before I forget. (Stops writing.) Did Miss Brown tell There was the apple Wil you any more—oh, I know! liam Tell shot from his son's head. Ellen. Yes, but we must not put that in yet. Miss Brown said we must tell about the apples a girl named Atlanta had. It was a very pretty story, but I began to wonder if the girl was named after Atlanta, and then I saw some June apples in a garden near by, and I wanted some so bad. And then she told us about some apples of Gomorrah-no, that is not right, but it sounded like some name in the Bible. Then there were some sort of golden apples that it was very hard to get, and there was the apple George Washington found in a dumpling. Mary (rising from her seat, and Ellen rising at the same time, both stand). Well, Ellen, I must thank you for telling me so much. You know if I have a talent for anything, it is for writing compositions; and with the outline you have given, I think I can make a very respectable essay. If you wish any help in arranging yours, it will give me pleasure to assist you. (Turns as if about to leave.) Ellen. O Mary, stop, wait! we must not put in exactly the same things, for then Miss Brown will think we helped each other, and I want that about Discord and William Tell for mine. Mary (angrily). No, indeed! I thought of William Tell myself, and I mean to put him in my essay, too. Ellen. Then you are just too mean and sneaking to associate with-after all my trouble in helping you, too. I hope you will never speak to me again! Mary. Indeed, miss, I am very happy in ending our acquaintance, for I am sure there can be neither pleas ure nor profit in it. Wishing you may receive a hundred on your brilliant production, I bid you good-evening. (Bows very low.) Ellen. And the same to you. (Both continue to bow until they reach the ends of stage.) FRA FONTI.-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS.* Written expressly for this collection. A noted criminal was to die,-to hang, And the town-heart throbbed pleasurably fast. "We'll take our grapes and eat them on the way; We'll see the sight-the first shall not be last." Fra Fonti came to me that day. "Signor, Listen! I hurry; confessions claim my time Till Angelus. Listen! and condemn me then! I and a brother were the only sons Of well-born parents-rest their souls! and when We were grown men our love an adage made; Together we on all occasions-e'en When he was ill, why I was ill; when joy Was mine his joy was like yon jasmine, keen, Perfumed with health. One day I loved. Just then My brother left me,—the day I knew I loved. I missed him less now that my fond love For him had merged in fonder. Tanta moved My soul beyond its duty, strength, and will; I was her slave, she'd have it so that not Dark shadows passed,-I feared her heart estranged; Oh, well! the story's long; of women's wiles For her sake,-brother, friends, e'en God, it seemed; A wily snake across my path, there sprang *See Note on page 100. The snake-red vengeance that should slake not till Before my foe death swung the scythe of gloom. To shorten still the story, let me say To keep my two hands white, I sought the aid Of mother-church-hatred drove me here To pray for pardon for my hatred. Laid Aside were all the nonsense and the thrall Of love for woman-I never thought of her! But fight I daily did the devil, who With one thought of my wrong my soul could stir. For years 'twas thus-for twenty years, no less. I rarely left the cloister, would not hear A word of him or her; their lives I dared not Think of, the devil and his wiles were much too near To trust the smallest firebrand. The enemy I thought that I had conquered. But this spring There was a murder; an angered man had wrung The lifeblood from his wife as one would wring The dew from out a kerchief. You guess they were The man and wife I knew. Yes! Then there came A vast joy to me,-the devil I long had put To rout I could in safety name, and laughing name The death I coveted for the hated man. And so the law, that is no murderer, Could do more than I dared, could kill the man Who'd ended little Tanta, she whose scorn My office. To heaven I send him. Aye, 'tis like a jest!" Fra Fonti left my room, a saint like smile In gloomy mood I know not. Sudden smiting through the gloom No more the hell-light made his eyes like coal; To find the font of life. His hands were linked He whispered, "would you care to hear the rest I cannot stand!-Air! air!-more air!-I smother! The man-I hated-who married her I loved, Who murdered her-and hanged!-- He was my brother!" THE QUARREL OF THE WHEELS.-T. D. ENGLISH. Then almost at my feet I heard, distinct, a voice's sound: It puzzled me at first; but soon the fact upon me broke, The fore-wheels of the wagon had thus to the hind-wheels spoke. I listened for the answer, and it came in accents low: "You're no further now before us than you were an hour ago!" I waited the rejoinder, but no further answer came; the same; And though I strained my hearing much, depressing well my head, By fore-wheels or by hind-wheels, not another word was said. Rolls along in his complacence, as he thinks, to name and fame, To find, the journey ended, his position just the same. The patient toiler struggles, but no inch beyond is gained; And he grumbles that, despite him, one position is maintained, Not reflecting that the Owner, who can everything control, Still speeds along the wagon o'er the steady roadway drawn, A WORD FOR CRANKS. Cranks, my son? The world is full of them. What would we do were it not for the cranks? How slowly the tired old world would move, did not the cranks keep it rushing along! Columbus was a crank on the subject of American discovery and circumnavigation, and at last he met the fate of most cranks,-was thrown into prison, and died in poverty and disgrace. Greatly venerated now ? Oh, yes, Telemachus, we usually esteem a crank most profoundly after we starve him to death. Harvey was a crank on the subject of the circulation of the blood; Galileo was an astronomical crank; Fulton was a crank on the subject of steam navigation; Morse was |