If you saw papa's picture, as taken
By Brady, and tinted at that,—
You'd never suspect he sold bacon
And flour at Poverty Flat.

And yet, just this moment, when sitting
In the glare of the grand chandelier,—
In the bustle and glitter befitting

The "finest soiree of the year,"

In the mists of a gauze de Chambery,

And the hum of the smallest of talk,Somehow, Joe, I thought of the "Ferry," And the dance that we had on "The Fork",

Of Harrison's barn, with its muster

Of flags festooned over the wall;

Of the candles that shed their soft lustre
And tallow on head-dress and shawl;
Of the steps that we took to one fiddle;
Of the dress of my queer ris-a-vis ;
And how I once went down the middle
With the man that shot Sandy McGee;

Of the moon that was quietly sleeping

On the hill, when the time came to go;
Of the few baby peaks that were peeping
From under their bedclothes of snow;
Of that ride, that to me was the rarest;
Of the something you said at the gate,-
Ah, Joe, then I wasn't an heiress

To "the best-paying lead in the State."

Well, well, it's all past; yet it's funny
To think, as I stood in the glare
Of fashion and beauty and money,
That I should be thinking, right there,
Of some one who breasted high water,
And swam the North Fork, and all that,
Just to dance with old Folinsbee's daughter,
The Lily of Poverty Flat.

But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing!
(Mamma says my taste still is low,)
Instead of my triumphs reciting,

I'm spooning on Joseph,-heigh-ho!
And I'm to be "finished" by travel,-
Whatever's the meaning of that,
Oh! why did papa strike pay gravel
In drifting on Poverty Flat?

Good night, here's the end of my paper;
Good night,-if the longitude please,—
For maybe, while wasting my taper,

Your sun's climbing over the trees.
But know, if you haven't got riches,
And are poor, dearest Joe, and all that,

That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,
And you've struck it,-on Poverty Flat.

THE TIME FOR PRAYER.

When is the time for prayer?

With the first beams that light the morning sky Ere for the toils of day thou dost prepare,

Lift up thy thoughts on high;

Commend thy loved ones to His watchful care:
Morn is the time for prayer.

And in the noontide hour,

If worn by toil, or by sad cares oppressed, Then unto God thy spirit's sorrow pour,

And He will give thee rest;

Thy voice shall reach Him through the fields of air: Noon is the time for prayer.

When the bright sun hath set,

While eve's bright colors deck the skies;

When with the loved at home again thou'st met,

Then let thy prayers arise

For those who in thy joys and sorrows share:

Eve is the time for prayer.

And when the stars come forth

When to the trusting heart sweet hopes are given,

And the deep stillness of the hour gives birth

To pure bright dreams of heaven,

Kneel to thy God-ask strength, life's ills to bear: Night is the time for prayer.

When is the time for prayer?

In every hour, while life is spared to thee;

In crowds or solitude, in joy or care,

Thy thoughts should heavenward flce!

At home, at morn and eve, with loved ones there,
Bend thou the knee in prayer.

PPP

THE DOUBLE SACRIFICE.-ARTHUR WM. AUSTIN.

"And so thou say'st, my brother, to-morrow the end shall be, And I must perish amid the flames of the awful auto-da-fe! "Thus let it be; for 'tis well to die, that the word of the Lord may live:

O blessed Jesu! be near to the last, that I, like thee, may forgive."

On the damp dungeon-floor she knelt, and prayed in a tremulous voice

For strength to endure the fiery trial, and faith to retain her choice;

While the cowléd priest stood mute, and gazed through the strong bars, yellow with rust,

And trembled, as in her pallid face he read an unfaltering

trust.

At last he whispered, "O sister mine! recant ere it be too late.

In the youthful bloom of a beautiful life, why choose ye so cruel a fate?

"Renounce thine heresies even now, and the condemnation dire

Of the Inquisition shall be revoked, the torturing death by fire!

"O sister beloved! remember well, thou art last of our kin and race:

The name of our father is dear to the land; shall it fade in this cloud of disgrace?

