Oh, your sweet eyes, your low replies; Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind, She spake some certains truths of you. That scarce is fit for you to hear; Lady Clara Vere de Vere, There stands a spectre in your hall; You changed a wholesome heart to gall. And slew him with your noble birth. Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, From yon blue heaven above us bent, The grand old gardener and his wife Smile at the claims of long descent. Howe'er it be, it seems to me, 'Tis only noble to be good; Kind hearts are more than coronets, I know you, Clara Vere de Vere, You pine among your halls and towers; The languid light of your proud eyes Is wearied of the rolling hours. In glowing health, with boundless wealth, You know so ill to deal with time, You need must play such pranks as these. Clara, Clara Vere de Vere, If time be heavy on your hands, Are there no beggars at your gate, Nor any poor about your lands? Oh! teach the orphan boy to read, Or teach the orphan girl to sew, Pray heaven for a human heart, And let the foolish yeoman go. --Alfred Tennyson. LITTLE JIM. The cottage was a thatched one, the outside old and mean, And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying down her cheek, "Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good-night to him, He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead, THE BLACKSMITH'S STORY. Well, no! My wife ain't dead, sir, but I've lost her all the same; She was a soldier's widow. He was killed at Malvern Hill; The change of scene brought cheerfulness, and soon a rosy glow Three years ago the baby came our humble home to bless; Once we watched it through a fever, and with each gasping breath, And when the doctor said 'twould live, our joy what words could tell? Clasped in each other's arms, our grateful tears together fell. "That's me," said he. "You, you!" I gasped, choking with horrid doubt; "If you're the man, just follow me; we'll try this mystery out!" Frozen with deadly horror, she stared with eyes of stone, What could be done? He was reported dead. On his return It was agreed that Mary then between us should decide, No sinner, at the judgment-seat, waiting eternal doom, Could suffer what I did, while waiting sentence in that room. Rigid and breathless, there we stood, with nerves as tense as steel, Ah, how my heart was chilled to ice, when she knelt down and said: "But, John, I can't leave baby"-"What! wife and child!" cried I; It may be, in the life to come, I'll meet my child and wife; -Frank Olive. THE FALL OF THE PEMBERTON MILL. The silent city slumbered. The day broke softly, the snow melted and the wind blew warm from the river. Sene was a little dizzy that morning Del Ivory, working beside her, said: "How the mill shakes! What's going on?" "It's the new machinery they're putting in below," observed the overseer, carelessly. At noon Sene was out with her dinner, found a place on the stairs away from the rest, and sat there with her eyes upon the river, thinking. In the afternoon Sene said: "Del, I think to-morrow "-she stopped. Something strange happened to her frame; it jarred, buzzed, snapped, the thread untwisted and flew out of place. "Curious," she said, and looked up-looked up to see her overseer turn wildly; to hear a shriek from Del that froze her blood; to see the solid ceiling gape above her; to see the walls and windows stagger; to see iron pillars reel, and vast machinery throw up its giant arms, and a tangle of human faces blanch and writhe! She sprang as the floor sunk. As pillar after pillar gave way, she bounded up an inclined plane, with the gulf yawning after her. It gained upon her, leaped at her, caught her; she threw out her arms and struggled on with hands and knees, tripped in the gearing and fell. At ten minutes before five, on Tuesday, the tenth of January, the Pemberton Mill, all of the seven hundred and fifty hands being at that time on duty, fell to the ground. At ten minutes before five, Sene's father heard what he thought to be the rumble of an earthquake under his very feet, and stood with bated breath waiting for the crash. As nothing further appeared to happen, he took his stick and limped out into the street. A crowd surged through it from end to end. Women with white lips were counting the mills-Pacific, Atlantic, Washington-Pemberton. Where was Pemberton? Where Pemberton had blazed with its lamps last night, and hummed with its iron lips, this evening a cloud of dust-black, silent, horrible-now puffed a hundred feet into the air. Asenath opened her eyes after a time. Beautiful green and purple lights had been dancing about her. The church clocks were striking "eight." One of her fingers she saw was gone; it was the finger which held Dick's little engagement ring. A broad piece of flooring, that had fallen slantwise, roofed her in, and saved her from the mass of iron-work overhead. Some one whom she could not see was dying just behind her. A little girl who worked in her room-a mere child-was crying, between her groans, for her mother. Del Ivory sat in a little open space, cushioned about with |