then; now, she must use all her skill and power to manage the boat and get it out of the current.

With new resolution, Maggie seized her oar and stood up to paddle; but the ebbing tide added to the swiftness of the river, and she was carried along beyond the bridge. She could hear shouts from the windows overlooking the river, as if the people there were calling to her. Then she took to both oars and rowed with all her might toward the mill. Color was beginning to awake now, and she could discern the tints of the trees; could see the old Scotch firs and the horse-chestnuts-oh, how deep they lay in the water! And the roof of the mill, where was it? Those heavy fragments hurrying down the Ripple-what had they meant? But it was not the house; the house stood firm; drowned up to the first story, but still firm.

With panting joy that she was there at last, Maggie neared the front of the house. At first she heard no sound; saw no object moving. Her boat was on a level with the upstairs window. called out:

"Tom, where are you? Mother, where are you? Here is Maggie!"

Soon from the window of the attic in the central gable, she heard Tom's voice:

"Who is it? Have you brought a boat?"

"It is I, Tom-Maggie. Where is mother?"

"She is not here; she went to Gorum, the day before yesterday. I'll come down to the lower window. Alone, Maggie?" said Tom, in astonishment, as he opened the window on a level with the boat. "Yes, Tom. God has taken care of me, to bring me to you. Get in quickly. Is there no one else?"

66

"No," said Tom, stepping into the boat. "I fear the man is drowned; he was carried down the Ripple, I think, when part of the mill fell. I've shouted again and again, and there has been no answer. Give me the oars, Maggie."

It was not till Tom had pushed off and they were on the wide water that the full meaning of what had happened rushed upon him. It came with so overpowerin force that he was unable to

ask a question. They sat mutely gazing at each other: Maggie with eyes of intense life looking out from a weary, beaten face, Tom pale with a certain awe and humiliation. Thought was busy though the lips were silent; and though he could ask no question, he guessed a story of almost miraculous, divinely-protected effort. But at last a mist gathered over the blue-gray eyes, and the lips found a word they could utter: the old, childish "Magsie!"

Maggie could make no answer but a long, deep sob of that mysterious, wondrous happiness that is one with pain. As soon as she could speak, she said: "We will go to Lucy, Tom; we'll go and see if she is safe, and then we can help the rest."

Tom rowed with untired vigor, and with a different speed from poor Maggie's. The boat was soon in the current of the river again.

66

"Park House stands high up out of the flood," said Maggie. Perhaps they have got Lucy there."

Nothing else was said; a new danger was being carried toward them by the river. Some machinery had given way on one of the wharves, and huge fragments were being floated along. The sun was rising now, and the wide area of watery desolation was spread out in dreadful clearness around them. A company in a boat that was working its way along observed their danger and shouted, "Get out of the current!"

But that could not be done at once; and Tom, looking before him, saw death rushing on them. Huge fragments, clinging together in fatal fellowship, made one wide mass across the stream.

"It is coming, Maggie!" Tom said, in a deep, hoarse voice, loosing the oars and clasping her.

The next instant the boat was no longer seen upon the water, and the huge mass was hurrying on in hideous triumph.

Soon the boat reappeared; but brother and sister had gone down in an embrace never to be parted; living through again, in one supreme moment, the days when they had clasped their little hands in love, and roamed the daisied fields together,

THE PEACOCK ON THE WALL.

S1

IR EASY LOVEWELL chanced to fall in love-
(His heart by nature formed to catch like tinder)
With a fair maiden, named Miss Dolly Dove,

And stole her from a boarding-school back window.
Stole her heyday!

Well, madam, where's the wonder?

He bought a little country-seat

A most delightful rural box,

'Midst woods, and vales, and rocks,

On which were grazing pretty little flocks,

In short, a paradise complete.

And here, some time, they lived in clover;
But, ere the honeymoon was quite, quite over,
The sweet diversity of hill and dale,
My lady thought, grew rather stale!
She didn't like the hills and rocks,

She found, how strange, that they were steepish;
She couldn't bear the pretty little flocks,

Because she thought the little flocks looked sheepish!

Sir Easy, you must know, was fond of farming;
He had been planning new canals and drains,
And ta'en a monstrous deal of pains.

One day, when he had been explaining

His fine improvements, he the question put

Of, "How d'ye like 'em?" "Very well, love, but "—

"But!" cries the knight, "but what! why, aren't they charming?"

For this exception put him in a fright;

There was an end of all his cuts,

His new canals and draining.

In that one word he saw his project's ruin;
And well enough he might,

For when a man hears talk of butts,

He naturally thinks there's something brewing:

"My dear," exclaims his spouse,

"The house is much too small,
"Tis scarce an habitation for a mouse;
And, though the country's very well,
Yet I'm sure I could not dwell
In it for good and all."

Now good Sir Easy, at the best,
Was never very fond of ranging,
And nothing did he more detest
Than habitation-changing;
However, to oblige his spouse,

As she, alas! had weary grown,
He sold his pretty little house,

And took a spacious mansion up in town.

She came, she saw, but still it was not right.
Such suites of rooms; of stairs, too, such a train;
"My dear Sir Easy, we must move again!'

He moved again. House after house he tried,
But still my lady was not satisfied;

One was too light, another was too dark,
This had no grounds, that too large a park!
At length our knight, quite weary of his life,
Began to argue with his wife.

He once was fat, but now so thin was grown,
His waist, a lady might have spanned it;
(So wonderful was the disparity).

He lit'rally was naught but skin and bone,

He told her that his spirits could not stand it;

Quite to a skeleton this roving wore him,

And certainly for one who loved hilarity,

Events like these were quite too moving for him. "Besides," says he,

"What other husband in the world would be Sent like a card of compliments about

From house to house? I say, 'tis plaguey hard!
And if you mean to keep up this vagary,
Drat me, ma'am, but I'd rather be a card!
And then, ma'am, if I were sent out,
At least, I should be stationary!"

Thus, having given his passion vent,
He soon grew cool;

And two hours after, forth he went
Like a good-natured fool,

And bought another house,

To make a final trial of his spouse.

He pitched on one i' the outskirts of the city; You couldn't point out one more neat and pretty. "Twas not too large, 'twas not too small;

'Twas not too low, 'twas not too tall;

Neither in country, nor in town,
But set in happy medium down.

My lady viewed it round and round,
And not a fault was to be found.
The knight exults, his cares are past,
And he shall happy live at last.
Alas! how blind is man,

Of disappointments how unwitting!

One morn, at breakfast sitting,

The conversation on contentment ran:

"My dear," exclaims the knight, in pleasant strain, You've nothing now of which you can complain."

"No, nothing, love, but—”

Madam, I plainly see

"But again!

You want to make a butt of me!"