At last they spied within their reach
An old boat cast upon the beach;
Helter-skelter, with merry din,
Over its sides they scrambled in,-
Ben, with his tangled, nut-brown hair,

Bess, with her sweet face flushed and fair.

Rolling in from the briny deep,

Nearer, nearer, the great waves creep,

Higher, higher, upon the sands,
Reaching out with their giant hands,
Grasping the boat in boisterous glee,
Tossing it up and out to sea.

The sun went down, 'mid clouds of gold;
Night came, with footsteps damp and cold;
Day dawned; the hours crept slowly by;
And now across the sunny sky
A black cloud stretches far away,
And shuts the golden gates of day.

A storm comes on, with flash and roar,
While all the sky is shrouded o'er;
The great waves, rolling from the west,
Bring night and darkness on their breast.
Still floats the boat through driving storm,
Protected by God's powerful arm.

The home-bound vessel, "Sea-bird," lies
In ready trim, 'twixt sea and skies:
Her captain paces, restless now,
A troubled look upon his brow,
While all his nerves with terror thrill,-
The shadow of some coming ill.

The mate comes up to where he stands,
And grasps his arm with eager hands.
"A boat has just swept past," says he,
66 Bearing two children out to sea;
'Tis dangerous now to put about,
Yet they cannot be saved without."

"Nought but their safety will suffice! They must be saved!" the captain cries. "By every thought that's just and right, By lips I hoped to kiss to-night, I'll peril vessel, life, and men,

And God will not forsake us then."

With anxious faces, one and all,

Each man responded to the call;

And when at last, through driving storm,
They lifted up each little form,

The captain started, with a groan :

"My God is good, they are my own!"

ROSA HARTWICK THORPE

(Author of "Curfew Shall Not Ring To-night").

TWO.

WE two will stand in the shadow here,
To see the bride as she passes by;
Ring soft and low, ring loud and clear,
Ye chiming bells that swing on high!
Look! look! she comes! The air grows sweet
With the fragrant breath of the orange-blooms,
And the flowers she treads beneath her feet
Die in a flood of rare perfumes !

She comes! she comes! The happy bells
With their joyous clamor fill the air,
While the great organ dies and swells,
Soaring to trembling heights of prayer!
Oh! rare are her robes of silken sheen,

And the pearls that gleam on her bosom's snow;

But rarer the grace of her royal mien,

Her hair's fine gold, and her cheek's young glow.

Dainty and fair as a folded rose,

Fresh as a violet dewy sweet,

Chaste as a lily, she hardly knows

That there are rough paths for other feet.

For Love hath shielded her; Honor kept
Watch beside her night and day;

And Evil out from her sight hath crept,
Trailing its slow length far away.

Now in her perfect womanhood,

In all the wealth of her matchless charms, Lovely and beautiful, pure and good,

She yields herself to her lover's arms. Hark! how the jubilant voices ring!

Lo! as we stand in the shadow here, While far above us the gay bells swing, I catch the gleam of a happy tear!

The pageant is over. Come with me
To the other side of the town, I pray,
Ere the sun goes down in the darkening sea,
And night falls around us, chill and gray.

In the dim church porch an hour ago
We waited the bride's fair face to see;
Now life has a sadder sight to show,

A darker picture for you and me.

No need to seek for the shadow here,

There are shadows lurking everywhere; These streets in the brightest days are drear, And black as the blackness of despair. But this is the house. Take heed, my friend, The stairs are rotten, the way is dim; And up the flights, as we still ascend,

Creep, stealthily, phantoms dark and grim.

Enter this chamber. Day by day,

Alone in this chill and ghostly room,
A child a woman - which is it, pray?.
Despairingly waits for the hour of doom!
Ah! as she wrings her hands so pale,

No gleam of a wedding-ring you see; There's nothing to tell. You know the taleGod help her now in her misery!

I dare not judge her. I only know
That love was to her a sin and a snare,
While to the bride of an hour ago

It brought all blessings its hands could bear! I only know that to one it came

Laden with honor and joy and peace;

Its gifts to the other were woe and shame, And a burning pain that shall never cease.

I only know that the soul of one

Has been a pearl in a golden case; That of the other a pebble thrown Idly down in a wayside place,

Where all day long strange footsteps trod,

And the bold, bright sun drank up the dew! Yet both were women. O righteous God, Thou only canst judge between the two!

THE COURT OF BERLIN.

KING Frederick, of Prussia, grew nervous and ill
When pacing his chamber one day,
Because of the sound of a crazy old mill
That clattered so over the way.

"Ho, miller!" cried he, "what sum shall you take
In lieu of that wretched old shell?

It angers my brain and it keeps me awake."
Said the miller, "I want not to sell."

"But you must," said the king, in a passion for once.
"But I won't," said the man, in a heat.

"Gods! this to my face? Ye are daft, or a dunce-
We can raze your old mill with the street."

"Ay, true, my good sire, if such be

your mood,"

Then answered the man with a grin;

"But never you'll move it the tenth of a rood

As long as a court 's in Berlin."

"Good, good," said the king, -for the answer was grand,

As opposing the Law to the Crown,

"We bow to the court, and the mill shall stand,
Though even the palace come down."

Frankfort Yeoman.

PART XII.

Parting and Absence.

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