But this thought came ere yet I spake,
And froze the sentence on my lips:
"They err, who marry wives that make
Those little slips."

It came like some familiar rhyme,
Some copy to my boyhood set;
And that's perhaps the reason I'm
Unmarried yet.

Would she have owned how pleased she was,
And told her love with widow's pride?

I never found out that-because

I never tried.

Be kind to babes and beasts and birds:

Hearts may be hard, though lips are coral;
And angry words are angry words:

And that's the moral.

SCENE FROM "FLEURANGE."

MME. AUGUSTUS CRAVEN.

[Dramatized for this collection.]

LEURANGE [discovered, seated, reading card]. "The Countess

FLE

Vera von Liningen. Will Mademoiselle Fleurange d'Yves have the kindness to see me a moment?" Vera! Countess Vera! [Enter VERA.] What, is it you, mademoiselle? Forgive me that I had not guessed it at once; but this morning I did not know the name of her who treats me so kindly.

VERA. You did not know my name this morning, but had you never heard it spoken before to-day?

FLEUR. Never would be scarcely exact

VERA. No matter. I do not care to know when or how you may

have heard it. I can easily understand that very little has been said to you concerning me.

FLEUR. If you have been entrusted with a message for me, mademoiselle, how can I thank you sufficiently for having taken the trouble to bring it to me yourself? [Vera hastily withdraws her hand, in which she holds a paper, aud retreats a few steps.] Countess Vera, if I have not conjectured rightly the motive which brings you here, tell me the truth. There is going on between us at this moment something which I do not understand. Be sincere; I will be so, too. Let us not remain like this toward one another. Above all, do not look at me as if I were not only a stranger, but an enemy.

VERA. Enemy? Well-it is true.
FLEUR. What do you mean?

At this moment we are so!

VERA. You are right. I must put an end to your suspense, and explain to you my strange conduct; but I need courage to do it, and to come here as I have done, to address myself to you, as I am about to do, there must have been-without my knowing why

FLEUR. Well, what else?

VERA. There must have been in my heart a secret instinct which assured me that you were good and generous!

FLEUR. This is enough by way of introduction. Speak clearly, Countess Vera; tell me all without reserve; you may believe me when I beseech you to have no fear. Though your words were to do me a harm which at this moment I can neither foresee nor comprehend, speak; I require it of you; hesitate no longer.

VERA. Well, then-here! [She suddenly throws upon the table a paper, which FLEURANGE takes up.]

FLEUR. My petition! You bring it back to me? It has been refused, then?

VERA. No: it has not been sent.

FLEUR. You mean to say that the Empress, after having shown so much kindness toward me, has changed her mind, and refused to undertake it?

VERA. No.

She has given orders to me, on the contrary, to

send your petition, and to add to it her own recommendation.

FLEUR. Well?

VERA. I have disobeyed her orders.

FLEUR. I await the explanation which you are no doubt intending to give me. Go on without interrupting yourself; I shall

listen.

VERA. Well, then, first of all, answer me. Did you know that George von Walden was the husband who was promised to me-for whom my father destined me from childhood?

FLEUR. Who was promised you-from childhood? No, I did not know it. But no matter; go on.

VERA. It is true. It is no matter; this is not the question, although I was obliged to refer to it. It is no longer a question of his misfortune, of his fearful sentence, of that frightful Siberia, to which you propose to accompany him-to share a fate which you can neither alleviate, nor, possibly, endure yourself. The question is, now, to save him from this destiny, to give back to him life, honor, liberty, all that he has lost. His estates, his fortune, his rank, all may yet be restored to him. This is what I have come

to tell you, and to ask you to aid in its accomplishment! FLEUR. All this can be restored to him! By what means? By whose power?

VERA. That of the Emperor invoked, and of his clemency obtained through my entreaties; but upon two conditions, one of which is imposed upon George, the other depending upon me. To these two conditions is joined a third, and that one rests with youwith you only!

FLEUR. Finish, I implore you! Finish if you are not dreaming in saying such words to me, or I in hearing them-if we are not both mad-you and I!

VERA. Oh, I beseech you, have mercy upon him!

FLEUR. I am listening.

VERA. This morning, at the moment when I had just read your petition, and learned, for the first time, who the exile was whom

you desired to follow-at this very moment the Emperor arrived at the palace, and sent for me.

FLEUR. The Emperor?

VERA. Yes. And do you know what he wished to say to me? You do not guess what it was, and I can understand readily why you should not, for you do not know with what ardor I have solicited pardon for George; how eagerly I have brought together, to this end, all the facts in the case which might disarm his sovereign's anger against him. What the Emperor wished to say was this, that he deigned to grant me this favor-to grant it to me, Fleurange: Do you understand? But on two conditions.

FLEUR. His pardon! Go on. I am listening.

VERA. The first, that he should pass four years on his estates in Livonia, without stirring thence

FLEUR. And the second?

VERA. Then, that the wish of my father and of his should be fulfilled before his departure.

FLEUR. His pardon is upon that condition?

VERA. Yes. The Emperor has taken an interest in me from my childhood. He loved my father, and it has pleased him to attach this act of clemency to this fulfilment of my father's wish.

FLEUR. And he? He will accept his pardon, with this condition-without hesitating, will he not?

This

VERA. Without hesitation? That is what I cannot say. very doubt humiliates and alarms me, for the Emperor would regard the least hesitation as a new ingratitude, and perhaps might retract his pardon.

FLEUR. But why should he hesitate?

VERA. Fleurange! Let us break each other's hearts, if we must, but let us go to the very end of this. It has been permitted you to see George since you have been here?

FLEUR. NO.

VERA. But he is expecting you; he knows that you have come, and what devotion has brought you to him?

FLEUR. No: he knows nothing of it as yet, and is not to know until to-morrow.

VERA. Then, it rests with you that he does not hesitate that he is saved! Yes, Fleurange, let him never know that you are here. Let him never see you again—never again, and life will once more become for him beautiful, brilliant, happy-what it was, what it ought always to be-and the memory of these few months will fade away like a dream.

FLEUR. Like a dream!

VERA. I have told you all. I have done you an injury that I can understand better than any other person can. But I wish to save George! I desired him to be restored to me, and I believed— I know not why, for it seems most unreasonable-yes, I believed that you would be willing to aid me against yourself! FLEUR. It is enough; you have done right. as if I were far away—as if I had never come. which lies upon the table, tears it across, throws it in the fire, and watches it till the flames die away.]

A DEAD LETTER.

AUSTIN DOBSON.

DREW it from its china tomb;

It came out feebly scented

With some thin ghost of past perfume,
That time and years had lent it.

An old, old letter,-folded still!
To read with due composure
I sought the sunlit window-sill
Above the gray enclosure.

Act fearlessly; act [Takes the petition,

"Dear John (the letter ran), it can't, can't be,
For father's gone to Chorley Fair with Sam;
And mother's storing apples,-Prue and me
Up to our elbows making damson jam:
But we shall meet before a week is gone,-

''Tis a long lane that has no turning,' John.