so much modern versc-setting you thinking to find out what it is all about. Mr. Massey is now identified with the cheap daily press, and holds an acknowledged and honoured position.]

HIGH hopes that burn'd like stars sublime,

Go down i' the heavens of freedom;

And true hearts perish in the time

We bitterliest need 'em!

But never sit we down and say
There's nothing left but sorrow:
We walk the wilderness to-day-
The promised land to-morrow!

Our birds of song are silent now,
There are no flowers blooming,
Yet life holds in the frozen bough,
And freedom's spring is coming;
And freedom's tide comes up alway,
Though we may strand in sorrow:
And our good bark, aground to-day,
Shall float again to-morrow.

Through all the long, long night of years
The people's cry ascendeth,

And earth is wet with blood and tears:
But our meek sufferance endeth!

The few shall not for ever sway—

The many moil in sorrow;

The powers of hell are strong to-day,
But Christ shall rise to-morrow!

Though hearts brood o'er the past, our eyes
With smiling futures glisten!
For lo! our day bursts up the skies-
Lean out your souls and listen!
The world rolls freedom's radiant way,
And ripens with her sorrow;

Keep heart! who bear the Cross to-day,
Shall wear the Crown to-morrow!

O youth! flame-earnest, still aspire
With energies immortal!
To many a heaven of desire
Our yearning opes a portal ;
And though age wearies by the way,
And hearts break in the furrow-
We'll sow the golden grain to-day-
The harvest reap to-morrow!

Build up heroic lives, and all
Be like a sheathen sabre,
Ready to flash out at God's call—
O chivalry of labour!

Triumph and toil are twins; and ay
Joy suns the cloud of sorrow,
And 'tis the martyrdom to-day
Brings victory to-morrow!

SCENE FROM THE PATRICIAN'S DAUGHTER.

WESTLAND MARSTON, LL.D.

The Earl of Lynterne

Mordaunt

CHARACTERS:

Lady Lydia (The Earl's Sister.)
Lady Mabel (The Earl's Daughter.)

SCENE. A Terrace in front of Lynterne Castle.
Sunset. Chairs.

Enter MORDAUNt, r.

Mord. How beautiful are all things when we love! She whom I love is human; for her sake

I love all human kind. Our planet earth
Is her abode; for her sake I love earth,

And for earth's sake love all that earth contains.
Oh, it is great, and wise, and good to love!

To feel we live in all things, and that they
Live by us, and not we by them; to be
The pulse to our own universe!

And loves she me?

She listens to my words, and seldom speaks.
Why need she speak, when every glance replies?
First it was otherwise; her repartee,

Quick wit, and lively sallies flashed all day;
Her answers now are few and brief, as though
The task of ordering her thoughts for speech
Woke her from blissful dreams; my soul itself
Seemed suffused in her presence, bathed in light,
As plants beneath the solemn, tender moon,
Which gilds their life with beauty, as she mine,
And joys in heaven to see their silvered leaves,
Unknowing 'tis her smile that makes their brightness,
Which fades from earth whene'er she wanes in heaven.
A cloud comes over mine. 'Tis Lady Lydia!

Enter LADY Lydia, L.

I trust you find the evening breeze refresh you?
Lydia. A debtor to your wishes, sir! I thank you.
(crosses, R.-aside) I'll not delay, for opportunity,
Once slighted, oft escapes. When do you leave us?
Mord. (L.) Shortly. Perhaps within a week or two,
Provided for that time my sojourn prove

No inconvenience here.

Lydia. (R.)

I fear it will.

Mord. Had I thought so, you had not seen me now. Lydia. I will be plain, sir.

Plainness is always the best courtesy,

Where truths are to be told.

You still are young,

And want not personal grace; your air, your words, Are such as captivate. You understand me.

Mord. I do not;

For these things most men seek to harbour guests.
Lydia. True, except sometimes

When they are fathers. You are honourable,
And after what has passed will leave us straight.

Mord. I scarcely dare presume to give your words Their nearest meaning.

Lydia. Yet you may do so.

Mord. The Lady Mabel?

Lydia. Yes.

Mord. Looks not on me indifferently?

Lydia. That you will join me in regretting, sir.
Mord. I may hope-(pauses in agitation).

Lydia.

Mord.

She has confessed it.

In your hearing?

Lydia. You are minute, I see, and well may doubt, Except on surer witness than surmise,

So strange a tale. Alas! the evidence

Courts sight and touch: I hold it in my

hand

This letter (MORDAUNT regards her inquiringly) Nothing (as with a sudden impulse) I dare trust your honour.

You know I lately spent three days from home:
I then wrote Mabel what I could not speak—
My warning on the signs I had perceived
Of love's unconscious growth.

This is her answer.
(showing letter.)
I was too late. That answer bore-Oh, patience!-
What can I call it else?-her love's confession.
Mord. Her love for me!

Lydia.

Forgive me, 'tis too much. (tears it.) Thus let the winds disperse the proofs of shame! "Twould be most happy were its memory

As easily effaced. (throwing the fragments off, R.)
Mord.
Her love for me!

Lydia. In words

Mord. Oh, name them not,

Those sacred breathings of her soul—relate not
What precious items make my sum of bliss

Past computation rich! Enough, she loves me!
I'll seek her on the instant. (going, L.)

Lydia. (aside)

That, indeed,

Would mar my plan. No; silence is your course :
It is most delicate, least painful too.

No word were well save farewell, and that said
As those who have no long acquaintance say it.
Mord. I will not say it

So to the Lady Mabel now, nor ever,

Unless it be her will.

Lydia.

You will not take

Advantage of her weakness. Do not, sir,

Let it be thought that we, in welcoming you,
Shook hands with an adventurer.

Mord. (indignantly) Madam! (with constrained courtesy)
You are her relative, and I am dumb. (going, L.)
Lydia. Stay.

Think you the Earl's voice would not crush your plan,
The moment that surprise permitted speech?
Mord. Why should it?

Lydia. Must I speak outright?
Mord. Yes, surely.

Lydia. The house of Lynterne

Dates from the time that he of Normandy
O'erthrew the Saxon sway; since then its lords,
In war or peace have held the foremost rank
In conflict or in council. Of the race
Not one has formed alliance, save with such
As boasted kindred honours. Sir, our house
Is noble-must remain so till its end.

Mord. Is not yon sunset splendid? (pointing off L.)
Lydia.
Possibly;

But we may see that often, and it bears

Not now on our discourse.

Mord.

Indeed it does.

However proud, or great, or wise, or valiant
The Lady Mabel's ancestors, that sun

From age to age has watched their honours end,
As man by man fell off; and centuries hence
Yon light into oblivion may have lit

As many stately trains as now have passed.
And yet my soul, orb of eternity,

When yonder globe is ashes as your sires,
Shall shine on undecaying!

When men know