What thoughts welled up within his breast,
As on that group he gazed,

What gleams of holy light from heaven,
Upon his dark soul blazed!

Had he by password gained access,
To the dark catacomb,

And learned the hope of Christ's beloved,
Beyond the rack, the tomb?

The proud Vespasian o'er him bends,
"My priceless architect,
To-day I will announce to all

Thy privilege elect,

A free made citizen of Rome."
Calmly Gaudentis rose,

And folding o'er his breast, his arms,
Turned to the Saviour's foes;
And in a strength not all his own,
With life and death in view,
The fearless architect exclaimed,
"I am a Christian, too."

Only a few brief moments passed,
And brave Gaudentis lay
Within the amphitheatre,
A lifeless mass of clay.

Vespasian promised him the rights
Of proud imperial Rome;

But Christ with martyrs crowned him king,
Beneath heaven's cloudless dome.

THE NOBLE REVENGE.

The coffin was a plain one,

—a poor miserable pine cof fin. No flowers on the top; no lining of white satin for the pale brow; no smooth ribbons about the coarse shroud. The brown hair was laid decently back, but there was no crimped cap with neat tie beneath the chin. The sufferer from cruel poverty smiled in her sleep; she had found bread, rest and health.

"I want to see my mother," sobbed a poor little child, as the undertaker screwed down the top.

"You cannot; get out of the way, boy; why don't somebody take the brat?"

"Only let me see her one minute!" cried the helpless orphan, clutching the side of the charity box, and as he gazed upon the rough box, agonized tears streamed down the cheeks on which no childish bloom ever lingered. Oh! it was painful to hear him cry the words, "Only once, let me see mother only once!"

Quickly and brutally the heartless monster struck the boy away, so that he reeled with the blow. For a moment he stood panting with grief and rage; his blue eyes distended, his lips sprang apart, fire glittered through his eyes as he raised his little arm with a most unchildish laugh, and screamed, "When I am a man, I'll be revenged for that!"

There was a coffin and a heap of earth between the mother and the poor forsaken child;--a monument much stronger than granite, built in the boy's heart, keeping fresh the memory of the heartless deed.

The court-house was crowded to suffocation.

"Does any one appear as this man's counsel?" asked the judge.

There was a silence when he had finished, until, with lips tightly pressed together, and a look of strange intelligence blended with a haughty reserve upon his handsome features, a young man stepped forward with a firm tread and kindly eye to plead for the erring, friendless one. He was a stranger, but at the first sentence there was silence. The splendor of his genius enhanced, convinced.

The man who had been friendless was acquitted.
"May God bless you, sir; I cannot," he said.
"I want no thanks," replied the stranger.
"I-I-I believe you are unknown to me."

"Man, I will refresh your memory. Twenty years ago, this day, you struck a broken-hearted little boy away from his dear mother's coffin. I was that boy."

The man turned livid.

"Have you rescued me then, to take my life?"

"No, I have a sweeter revenge. I have saved the life of a man whose brutal conduct has rankled in my breast for the last twenty years. Go then, and remember the tears of that friendless child."

The man bowed his head in shame, and went from the presence of magnanimity as grand to him as it was incomprehensible.

TO THOSE ABOUT TO MARRY.

That certain little hypocrisies are sometimes practised upon each other by young ladies and gentlemen in the matrimonial mood, is scarcely a matter of doubt; but the appended simple narrative of one of the devices by which an ardent maiden may be able to preserve an appearance of invincible amiability before her lover, seems almost incredible, although given upon good authority.

When Jacob courted Mary Jane,

A lass without a fault, he thought her,
And every evening, fair or rain,

Attired in all his best, he sought her.
She's honest, true, and kind, said he,
As she is pretty in her features;
And if she'll only marry me,

We'll be the happiest of creatures.

His parents, hearing how he felt,
And noticing his eager flurry,

Said: "Son, be cautious. She won't melt,
Don't be in such a precious hurry!

Her family are not renowned

For being quite as meek as Moses,
And some who married in it found
No end of thorns among their roses."

“I'll try her temper," Jacob cried,
"In all the ways by spite invented;"
But e'er a dozen tricks he'd tried,

His own good nature sore repented;
The more he teased to make her mad,
Instead of vixen spunk revealing,
She only seemed as meekly sad

As comes of wounded, tender feeling.

No longer seeing room to doubt

That she was mild beyond expression,
Our Jacob brought the question out,
And she surrendered at discretion.
In proper course the wedding came

With orange blooms and tears and laughter; A bridal tour to crown the same,

And a pretty cottage home thereafter.

But, ah, alas for Jacob's peace!

Ere yet the honeymoon was over,

His Mary's temper broke the lease

He thought he had on life in clover. From being gentle as of old,

And shedding tears when he'd offend her, She turned into a perfect scold,

As ugly as the Witch of Endor!

Astounded at the fearful change,

And wondering how he had been blinded, The hapless man could not arrange The question's answer as he minded; Till at her father's house, one day, He put the query, quite emphatic; “How did you take me in, that way?"

Said she, "I'll show you in the attic."

And then they climbed the garret stairs,
Till, standing under beams unnumbered,
The lady showed, with mocking airs,

A central post with braces cumbered; "You see it's nearly worn in twain,

Or seems to be, with weight it's carried;
But with my teeth I gnawed the grain,
A fortnight, just, before we married.

"Whenever you would tease me most,
And then had gone, and left me beaming,
I used to come and gnaw that post,

To keep myself from raging screaming! I knew you'd never know your mind,

If temper I should show forbade you." Said Jacob, "That, my dear, was kind; But don't I wish some other had you!"

As the weaver makes his shuttle Hither, thither, scud and scuttle. Threads in single, threads in double; How they mingle, what a trouble! Every color, what profusion!

Every motion, what confusion!

While the web and woof are mingling,

Signal bells above are jingling,—

Telling how each figure ranges,
Telling when the color changes,
As the weaver makes his shuttle
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.

The weaver at his loom is sitting,
Throws his shuttle to and fro;
Mid the noise and wild confusion,
Well the weaver seems to know,
As he makes his shuttle go,

What each motion

And commotion,

What each fusion

And confusion,

In the grand result will show.

Weaving daily,

Singing gaily,

As he makes his busy shuttle
Hither, thither, scud and scuttle.

The weaver at his loom is sitting,
Throws his shuttle to and fro;