For which I mourn, and will forever mourn:
Nor will I change these black and dismal robes,
Or ever dry these swollen and watery eyes;

Or ever taste content, or peace of heart,

While I have life, and thought of my Alphonso.

LEONORA. Look down, good Heaven, with pity on her sorrows, And grant that time may bring her some relief.

ALMERIA. Oh, no, time gives increase to my afflictions.

The circling hours, that gather all the woes

Which are diffused through the revolving year,

Come, heavy-laden with the oppressing weight,

To me; with me, successively, they leave

The sighs, the tears, the groans, the restless cares,
And all the damps of grief, that did retard their flight;
They shake their downy wings, and scatter all
The dire collected dews on my poor head;
Then fly with joy and swiftness from me.

Hark!

LEONORA.
The distant shouts proclaim your father's triumph.

[Shouts at a distance.

Oh, cease, for Heaven's sake, assuage a little
This torrent of your grief; for much I fear
"T will urge his wrath to see you drowned in tears
When joy appears in every other face.

ALMERIA. And joy he brings to every other heart,
But double, double weight of woe to mine;

For with him Garcia comes Garcia, to whom

I must be sacrificed, and all the vows

I gave my dear Alphonso basely broken.

No, it shall never be; for I will die

First, die ten thousand deaths! Look down, look down,

Alphonso, hear the sacred vow I make;
One moment cease to gaze on perfect bliss,

And bend thy glorious eyes to earth and me;
And thou, Anselmo, if yet thou art arrived,
Through all impediments of purging fire,

To that bright heaven where my Alphonso reigns,
Behold thou also, and attend my vow.

If ever I do yield, or give consent,

By any action, word, or thought, to wed

Another lord, may then just Heaven shower down
Unheard-of curses on me, greater far

(If such there be in angry Heaven's vengeance)
Than I have yet endured.
any
And now

[Kneels.

[Rising.

My heart has some relief; having so well
Discharged this debt, incumbent on my love.
Yet one thing more I would engage from thee.

LEONORA. My heart, my life, and will, are only yours.
ALMERIA. I thank thee. "T is but this; anon, when all
Are wrapped and busied in the general joy,
Thou wilt withdraw, and privately with me
Steal forth, to visit good Anselmo's tomb.

LEONORA. Alas! I fear some fatal resolution.
ALMERIA. No: on my life, my faith, I mean no ill,
Nor violence. I feel myself more light,

And more at large, since I have made this vow.
Perhaps I would repeat it there more solemnly.
"Tis that, or some such melancholy thought,
Upon my word, no more.

LEONORA.

I will attend you.

ALMERIA IN THE MAUSOLEUM.

Enter ALMERIA and LEONORA.

ALMERIA, It was a fancied noise, for all is hushed.

LEONORA. It bore the accent of a human voice.

ALMERIA. It was thy fear, or else some transient wind Whistling through hollows of this vaulted aisle.

We'll listen.

LEONORA. Hark!

ALMERIA. No, all is hushed and still as death. - 'Tis dreadful! How reverend is the face of this tall pile,

Whose ancient pillars rear their marble heads,
To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof,
By its own weight made steadfast and immovable,
Looking tranquillity! It strikes an awe
And terror on my aching sight; the tombs
And monumental caves of death look cold,
And shoot a chillness to my trembling heart.
Give me thy hand, and let me hear thy voice;
Nay, quickly speak to me, and let me hear
Thy voice-my own affrights me with its echoes.
LEONORA. Let us return; the horrors of this place,
And silence, will increase your melancholy.

ALMERIA. It may my fears, but cannot add to that.
No, I will on show me Anselmo's tomb;

Lead me o'er bones and skulls and mouldering earth
Of human bodies; for I'll mix with them:

Or wind me in the shroud of some pale corse
Yet green in earth, rather than be the bride
Of Garcia's more detested bed: that thought
Exerts my spirits; and my present fears

Are lost in dread of greater ill. Then show me,
Lead me, for I am bolder grown; lead on

Where I may kneel, and pay my vows again

To him, to Heaven, and my Alphonso's soul.

LEONORA. I go; but Heaven can tell with what regret.

