"They're burning with love! Oh, my poor heart will break!

While I'm scarcely more than a bride,

My John to prove false !—O the villain, the rake!
I'll quickly repair to my chamber and take
That last step in life-suicide!

"I'd leap from the window-but as it's not dark I'd look such a fright in the fall!

I'd die by his pistol, but when cold and stark
There'd be on my temple a black powder-mark,
And a horrid great hole from the ball!

My corpse mutilated would spoil the effect,

For I must look lovely in death!

Cut my throat with his razor?'-O, let me reflect-
'Twould sever my windpipe, and then, I expect,
I never could draw my last breath!

"Should I drown myself down where the water runs clear, By the mill in the deep, placid race,

The fishes would eat me!-no! no! then I fear
I'll have to hang up to the big chandelier,
But then I'll turn black in the face!

"I might light the fire with the kerosene can
And go where all treachery ceases!
I'd do it with dynamite were I a man,—
No! no! I'd die easy, by some other plan
And not leave my corpse all in pieces.

"I'll ask the French druggist, just over the way,
For something to poison the cat.

The gripings and spasms are dreadful, they say,—
But poison I'll take without any delay,

Though it do puff me up like a rat!

O, tell me, thou prince of all druggists and leechers,
What poisons you keep in this place

For rats, those unhappy—I mean pesky creatures,
To let them die easy, not puff up their features,
Nor make them turn black in the face!

Ah! madam, I geeve you ze grandest powdaire
Zat make ze rat sweetaire ven deat ;

Zo mooch you feel sorry you keel him, by gaire!
Ze rat die so zgently, you see him, you svear
He vas only asleep in ze bet!

"Vaire small, leetal pinch eez a dose ;—Vat you geef
Depend on ze size of ze rat.

Ze rat, ven he leetal eez vaire sen-sa-tief;
Von bieg rat, deesconsolate, no vish to leef,
Zjust gief him a teaspoon of zat!"

At home, in her chamber, the poison she took;
And rolling in agony lay,

When John, coming back for that coat on the hook,
Fast mounted the stairs with an agonized look

Where his wife groaned in sweet disarray.

Why, Mame, what's the matter?" "O John! pray explain These letters I found in your coat?"

"That coat is my partner's, worn home in the rain !" "Not yours? [screams] quick! I'm poisoned! 'tis racking my brain!

To the druggist! get some antidote ! "

To the druggist he rushed-" quick! you've poisoned my Mame!"

Said the Frenchman-" Keep on ze apparel!

She vant ze rat poison-Oh! I know ze game—
Vat don't black ze face of ze rat! Ven she came
Ze powdaire of sugaire I gave! All ze same
She vill lief, eef she eat ze whole barrel."

AN INCIDENT AT SEA.

WILLIAM T. ROSS.

WHILE on my return from Europe, about midway of the Atlantic, it was my good fortune to behold a sight of transcendent beauty that few persons have ever seen. Our good ship was under full sail, with a light breeze that bore her lazily along over a gentle sea.

The last rays of a gorgeous sunset had faded from the sky, and darkness closed gently down upon the bosom of the deep. Leaning against the windward taffrail, my mind gradually became wrapped in a meditation born of that profound loneliness with which only night upon the ocean inspires one. The helmsman stood silent at the wheel; the officer paced his lone and measured tread; the lookout reclined lazily near the shrouds, anxiously longing for the "eight bells" that brings relief to a tiresome watch. No sound was heard, save now and then the creak of the cordage, or the occasional sough of the water against the vessel's prow. But the whisperings of these light waves seemed to make the silence even more profound.

Slowly aroused from my reverie, I became conscious of a gentle light that overspread a portion of the eastern sky. A single spot on the horizon grew more golden, and the upper limb of the moon peered above the ocean's edge, followed by the round shield of the full orb that shot her beams across the surface of the silent deep. From our lonely ship to her smiling face lay a tempting highway, paved with shimmering gold.

Just as Luna lifted herself above the horizon, a distant ship, before unseen, sailed calmly and majestically into view, and remained for a moment stamped like a silhouette upon the broad golden surface. It was too grand to be only pretty, too exquisitely beautiful to be merely sublime. For a few moments I stood like one entranced, gazing in silent rapture upon the most wonderful sight that nature ever painted for

mortal eyes. But while I looked, slowly and silently the vessel moved from off the golden disk, and mysteriously passed into the obscurity whence she came,—like a beautiful picture of the mind that comes we know not whence, and goes we know not where.

Other scenes may fade, the names of old-time friends be forgotten, but never from memory's page shall be erased that beautiful picture of the full moon, so lightly resting upon the ocean's edge, and the ship in full sail covering her disk. Nor shall the recollection ever grow dim of how my heart, in profound gratitude and joy, was lifted from that sublimely radiant sight in nature, up to nature's God.

THE PETRIFIED FERN.

IN a valley, centuries ago,

Grew a little fern-leaf, green and slender,
Veining delicate, and fibers tender;

Waving, when the wind crept down so low.

Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it,

Playful sunbeams darted in and found it,

Drops of dew stole in by night and crown'd it.

But no foot of man e'er trod that way;
Earth was young and keeping holiday.

Monster fishes swam the silent main,

Stately forests waved their giant branches,
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches,
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain;
Nature reveled in grand mysteries,

But the little fern was not of these,

Did not number with the hills and trees;
Only grew and waved its wild, sweet way,
None ever came to note it day by day.

Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood,

Heaved the rocks, and changed the mighty motion Of the deep strong currents of the ocean, Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood, Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay, Covered it and hid it safe away.

O the long, long centuries since that day! O the agony! O life's bitter cost

Since that useless little fern was lost!

Useless? Lost? There came a thoughtful man,
Searching Nature's secrets, far and deep;
From a fissure in a rocky steep

He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran
Fairy pencilings, a quaint design,
Veinings, leafage, fibers clear and fine,
And the fern's life lay in every line!
So, I think, God hides some souls away,
Sweetly to surprise us, the last day.

THE INFINITE MOTHER.

JAMES G. CLARK.

I AM mother of Life, and companion of God,
I move in each mote from the suns to the sod,
I brood in all darkness, I gleam in all light,
I fathom all depth and I crown every height;
Within me the globes of the universe roll,
And through me all matter takes impress and soul.
Without me all forms into chaos would fall;

I was under, within, and around, over all,

Ere the stars of the morning in harmony sung,

Or the systems and suns from their grand arches swung.

I loved you, O earth, in those cycles profound,
When darkness unbroken encircled you round,