Do you not know me? does no voice within
Answer my cry, and say we are akin? "
The Pope in silence, but with troubled mien,
Gazed at the Angel's countenance serene;
The Emperor, laughing said, "It is strange sport
To keep a madman for thy Fool at court!"
And the poor, baffled Jester in disgrace
Was hustled back among the populace.

In solemn state the Holy Week went by,
And Easter Sunday gleamed upon the sky;
The presence of the Angel, with its light,
Before the sun rose, made the city bright,
And with new fervor filled the hearts of men,
Who felt that Christ indeed had risen again.
Even the Jester, on his bed of straw,
With haggard eyes the unwonted splendor saw,
He felt within a power unfelt before,

And, kneeling humbly on his chamber floor,
He heard the rushing garments of the Lord
Sweep through the silent air, ascending heavenward.

And now the visit ending, and once more
Valmond returning to the Danube's shore,
Homeward the Angel journeyed, and again
The land was made resplendent with his train,
Flashing along the towns of Italy
Unto Salerno, and from thence by sea.
And when once more within Palermo's wall,
And, seated on the throne in his great hall,
He heard the Angelus from convent towers,
As if the better world conversed with ours,
He beckoned to King Robert to draw nigher,
And with a gesture bade the rest retire;
And when they were alone, the Angel said,

"Art thou the King?" Then, bowing down his head,
King Robert crossed both hands upon his breast,
And meekly answered him: "Thou knowest best!
My sins as scarlet are; let me go hence,
And in some cloister's school of penitence,
Across those stones, that pave the way to heaven,
Walk barefoot, till my guilty soul be shriven ! "

The Angel smiled, and from his radiant face
A holy light illumined all the place,

And through the open window, loud and clear,
They heard the monks chant in the chapel near,
Above the stir and tumult of the street:
"He has put down the mighty from their seat,
And has exalted them of low degree! "
And through the chant a second melody
Rose like the throbbing of a single string;
"I am an Angel, and thou art the King!"

King Robert, who was standing near the throne,
Lifted his eyes, and lo! he was alone!

But all apparelled as in days of old,

With ermined mantle and with cloth of gold;

And when his courtiers came, they found him there
Kneeling upon the floor, absorbed in silent prayer.
HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.

WORDS LIKE ARROWS.

My own eyes filled with tears, when I saw that hers were closed. I had stopped in the village to ask about her, but no one had told me she was blind.

She smiled ever so sweetly. "Yes, indeed, come in.

I shall be very glad to see you.

Glad to see me. The pathos of the word stung me as I walked the flower-bordered path to the garden bench where she was sitting in the mellow June sunshine which turned her soft white hair to glistening silver.

"You see now,

"Will you sit down? " She made room for me beside her and reached out her hand for mine. adays hands help me to get acquainted. Ah, yours is soft and white I know, not hard and brown like mine. I always did like a pretty hand, and mine's always been so homely.” "But it is beautiful to me. I know it has done so many useful things and many kind deeds."

"And yours? It's fine and soft, but it isn't a lazy hand. I feel the strength and firmness in it. I am quite a dab at reading hands. " She laughed gently. "Now tell me

truly, it isn't a lazy hand, is it?"

"No; not lazy, but I'm awfully afraid it has been a very selfish hand.

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Ah, my dear, that's the way we all feel. None of us are what we'd like to be, but it won't do to judge ourselves. Why, do you know, if I was to sit in judgment on myself I'd why I'd sentence myself to everlasting unhappiness. " "Oh no, you mustn't say so.

But I'm not judging myself, dear. I am leaving that to one who is much more loving and forgiving to us poor mortals than we can be to ourselves.

She loosened the lingering hold of my hand which had thrilled me through and through and softly stroked the folds of my gown.

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Silk: not the shiny kind, but soft and rich. Is it black?" "No, grey for travelling.

"You came from the city. I thought when you first spoke you were probably a summer boarder. They're always real neighborly, but somehow you talk different from

most of them."

"I have been in England for a long while. You know they speak differently over there. Perhaps I have picked up the English accent, and it's said the soft climate there affects the voice. "

My youngest daughter used to want to go to England. She talked a lot about it.

"Did she? " I asked with the greatest interest.

Yes; she kind o' reached out for travel and books and pictures. She could paint quite tasty pictures herself. Would you like to see the one she did of the little schoolhouse and the brook? Her father had it framed for me the Christmas before he died. He got it down out of the attic where she'd put it when But wouldn't you like

to see it? "

"You see, James her father, was president of the school board. Daisy was the brightest girl in school— everybody said so and so it was kind of appropriate for her to make a picture of the old red building. I often wish she could see how fine it looks hanging over the mantel in the parlor. I generally rub my hands over it once or twice a day just to see that it is keeping all right and the gold frame isn't breaking off anywhere. When anybody comes in I usually ask if the paint is keeping bright. You see I set a good deal of store by it.

"Do you live here alone?" I asked.

"Yes; all by myself. "

"Aren't you lonely?

"I can't say that I am ever real lonesome, though of course I do get a little weary of the waiting sometimes. She couldn't mean that she

Warting! I asked myself. was hoping or expecting to and cheery.

Oh, no she was too brave

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any more.

Yes; I'm waiting. I've been waiting for years. My sons and my daughters, they're all married and living round here all but the youngest on farms mostly, though Lucinda married a preacher, and he often changes churches; that is some comfort, for Lucinda has got convinced her. self now that it wouldn't do for me to be moving every whipstitch, so she doesn't ask me to live with her If the others would only quit, I'd be a heap sight happier. I hate to be saying, no to my children all the time, and they think I am dreadfully set in my way; and I suppose I am. I just tell them I would not be contented anywhere but right here in the old house where I've lived in since they were all babies. I don't mind having the little maid come every morning from the village to help me, for she's a nice child and I'm teaching her to sew and knit. There is the telephone, too, for company. I had one put in because I've heard how people can talk over them a long distance, and I might, you know, be called up some time from a very long way off. There; I guess I'm getting garrulous. Tell me 1 about yourself. I always like to know about people.

"Yes; but not yet. First, I should like to know if you feel like telling me about the waiting?"

"I knew when you sat down beside me I'd tell you sooner or later. There's some people I can't help pouring out my heart to, and when I can tell I like to do it for it might help. It's like shooting arrows into the air. You never can tell where words, said to these city folks may land. I remember saying that to a young man that used to come to see me, and he agreed it was true, that words sent out couldn't always go astray- that surely some time theright person would hear them. He gave me a new courage he was so strong, so helpful. I've always wished he'd come back, but he never has. I just go on waiting.

"What was he like?"

And