"Great Galileo at Rome hath knelt, and abjured his errors vain:

Why do ye not even as he hath done, while the way of es cape is plain?"

So pleaded the priest, though he knew for nought, as she rose in the dismal gloom,

Possessed of the hope and the peace not of earth, fixed far beyond terror of doom.

More beautiful then, in her strength of soul, she seemed than whenever of old,

She had graced the palace or regal court, radiant with jewels and gold.

No lady of all the wide kingdom of Spain, from the Pyre

nees to the sea,

Might boast of a lineage prouder than hers, or a name from reproach more free.

And he, the priest, though a soldier bred, yet forced from the glory and strife,

For the solemn peace and the sacred vows of the stern monastic life.

And she answered him, "I will never renounce the priceless vows of my faith,

But brave the impotent curse of the Church, and choose the heretic's death!

"Thou servest the Church; but I serve Him whose temple is built above,

And will die as the martyred saints of old, for the sake of the truth I love."

The hour had come;

robe arrayed;

and they led her forth, in the yellow

And she stood among the group of the doomed, still, fearless and undismayed.

And she saw not the eager multitude, nor the king enthroned on high,

Nor the stern Inquisitors, robed in black, who had judged her worthy to die.

They bound her fast to the fatal stake, and piled the fagots around,

Then paused till the solemn chant had ceased, and the signal of doom should sound.

Then the flames burst forth, and the smoke rolled high, and blinded her lifted eyes;

And she murmured in agony, "Courage, O soul! thou hast almost gained the prize!"

And he who had stood at the dungeon-door, and strove to

save her in vain,

When he saw her thus in the grasp of death, swift madness seized his brain.

With the strong resolve of a frenzied hope, he sprang in the midst of the fire,

Which rose and leaped like a wrathful fiend, hissing with baleful ire.

Too late, alas! the vengeful flame withered the outstretched hand,

And the two freed souls together passed into the spirit land!

79*

THE SARACEN BROTHERS.

Attendant. A stranger craves admittance to your highness.
Saladin. Whence comes he?

Atten. That I know not.

Enveloped with a vestment of strange form,
His countenance is hidden; but his step,
His lofty port, his voice in vain disguised,
Proclaim-if that I dare pronounce it-

Sal.

Atten. Thy royal brother!
Sal.

Whom?

Now, with his specious, smooth, persuasive tongue,
Fraught with some wily subterfuge, he thinks

Bring him instantly. [Erit ATTENDANT.

To dissipate my anger. He shall die.

Leave us together. [Exit ATTENDANT.] [4side.] I should know that form.

[Enter ATTENDANT and MALEK ADHEL

Now summon all thy fortitude, my soul,

Nor though thy blood cry for him, spare the guilty!
[Aloud.] Well, stranger, speak; but first unveil thyself,
For Saladin must view the form that fronts him.

Malek Adhel. Behold it, then!

Sal.

Mal. Ad. A brother's!

I see a traitor's visage.

Sal. No! Saladin owns no kindred with a villain.

Mal. Ad. Oh, patience, Heaven! Had any tongue but thine Uttered that word, it ne'er should speak another.

Sal. And why not now? Can this heart be more pierced By Malek Adhel's sword than by his deeds? Oh, thou hast made a desert of this bosom! For open candor, planted sly disguise; For confidence, suspicion; and the glow Of generous friendship, tenderness, and love, Forever banished! Whither can I turn, When he by blood, by gratitude, by faith, By every tie, bound to support, forsakes me? Who, who can stand, when Malek Adhel falls? Henceforth I turn me from the sweets of love: The smiles of friendship, and this glorious world, In which all find some heart to rest upon, Shall be to Saladin a cheerless void,His brother has betrayed him!

Thou art softened;

Mal. Ad.
I am thy brother, then; but late thou saidst-
My tongue can never utter the base title!

Sal. Was it traitor? True!

Thou hast betrayed me in my fondest hopes!
Villain? Tis just; the title is appropriate!