shadow of the tall houses up street, my cheek against hers. and there was a sound of wheels far down

« Do
you

like me when I have such a the “ pike.” Some were yet abroad and frizzly head ? — where are my hair. busy in the sweet rest-time. The crick- pins ?” queried she. ets sung dainty songs, and the katydids “My Mattie is a lovely lady, - I mocked each other with saucy, loving mean lovable, which is more to me than voices in the tree-tops.

• lovely.' My Mattie, then, is a lovable Returning from a walk away into the lady with a gentle, manly husband and a moonlight with three giddy girls early in sweet baby-boy. In your lap: Yes, I the evening, I encountered my large like you, anyhow," I answered, settling friend, who, having chosen a comfortable the matter of the hair-pins first. "position,” filled the portico-entrance,

“ How much ?” and by way of salute informed me that “Oh, more than I can measure !" he had. some new ideas about Adam's the child answer that I part of the affair of eating the apple. It Then Mattie turned up my face, kissed had been a subject of discussion for some my mouth softly, and went away to her evenings past, and he had insisted that room, leaving me with serene thoughts on Adam's " gallantry” led bim to partake the shadowed door-stone, my large friend of the fruit when Eve requested. occupying his chair and resting his feet

“ Yes,” had been my response, prob- high above the box of myrtle. She, I ably with a curling lip, “I suppose the knew, had gone to sleep beside the sweet, * perfect man’ whom God made was very wee boy that could not yet walk alone, gallant, and perforce drcy upon himself and silence gradually settled over our litthe great load of punishment consequent tle domain. upon this one act of gallantry.

This was the rarest hour of the whole But my friend's thought to-night was evening-time, for at dusk little flocks of this : Adam saw that Eve, having eaten people were out walking, fitting to and of the forbidden fruit, would be driven fro for an hour or so; then the hum and out from the garden alone ; and sympa- flutter settled down with the little groups thy for her, together with his great love upon doorways or in moonlit parlors,

was

I gave.

gave me the

cup

and there was no passing to and fro in our of years. Back into my school-girl days street ; this, then, gave my rare hour of date my aspirations to a higher place in deep sweetness.

life. Oh, how my heart has rebelled My friend said something about being against my unsatisfying existence! I very sleepy, remarking that thea dyh ad wanted to be respected, loved, honored ; borne with it an exhausting atmosphere. and to that end I aimed always. The

“ You had better retire,” suggested I; only avenue through which I hoped to “or take a nap there sitting there, escape the bondage of adverse circumplease ! ” changing the suggestion to a stances was education ; and I may add request, as visions of bugs slyly caught through that I have risen to be whatever and set to walking across his face, of I am more than I was then. ears, nose, and lips tickled with a branch The years crept by, and though I must of sweet-brier, came into my

mind. 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

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 cyes while my lips are mute. place of the self-dependent stranger, ask- I have books and leisure and sweet ing only to keep always the love they friends. I used to think that when these who dwelt in that dear old house had were mine I should be supremely happy. given me.

I think I am happy, very happy. This I know not of what my large friend love my soul has conceived makes existwas thinking, sitting so silently, while ence sweet, despite my efforts to crush it. Luna crept down toward the west and I put the cup which seems ov

overflowing threw distorted figures of light upon him, with “ life's high wine” to my lips, chasing away our shadow. As for my- drinking deep of its sweetness ; for in sitself, I sat there toying with memories of ting late in the portico with the glossy faces and places, setting them in a myrtle at my feet, and listening to the wreath like rare flowers, bedewing them mocking voices in the trees, a calm like with tears of tenderness, of partings, of the moonlight came upon me and I ceased meetings, of forgiveness of sin and to war with my heart. “Humility's so shame. It was a rare and costly wreath sweet when pride's impossible.” memory's fingers were braiding, and in My love for this noble creature, this each incident-flower lay a warmly-beat- man who is so dear to my woman's heart, ing human heart.

is founded on respect of his poble qualiMy head bent in tearless grief over the ties as a man, therefore there can be no best and sweetest love of all my lovings, shame in it.

the murder of the best and sweetest The bitter struggle to repress the flowof my lovings; for I was trying to crush er's unfolding, lest it, in its full-blown it to death! It was not a sudden blos- strength and glory, require my very som of affection, whose misty sweetness heart's blood for its sustaining, is mine had escaped the unfolding petals and so no longer. With God's help, I shall wait enwrapped me with its intoxicating spell, calmly, patiently, for the year of Willie's but the silent, earnest, growing affection coming.

Editor's Table.

HEARTH-SONG.

