VI. Sweet, sweet, sweet, O Pan! Piercing sweet by the river! And the lilies revived, and the dragon-fly VII. Yet half a beast is the great god Pan, The true gods sigh for the cost and pain,- Footsteps on the Other Side. Mrs. Browning. With a kind of sad delight— Leaping in triumphant pride! Oh! it is a stranger footstep, Gone by on the other side. All the night seems filled with weeping, I can fancy, sea, your murmur, Branches, bid your guests be silent; Ah! how many wait forever For the steps that do not come! Bear them to a peaceful home! In the streets have lain and died, Death of Little Nell. From "The Old Curiosity Shop." By little and little, the old man drew back towards the inner chamber, while these words were spoken. He pointed there, as he replied, with trembling lips, "You plot among you to wean my heart from her. You will never do that- never while I have life. I have no relative or friend but her―I never had - I never will have. She is all in all to me. It is too late to part us now." Waving them off with his hand, and calling softly to her as he went, he stole into the room. They who were left behind drew close together, and after a few whispered words, — not unbroken by emotion, or easily uttered, followed him. They moved so gently, that their footsteps made no noise, but there were sobs from among the group, and sounds of grief and mourning. For she was dead. There, upon her little bed, she lay at rest. The solemn stillness was no marvel now. She was dead. No sleep so beautiful and calm, so free from trace of pain, so fair to look upon. She seemed a creature fresh from the hand of God, and waiting for the breath of life; not one who had lived and suffered death.. Her couch was dressed with, here and there, some winter berries and green leaves, gathered in a spot she had been used to favor. “When I die, put near me something that has loved the light, and had the sky above it always." These were her words. She was dead. Dear, gentle, patient, noble Nell was dead. Her little birda poor slight thing the pressure of a finger would have crushed - was stirring ninibly in its cage; and the strong heart of its child-mistress was mute and motionless forever. Where were the traces of her early cares, her sufferings and fatigues? All gone. This was the true death before their weeping eyes. Sorrow was dead indeed in her, but peace and perfect happiness were born; imaged in her tranquil beauty and profound repose. And still her former self lay there, unaltered in this change. Yes. The old fireside had smiled on that same sweet face; it had passed like a dream through haunts of misery and care; at the door of the poor schoolmaster on the summer evening, before the furnace fire upon the cold, wet night, at the still, dying boy, there had been the same mild, lovely look. So shall we know the angels in their majesty, after death. The old man held one languid arm in his, and kept the small hand tight folded to his breast, for warmth. It was the hand she had stretched out to him with her last smile - the hand that had led him on through all their wanderings. Ever and anon he passed it to his lips; then hugged it to his breast again, murmuring that it was warmer now; and as he said it, he looked, in agony, to those who stood around, as if imploring them to help her. She was dead and past all help, or need of it. The ancient rooms she had seemed to fill with life, even while her own was ebbing fast — the garden she had tended—the eyes she had gladdened — the noiseless haunts of many a thoughtless hour- the paths she had trodden as if it were but yesterday—could know her no more. "It is not," said the schoolmaster, as he bent down to kiss her on her cheek, and give his tears free vent "it is not in this world that Heaven's justice ends. Think what it is compared with the world to which her young spirit has winged its early flight, and say, if one deliberate wish expressed in solemn terms above this bed could call her back to life, which of us would utter it!" Dickens. Auction Extraordinary. I dreamed a dream in the midst of my slumbers, And declared that to save their own heart's blood from spilling Of such a vile tax they would not pay a shilling. And called out aloud, as he held up a man, The bachelors all were sold off in a trice: And forty old maidens, some younger, some older, Each lugged an old bachelor home on her shoulder. The Coquette. A PORTRAIT. "You're clever at drawing, I own," Said my beautiful cousin Lisette, As we sat by the window alone, Lucretia Davidson. "But say, can you paint a Coquette?" She's painted already," quoth I; "Nay, nay!" said the laughing Lisette, "Now none of your joking,- but try And paint me a thorough Coquette." "Well, cousin," at once I began In the ear of the eager Lisette, "I'll paint you as well as I can That wonderful thing a Coquette. She wears a most beautiful face (Of course! - said the pretty Lisette), And is n't deficient in grace, Or else she were not a Coquette. And then she is daintily made (A smile from the dainty Lisette) By people expert in the trade Of forming a proper Coquette. She's the winningest ways with the beaux She knows how to weep and to sigh In short, she's a creature of art |