I pressed my lips to his death-cold cheek And begged him to show me, by word or sign,

That he knew and forgave me : he could not speak,

But he nestled his poor cold face to mine.

And the gate of this chapel was shut,

And Thou shalt not " writ over the door; So I turned to the Garden of Love,

That so many sweet flowers bore.

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tombstones where flowers should be;

A TRAGIC STORY.

FROM THE GERMAN OF ADELBERT VON CHAMISSO.

THE

's war Einer, dem's zu Herzen gieng."
HERE lived a sage in days of yore
And he a handsome pigtail wore,
But wondered much, and sorrowed more,
Because it hung behind him.

He mused upon this curious case,
And swore he'd change the pigtail's place,
And have it hanging at his face,

Not dangling there behind him.

Says he, "The mystery I've found:
I'll turn me round." He turned him round,
But still it hung behind him.

Then round and round, and out and in,
All day the puzzled sage did spin.
In vain; it mattered not a pin:

The pigtail hung behind him.
And right and left, and round about,
And up and down, and in and out,
He turned; but still the pigtail stout
Hung steadily behind him.

And though his efforts never slack,
And though he twist and twirl and tack,
Alas! still faithful to his back,

The pigtail hangs behind him.

WILLIAM M. THACKERAY.

Hung like a twilight landscape, and all things

Seemed hushed into a slumber. Isabel-
The dark-eyed, spiritual Isabel-

Was leaning on her harp, and I had stayed
To whisper what I could not when the crowd
Hung on her look like worshippers. I knelt,
And with the fervor of a lip unused

To the cold breath of reason told my love.
There was no answer, and I took the hand
That rested on the strings, and pressed a kiss
Upon it unforbidden, and again
Besought her that this silent evidence
That I was not indifferent to her heart
Might have the seal of one sweet syllable.
I kissed the small white fingers as I spoke,
And she withdrew them gently and upraised
Her forehead from its resting-place and
looked

Earnestly on me. She had been asleep!

N. P. WILLIS.

ELOQUENCE SHOULD NOT SHIELD TREACHERY.

DEMOSTHENES' IMPEACHMENT OF SCHINES.

BOUT his voice it

ABOUT

be may

to

necessary say something; for I hear that upon this also he very confidently relies, as if he can overpower you by his acting. I think, however, you would be committing a gross absurdity if, when he played the miseries of Thyestes and the men at Troy, you drove and hissed him off the boards and nearly

stoned him to death, so that at last he desisted from his playing of third-rate parts, yet now that not upon the stage, but in public and most important affairs of statehe has wrought infinity of evil, you should pay regard to him as a fine speaker. Heaven forbid Do not you be guilty of any