“house-place," the fire blazing on the hearth, Out of doors the storm wirds whistle,

the kettle singing before it, and the kitten Softly, swiftly falls the snow;

stretching and sleeping in the cosy warmth. Saugly by the hearth ( nestle,

The snow may fall, and the cold may creep in at In the bright and cheering glow.

a thousand crevices to fret the roaring fire, but

“the settle” on which he sits is a buckler and Pensive sit I on the settle,

a shield against it all, and the happy poet Watch the smoke wreaths as they rise;

laughs at the winter without doors. You would From the merry, bubbling kettle.

kuow his song was the offspring of a northern Come long-perished memories.

county. Nowhere else is life so intense and so

encircled, so thought-haunted as in a land of By the fire the kitten sitting,

snow. In the land of sunshine and flowers, of Revels in the warmth and light;

balmy air and wooing odors, indolence is enIn the shadows vague and fleeting,

gendered and thought lags and is feeble, and, Forms fantastic meet my sight.

like the lotus-caters or the rebels, pleads only to

“ be let alone,” asking, with half-shut eyes, At my memory's portal knocking,

"Why should life all labor be ?" Come the long-forgotten days,

And they say,
Couniless recollections flocking,
In the dazzling, glittering maze.

“Let us swear an oath and keep it with an

equal mind, Lovely maids with flashing glances, In the hollow lotus-land to live and lie reclined Beckon with seductive air;

On the hills like gods together, careless of man. Harlequins in agile dances

kind." Spring and glisten here and there.

“How sweet it were, hearing the downward Lucent marbles glimmer faintly,

stream, Hidden in a leafy veil;

With half-shut eyes ever to seem White-haired friars, grave and saintly,

Falling asleep in a half-dream!” Stand within the altar rail.

But in the north life is full of energy and

vigorous action while daylight lasts. Who And I hear the bluebells tinkle,

cares though the wind blows keen and sharp And beneath their foliage bright,

and straight onward? Northern life faces it See the fairy violets twinkle

bravely and with a rough, strong delight. The In the moon's soft flood of light.

woodman, wading knee-deep to the woods, plies In the fire-caves, red and glowing,

his busy axe, singing, as his vigorous strokes

cleave the brittle fibre, and tree after tree falls Many an old enchanted tower, Many a knight to battle going,

prostrate, and grows stronger every hour. The Rise, called up by memory's power.

crimson-cheeked school-boy, seizing his sled,

shoots like an arrow down the hill on his way With the fire's expiring glimmer,

to the old time-worn schoolhouse, stopping at Sharow-like, they all are gone;

its foot to blow his fingers, but caring little for Still I bear the kettle simmer

the cold which only makes his blood course And the sleepy kitten yawn.

more swiftly through his veins. The cutter,

with its accompaniments of fur robes and bells, 80 sings Heinrich Heine, one of Germany's bears us flying over the snow-path, rounded as sweetest poets, as he sits in his old-fashioned it is, high above the top of the fences, where

black post-heads curiously dot the expanse of His coat was of good old-fashioned gray;
snow on either side, barely marking the line of The pockets were deep and wide;
the highway.

While his “specks” and steel tobacco-box What a wonderful, beautiful world is a world Lay snugly side by side. of snow! Yet one shudders to think, “What if it should last forever?” What would it be The old man liked to stir the fire, but a world of desolation and death, where all

So near him the tongs were kept; animal and vegetable life would perish and be Sometimes he mused as he gazed at the coals, lost to the universe ? Why do we never fear

Sometimes he sat and slept. this? Why does it never thrill through us with unutterable terror, Perhaps we shall never

What saw he in the embers thereof? see the green grass or the green trees agajn”?

Ah! pictures of other years; Because of faith, - faith that he, the good God And now and then they awakened smiles, who made us and all things will never forget to

But oftener started tears. bring summer as well as winter, seedtime as

His wife gat on the other side, well as snow. Day was made for action, evening for thought I see 'neath the pile of her muslin cop

In a high-back flag-seat chair; and meditation and fireside enjoyment, and the

The shine of her silvery hair. more boisterous the storm without, the more genial the firelight and warmth and shelter with- There's a happy look on her aged face, in. When the snow is drifting without, driving

As she busily knits for him, against the windows and sifting through fences, And Nellie takes up the stitches dropped; or falling, falling, like gentle benedictions, pil- For grandmother's eyes are dim. ing up against house-door and cutter-stall, hanging white mantles all over the trees and Their children come in and read the news, hedges, and in the darkness making every old To pass the time each day; cart-wheel and dilapidated wagon “a thing of How it stirs the blood in the old man's heart, beauty,” with its swan's down trimmings, the To hear of the world away! pleasure of nestling snugly by the hearth-fire and watching the smoke-wreaths go fitting like 'Tis a homely scene, I told you so, ghosts up the chimney and the shadows dancing But pleasant it is to view; on the walls, is indescribable, and dull indeed At least I thought it so myself, must the imagination be that does not build And sketched it down for you. castles and makes pictures in the fire as the shining coals fall and glow and change their Be kind unto the old, my friends; bright, beautiful shapes. The young build

They're worn with this world's strife, fairy palaces of beauty, and weave webs of mag- Though bravely once perchance they fought ical delights, to be enjoyed in the days to come,

The stern, fierce battle of life. when the golden years of the future shall be theirs. Their dreams are all of the future. They taught our youthful feet to climb But the old - it is not forward that they look

Upward life's rugged steep; in their firelight dreams. Memory bears the Then let us gently lead them down

To where the weary sleep. wand which conjures up the pictures that fill their minds.

