Mid the old lumber in the Gallery,

That mouldering chest was noticed; and 't was said By one as young, as thoughtless as Ginevra, "Why not remove it from its lurking-place? "T was done as soon as said; but on the way It burst, it fell; and lo, a skeleton, With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone, A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold! All else had perished, save a nuptial-ring, And a small seal, her mother's legacy, Engraven with a name, the name of both, "GINEVRA."

There then had she found a grave! Within that chest had she concealed herself, Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy; When a spring-lock, that lay in ambush there, Fastened her down for ever!

SONG OF THE MYSTIC

BY FATHER ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN

- alone!

I walk down the Valley of Silence
Down the dim, voiceless valley
And I hear not the fall of a footstep
Around me, save God's and my own;
And the hush of my heart is as holy
As hovers where angels have flown!

Long ago was I weary of voices

Whose music my heart could not win;
Long ago was I weary of noises

That fretted my soul with their din; Long ago was I weary of places

Where I met but the human ·

and sin.

I walked in the world with the worldly;
I craved what the world never gave;
And I said: "In the world each Ideal,
That shines like a star on life's wave,
Is wrecked on the shores of the Real,
And sleeps like a dream in a grave."

And still did I pine for the Perfect,

And still found the False with the True; I sought 'mid the Human for Heaven,

But caught a mere glimpse of its Blue. And I wept when the clouds of the Mortal Veiled even that glimpse from my view.

And I toiled on, heart-tired of the Human; And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men; Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar

And I heard a voice call me: - since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond mortal ken.

Do you ask what I found in the Valley? "T is my Trysting Place with the Divine. And I fell at the feet of the Holy,

And above me a voice said: "Be mine." And there arose from the depths of my spirit My heart shall be thine.”

An echo

Do you ask how I live in the Valley? and I dream - and I pray.

I weep

But my tears are as sweet as the dewdrops That fall on the roses in May;

And my prayer, like a perfume from Censers, Ascendeth to God night and day.

In the hush of the Valley of Silence
I dream all the songs that I sing;
And the music floats down the dim Valley,
Till each finds a word for a wing,

That to hearts, like the Dove of the Deluge,
A message of Peace they may bring.

But far on the deep there are billows
That never shall break on the beach;
And I have heard songs in the Silence,
That never shall float into speech;
And I have had dreams in the Valley,
Too lofty for language to reach.

And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley
Ah! me, how my spirit was stirred!
And they wear holy veils on their faces,
Their footsteps can scarcely be heard:
They pass through the Valley like Virgins,
Too pure for the touch of a word!

Do you ask me the place of the Valley?
Ye hearts that are harrowed by Care?
It lieth afar between mountains,

And God and His angels are there: And one is the dark mount of Sorrow, And one the bright mountain of Prayer!

ARE THE CHILDREN AT HOME?
BY MARGARET E. SANGSTER

Each day, when the glow of sunset
Fades in the western sky,
And the wee ones, tired of playing,
Go tripping lightly by,

I steal away from my husband,
Asleep in his easy-chair,

And watch from the open doorway
Their faces fresh and fair.

Alone in the dear old homestead
That once was full of life,
Ringing with girlish laughter,
Echoing boyish strife,

We two are waiting together;

And oft, as the shadows come,
With tremulous voice he calls me,

"It is night! are the children home?"

"Yes, love!" I answer him gently,
"They're all home long ago ";
And I sing, in my quivering treble,
A song so soft and low,

Till the old man drops to slumber,

With his head upon his hand,

And I tell to myself the number
At home in the better land.

At home, where never a sorrow
Shall dim their eyes with tears!
Where the smile of God is on them
Through all the summer years!
- yet my arms are empty,
That fondly folded seven,

I know,

And the mother heart within me
Is almost starved for heaven.

Sometimes, in the dusk of evening,
I only shut my eyes,

And the children are all about me,
A vision from the skies:
The babes whose dimpled fingers
Lost the way to my breast,
And the beautiful ones, the angels,
Passed to the world of the blest.

With never a cloud upon them,
I see their radiant brows;
My boys that I gave to freedom, -
The red sword sealed their vows!

In a tangled Southern forest,

Twin brothers bold and brave, They fell; and the flag they died for,

Thank God! floats over their grave.

A breath, and the vision is lifted
Away on wings of light,