WHAT is to come we know not. But we know That what has been was good-was good to show, Better to hide, and best of all to bear.

We are the masters of the days that were:

We have lived, we have loved, we have suffered

even so.

Shall we not take the ebb who had the flow?
Life was our friend. Now, if it be our foe-
Dear, though it spoil and break us!—need we care
What is to come?

Let the great winds their worst and wildest blow,
Or the gold weather round us mellow slow:
We have fulfilled ourselves, and we can dare
And we can conquer, though we may not share
In the rich quiet of the afterglow

What is to come.

Aquí está encerrada el alma del licenciado Pedro Garcías.

GIL BLAS AU LECTEUR.

TO MY MOTHER

CHIMING a dream by the way
With ocean's rapture and roar,
I met a maiden to-day

Walking alone on the shore:
Walking in maiden wise,

Modest and kind and fair,

The freshness of spring in her eyes
And the fulness of spring in her hair.

Cloud-shadow and scudding sun-burst
Were swift on the floor of the sea,
And a mad wind was romping its worst,
But what was their magic to me ?
Or the charm of the midsummer skies?

I only saw she was there,

A dream of the sea in her eyes

And the kiss of the sea in her hair.