The Scene opening discovers a place of tombs; one monument fronting the view greater than the rest.

Enter HELI.

HELI. I wander through this maze of monuments, Yet cannot find him.- Hark! sure 't is the voice

Of one complaining. There it sounds; I'll follow it.

LEONORA. Behold the sacred vault, within whose womb

The poor remains of good Anselmo rest,

Yet fresh and unconsumed by time or worms!
What do I see? O Heaven! either my eyes
Are false, or still the marble door remains
Unclosed the iron gates that lead to death
Beneath, are still wide-stretched upon their hinge,
And staring on us with unfolded leaves.

ALMERIA. Sure, 't is the friendly yawn of death for me;
And that dumb mouth, significant in show,

Invites me to the bed where I alone

Shall rest; shows me the grave, where nature, weary
And long oppressed with woes and bending cares,
May lay the burden down, and sink in slumbers
Of peace eternal. Death, grim death, will fold
Me in his leaden arms, and press me close
To his cold clayey breast: my father then
Will cease his tyranny; and Garcia too
Will fly my pale deformity with loathing.

My soul, enlarged from its vile bonds, will mount,
And range the starry orbs, and milky ways,

Of that refulgent world, where I shall swim
In liquid light, and float on seas of bliss
To my Alphonso's soul. O joy too great!
O ecstasy of thought! Help me, Anselmo:

Help me, Alphonso; take me, reach thy hand;
To thee, to thee I call, to thee, Alphonso.
O Alphonso!

[Exit.

OSMYN ascends from the tomb.

OSMYN. Who calls that wretched thing that was Alphonso? ALMERIA. Angels, and all the host of heaven, support me! OSMYN. Whence is that voice, whose shrillness, from the grave, And growing to his father's shroud, roots up Alphonso? ALMERIA. Mercy! Providence! O speak!

Speak to it quickly, quickly! speak to me,
Comfort me, help me, hold me, hide me, hide me,

Leonora, in thy bosom, from the light,

And from my eyes!

OSMYN.

Amazement and illusion!

Rivet and nail me where I stand, ye powers; [Coming forward.

That motionless I may be still deceived.

Let me not stir, nor breathe, lest I dissolve
That tender lovely form of painted air,
So like Almeria. Ha! it sinks, it falls;

I'll catch it ere it goes, and grasp her shade.

'Tis life! 't is warm! 't is she! 't is she herself!
Nor dead nor shade, but breathing and alive!
It is Almeria, 't is, it is my wife!

ROSE TERRY COOKE

COOKE, ROSE (TERRY), an American story-writer and poet, was born at West Hartford, Conn., February 17, 1827; died in Pittsfield, Mass., July 18, 1892. She was a cousin of General Alfred H. Terry, who rendered signal service to the cause of the Union during the Civil War by the part he took in the capture of Fort Fisher, N. C. She was educated at Hartford Female Seminary, from which she graduated in 1843. She married Rollin H. Cooke in 1873. She wrote stories and poems in various periodicals, some of which have been collected into volumes. Among these are "Happy Dodd" (1879); "Somebody's Neighbors" (1881); "Root-bound" (1885); "The Sphinx's Children" (1886); "Poems" (1888); "Steadfast" (1889); and "Huckleberries" (1892).

THE DEACON'S WEEK.1

(From "The Sphinx's Children.")

THE Communion service of January was just over in the church at Sugar Hollow; and people were waiting for Mr. Parkes to give out the hymn; but he did not give it out, - he laid his book down on the table, and looked about on his church.

He was a man of simplicity and sincerity, fully in earnest to do his Lord's work, and do it with all his might; but he did sometimes feel discouraged. His congregation was a mixture of farmers and mechanics, for Sugar Hollow was cut in two by Sugar Brook, a brawling, noisy stream that turned the wheel of many a mill and manufactory; yet on the hills around it there was still a scattered population, eating their bread in the full perception of the primeval curse. So he had to contend with the keen brain and sceptical comment of the men who piqued themselves on power to hammer at theological problems as well as hot iron, with the jealousy and repulsion and bitter feeling that has bred the communistic hordes abroad and at home; while perhaps he had a still harder task to awaken the 1 By permission of Houghton, Mifflin & Co.