Lizzie's share in the tiny house. But Ted was sullen and said There was a gloom about him that he felt would never lift. Well, so that May day passed, then the night came on, and when "Twas time the guests should start for home, Lizzie would go alone. Alice came to the door with her. "Lizzie," said she, and then She stopped. Lizzie looked at her with eyes that seemed like stone. "Alice," she whispers, "you love him?" "Yes;" says Alice, "I do." Then Ted came up, and Lizzie laughs: “My friend of many a year, You love where you are loved, Ted." "That's true," says he, "but you While you are living, Lizzie, I will always have a fear That I have treated you badly. Yet love is love to the end; And Alice I've always loved, although I used to call you my own. I'm truer to you in telling the truth; yet I've wronged you, and that will tend To keep me unhappy as long as you live." Poor Lizzie gave a groan, And drearily said: "As long as I live." Without another word, She walked out through the dark. Next day they found her down in the dam; They said she fell past the rotten rail. But up in the house was heard A sound of woe as Alice remembered Ted's speech: "I am Unhappy as long as you live;" and she thought of Lizzie's stony eyes; While Ted was moaning: "I've killed her; she's killed herself for me!" Oh, yes, 'twas called an accident; it may have been they're wise Who account for things on principle; but the unwise sometimes see. And it's kind of you in coming here to look at the place where your Young seamstress died. Yes, ma'am, I'm poor, a laundress. Thanks for the fee! What of Ted? He died of fever, just a month after Lizzie, You're sure Alice was thoroughly wicked? Let God judge!-I am she! GRANDMA'S SHAMROCKS.-E. A. SUTTON. "Here gran'ma, here's a present, it has come a distance, too, 'Tis a little pot of shamrocks, and it comes addressed to you! Yes, all the way from Ireland, and the card here mentions more, They were gathered at your birthplace on the banks of Avonmore." "From Ireland! do you tell me? O darling, is it true? Acushla, let me feel them-and you say 'twas there they grew? Why, I can scarce believe it; is it really what you say? From my birth-place in old Ireland! poor old Ireland far away. "I'm old and stiff and feeble, and in darkness, God be praised, Yet, Kittie, how it stirs me, how my poor old heart is raised, "These blessed little shamrocks! I can't see them, yet I know They bring me back the eyesight of the happy long ago, And rushing thro' the darkness comes the picture that I love, The dear green fields of Ireland and the sunny sky above. "I see, as once I saw them, when a girl like you I stood Amid the furze and heather-there's the chapel, hill and wood; There's the abbey clad with ivy, and the river's winding shore, And the boys and girls all playing on the banks of Avon more. "God bless the little shamrocks, then, for calling back the scene, The beauty of the sunshine, the brightness of the green. 86 And, though I'm truly thankful for the blessing that God's hand Has brought around me, Kittie, in this great and happy land, I can't forget the old home, midst the comforts of the new; My heart is three parts buried where these little shamrocks grew." LITTLE CARL.-AMELIA H. BOTSFORD. Hans Baum, the cobbler, lived in a quaint little town in Fatherland. He had one son, whom he meant to bring up to his own trade, that after his death the old shop might continue to have for its sign; "Baum, cobbler." Now, there was in the old town a grand cathedral, and, day after day, little Carl might be found there listening to the music of the great organ. When he came home at nights his father would say: "Well, Carlchen, where hast thou been to-day? Hast thou played in the streets with naughty boys?" And Carl would answer, "Nay, my father; I have been in the church to hear Herr Ulrich play on the great organ." 66 Tut, tut; better enjoy thyself with other boys." "But, father, I was happy, very happy, all day long. When Herr Ulrich played I saw the angels of the notes." "What dost thou mean, boy? 'Why, father, didst thou never see the angel when a note is struck? Yesterday, when Herr Ulrich played joyous songs, the merry child angels clambered up the great organ pipes, perched on the carved pinnacles, and swung to and fro with peals of laughter; but when he played the solemn anthems, fair, grave-eyed nuns walked slow and stately by, with hands folded as if in prayer." "Child, thou hast been sleeping and dreamed the angels and saints stepped down from the painted windows." "I did not dream, father, dear; I really saw them." But Hans gravely shook his head, and warned his son against saying things that were not true. So Carl did not speak of it again, but day by day, he grew fonder of listening to the music, until it seemed his native air, and when away even for a few hours he drooped and pined as though in a strange land. The old organist learned to watch for the boy who came and listened so attentively. Once or twice, indeed, he spoke to him, but Carl was shy, and dared not say a word of the strange emotions the music awakened in his heart. But this pleasant, idle life of Carl's could not last forever, and a rude hand was ready to shake the aircastle about the enchanted dreamer's ears. One day in the early springtime old Mother Schweitz came to Hans' shop with a pair of shoes to be mended. While the work was being done, she sat down and talked of one thing and another, until at last she said: "When are you going to set that boy of yours to work? It's a pity for so fine a lad to be idling away his time. There's nothing like work for keeping boys out of mischief." And Hans made answer slowly, while he pegged away at the shoe in his lap, "Well, I've been thinking of that myself, lately. But there's plenty of time-he's young yet." "He is too old to be doing nothing; he is older I know than my two boys, who are at work. But I suppose you are so rich that you can afford to bring up your son in luxury. I don't think it is right for parents to drudge all their lives that their children may live without work; and I should not think a good son would be so careless of his father's comfort. There's Peter and Franz; they always-" "Well, never mind, neighbor," interrupted Hans, "here's your shoe," and he gave a sigh of relief as the door closed behind her. But the words she had said remained shut in with the cobbler, to buzz about him until they finally found a lodging in his perplexed brain as a thought and plan of his very own. The day wore wearily away; slowly but steadily worked the cobbler at his bench; while ever and anon he would push up his spectacles and look out into the quiet street. Across the way in the blacksmith shop, where neighbor Trant hammered the glowing iron on his anvil, Franz Trant was busily at work helping his father. A wagon passed, and perched on the seat beside his father, a little rosy-cheeked child was chattering away. The sunshine on the floor had reached the noon mark, but Carl had not yet come. School was out, and Hans looking up at the noisy shouts, saw the school-children racing by; but Carl was not among them; and with a sigh he turned to his work again. At last evening came, and with it Carl. Hans seemed ill at ease. He began sentences and stopped short with an anxious look at Carl. After supper he kicked his work impatiently aside, and said: "Carl, why dost thou never stay at home now? Dost think that thy old father does not miss thee?" "But I am so happy in the church, father. Oh! I wish that thou couldst be there with me?" "Nay, I must stay at home and work all day long while my son is dreaming. Other men's children love them and are a help to them, but my boy does not wish to help me, he would rather be wasting his time away from home." "Why, father, I love thee dearly; and what hast thou ever asked of me that I have not done?" "Thou hast been dutiful--while I have let thee have thy own way. But if I bid thee stay at home and help me in the shop?" "O father! must I?" "Why thou shouldst be glad to do something for me, much as I have done for thee. Nay, nay, I did not say thou must. Thou mayst do as thou likest. Go, enjoy thyself, and forget that thy old father is working hard all day." "O father, thou dost not know how hard it will be; but I will be good. Only let me have one day more." All night Carl tossed uneasily to and fro. And in his dreams sounded strains of wild, sad music that died away |