unto me.' Should I speak for hours, I could only tell you how I loved her. She came to me in the winter of my fortunes, when I had very few friends, and I loved her, and will revere her memory forever forever. And now I will not shed a tear for Alice Cary; I am glad she is gone. I felt at once like saying, 'Thanks be to God,' when I heard that the pain was over; and it was so delightful to go to stand over her and see her face without a single frown, and to think she is gone to her Father and my Father, and into His hands I commit her."

DRIFTING.

My soul to-day is far away
Sailing the Vesuvian Bay;
My winged boat, a bird afloat,

Skims round the purple peaks remote.

Round purple peaks it sails and seeks
Blue inlets and their crystal creeks,

Where high rocks throw, through deeps below,
A duplicated golden glow.

Far, vague, and dim the mountains swim;
While on Vesuvius' misty brim,

With outstretched hands, the gray smoke stands

O'erlooking the volcanic lands.

Here Ischia smiles o'er liquid miles,

And yonder, bluest of the isles,
Calm Capri waits her sapphire gates
Beguiling to her bright estates.

I heed not, if my rippling skiff
Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff;

With dreamful eyes my spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise.

Under the walls where swells and falls
The Bay's deep breast at intervals,
At peace I lie, blown softly by

A cloud upon this liquid sky.

The day so mild is heaven's own child,
With earth and ocean reconciled:

The airs I feel around me steal

Are murmuring to the murmuring keel.

Over the rail my hand I trail,
Within the shadow of the sail;
A joy intense, the cooling sense,
Glides down my drowsy indolence.

With dreamful eyes my spirit flies
Where summer sings and never dies -
O'erveiled with vines, she glows and shine
Among her future oils and wines.

Her children, hid the cliffs amid,

Are gamboling with the gamboling kid;
Or down the walls, with tipsy calls,
Laugh on the rock like waterfalls.

The fisher's child, with tresses wild,
Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled,
With glowing lips sings as she skips,
Or gazes at the far-off ships.

Yon deep bark goes where traffic blows,
From lands of sun to lands of snows;
This happier one its course has run,
From lands of snow to lands of sun.

Oh! happy ship, to rise and dip,
With the blue crystal at your lip!
Oh! happy crew, my heart with you
Sails, and sails, and sings anew!

No more, no more the worldly shore
Upbraids me with its loud uproar !
With dreamful eyes my spirit lies
Under the walls of Paradise!

T. Buchanan Read.

REMINISCENCES OF T. BUCHANAN READ.

"MANY there are who have tarried in old Rome who will attest, with lingering regret and pride, to the pleasant hours which flew all too swiftly beneath the roof of this princely host. In conversation, his words fell pleasantly upon the ear. Without any apparent effort, he at once enchained your attention. His wit was never-ceasing. His repartees flashed brilliant and instantaneous, his puns were irrepressible; they were spoken with ready grace and fluency unequaled. It was only a few mornings before he breathed his last that a dear friend, sitting by his bedside, held his wasted hand. Upon one finger was a beautiful cameo ring.

"Ah! I see you have a head of Shakspeare,' she said, as she examined the well-cut features of the bard.

"Yes,' he answered feebly; it is the only way I could get a head of him!'

"Soon after Pius IX. ceased to reign as 'Temporal Sovereign' of the Eternal City, and the flag of United Italy floated from the Capitol and from the Castle of St. Angelo, Prince Humbert, the son of King Victor Emmanuel, came with his beautiful young wife, the fair Princess Marguerite, to reside at the Palace of the Quirinal.

F

Fame had already made the American poet known to the Prince, yet desiring to form a personal acquaintance with Mr. Read, he signified, through a special messenger, his intention of calling at his studio.

"He came, attended with several members of his court. Mr. Read received him with that ease and simplicity of manner which so distinguished him. Passing from one to the other of the many charming creations of the artist's fancy which were scattered through the suite of rooms, the Prince expressed himself in the warmest terms of admiration, stopping again and again before 'The Star of Bethlehem,' irradiated by the glory of the angels appearing to the shepherds upon the plains of Bethlehem, or pausing to admire anew the ethereal loveliness of the 'Pleiades.' In one of the smaller rooms his eye at once detected a bust of Sheridan, the work of Mr. Read himself, whose early predilection for sculpture now and then moved this versatile genius to try his 'cunning hand.'

66 6

"Ah!' cried the Prince in Italian, 'that is the great General Americano - Sheridan. Sheridan. I know him; I saw him in Florence. Ah! it is very good-it is excellent! Will you tell me, Signore Read, the name of the artist ?' "When Mr. Read, smiling, named himself in reply, the Prince caught his hand, exclaiming:

6

"A poeta painter-a sculptor! Ah! gentlemen,' to those around him, I find we have a Michael Angelo in Signore Read.'

"Perhaps this was one of the most graceful compliments ever bestowed upon genius."

HANNAH JANE.

ABEL MERRIWEATHER, REPRESENTATIVE IN CONGRESS FROM THE THIRTY-THIRD DISTRICT OF INDIANA-LAWYER, WRITER, ORATOR -SOLVES ONE SOCIAL PROBLEM.

SHE is n't half so handsome as when, twenty years agone,
At her old home in Piketown Parson Avery made us one;
The great house crowded full of guests of every degree,
The girls all envying Hannah Jane, the boys all envying me.
All's changed; the light of seventeen's no longer in her eyes;
Her wavy hair is gone-that loss the coiffure's art supplies;
Her form is thin and angular; she slightly forward bends;
Her fingers, once so shapely, now are stumpy at the ends.

I know there is a difference: at reception and levee
The brightest, wittiest, and most famed of women smile

on me:

And everywhere I hold my place among the greatest men, And sometimes sigh, with Whittier's judge, "Alas! it might have been.”

She had four hundred dollars left her from the old estate; On that we married, and, thus poorly armored, faced our fate. I wrestled with my books; her task was harder far than mine

'T was how to make two hundred dollars do the work of

nine.

At last I was admitted; then I had my legal lore,

An office with a stove and desk, of books perhaps a score; She had her beauty and her youth, and some housewifely skill,

And love for me and faith in me, and back of that a will.

I had no friends behind me no influence to aid;
I worked and fought for every little inch of ground I made