Before this “ Table" reaches you, the landThere is a beautiful word-picture which will

scape will, we doubt not, wear a different asbring all this before you as no words of ours

pect. Patches of verdure will dot the sunny can do, and we offer it you as a sweet, sad slopes and sheltered nooks, and the first spring charm that will touch your hearts and bring flowers – the brave little snowdrops — may good resolutions to help you in your duties to

have shown their welcome faces. Nothing else the old. It is entitled the

will be bold enough to dare the snow which will OLD FOLKS' HOME.

still lie heavy over most of our Northern land The old man sat by the chimney side,

until a late day this spring. The dog-tooth His face was wrinkled and wan;

violet, the anemones, the spring beauties, and And he leaned both his hands on his stout oak the trailing arbutus will wait for a more propi

tious hour. Until then let us patiently wait cane, As if all his work was done.

the advent of the flowers.

DEATH IN THE SCHOOL.

ful without. Warmth and sweet odors exhaled I know a charming spot, - a living conserva

from the rich greeneries of the conservatory, and tory filled with human flowers, à spacious the young faces of her schoolmates, though and beautiful edifice, surrounded with all that sad and stained with tears, were full of health. could make it delightful, dedicated to the edu- She alone of all these fair flowers had withered. cation of girls. Bright and brilliant and beau- But her memory will be dear when the gap is tiful, they swarm and fill the temple thus kept closed up whence she dropped out, and her exfor them, a joy and a pride to our denomina- ample remembered, as of one whom the Lord tion, their teachers, and their friends. Their had marked for his own and taken home to days are busy with alternate study and recre

himself. ation, and under a generous system of culture, “ Sweet is the scene when virtue dies, mind and body grow strong and healthful

When sinks a righteous soul to rest !” alike. But for the first time in many, many years,

JEAN INGELOW'S POEMS. death has but just now been among them, and cut down one of the fairest and the best.

The next number of our Magazine will conIn the midst of robust health, illness of most tain (from the pen of one who is not unknown acute form suddenly seized her, and in spite of in its pages) an appreciative article on the poevery aid that love and skill could render, she ems of Jean Ingelow. We accept her gentle redied.

proof for not having ourselves laid some of She had been long an inmate of the school, these beautiful productions before our readers was a member of the graduating class, and stood

ere this, and are right glad that she has taken high on its list. She was beloved and honored the work in hand. We hope it will not be her by all, for she was lovely, good, and true. Her last essay of the kind for our pages. Meandeath came as a surprise to herself, but not as

while we wish to add another extract to those a terror.

she has made in the shape of some exquisite “Is this death ?” she inquired an hour be- stanzas from the “ Brides of Enderby,” from fore she breathed her last. “I never thought which she has quoted. The reader will rememof being in danger!”

ber that the poem represents a scene of the year “Yes, my dear, it is death !” replied the 1571, and is in old English. teacher, who was bending over her in tears.

“My sonne's faire wife Elizabeth " is calling She was silent for a few moments, then calm- the cows to the milking shed. She sings, – ly observed, “I did not think death was like “ Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!" calling, this! I had thought that it was dreadful ! I Ere the early dews were falling, find it beautiful! Yes, it is beautiful to die!”

Farre away, I heard her song, She had only words of consolation for her “ Cusha! Cusha!” all along; mother and father and the friends who wept Where the reedy Lindis floweth, that she must leave them. She requested to see

Floweth, floweth. all her schvolmates, and as they passed by her From the meads where melick groweth, bed, all in tears, she took a calm and loving Faintly came her milking song. farewell of each.

“ I had hoped and expected to graduate with “ Cusha! Cusha! Cusha!” calling, you," said she to her class ; " but I am gradu- “ For the dews will soon be falling; ating before you and into a higher school. 1 Leave your meadow-grasses mellow, am leaving you and I wish to say one thing be

Mellow, mellow! fore I go : Live coble and Christian lives, and

Quit your cowslips, cowslips yellow; be worthy of the privileges you enjoy. Good- Come uppe, Whitefoot, come uppe, Light

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