A dull and sullen roar, a shaking dread,
A crash! And Eunice tottered to her feet.
"Philip is here," she cried;
"he waits for me,

To take me o'er the sea beyond the North.
Up! Let me go! She tore upon the skins
Outstretched to bar the cold, tore, till they lay
Down crumpled at her feet. And then there was

A miracle-the sun had come again
And shone upon the frozen sea and called
A million suns up from the ice to kiss
Their brother in the sky. But Eunice with
A cry of " Philip! Philip!"

And faced the rising light.

dashed from the hut
They followed her,

She sped before them, her thin, gray hair fallen down,
Her withered arms outstretched, crying the name
Of him she loved, of him she'd waited for

Until she was a woman old and mad.

Their hands were close upon her, when she stopped→
There was a crevice in the glittering ice

Made by last night's throes. She looked-she fell,
And "Philip! Philip!" rang her thrilling voice,
And, "Philip! Philip!" shot the loved name

Across the miles and miles of solid sea.

She fell and clasped the crevice, then was still.

They reached her; she moved not. They lifted her→ To let her fall again, for Philip had

Waited indeed. Deep in the crevice, 'neath

A glaze of glassy ice they saw a man,

Fair, beautiful in youth-'twas Philip Grey !
There had he lain for all these many years,
Frozen, waiting for this one small day;

There was he fair and young; and there was she
Old, worn and haggard-but cold and still
As he her face laid next. Who dares to say
He had not found the open sea beyond
The closed North, -the sea that led to iove's
Eternal shore! Who dares to say he had
Not waited there for Eunice, as young as when
She knew him in the days when she was young!
Who dares to say she had not seen for years
The sight that touched these other eyes to-day!
Who dares to say but that, hand clasped in hand,
Philip and Eunice crossed the sea and stood
Upon the shore where He who died for love

Waits ever but to bless the souls who come

In wealth of truth and love to lean upon
His heart as they have leant upon His word--
So close they felt His heart-beats through their hope!
In the clear crevice Eunice old they laid
Beside young Philip, face to face, and heart
To heart, and in the sunlight moved away,
Awe in their souls, toward the liquid South.

DEVOTION TO DUTY.-D. N. SHELLEY.

Young men of America! You on whom rests the future of the Republic! You, who are to become not only our citizens but our law-makers: Remember your responsi bilities, and, remembering, prepare for them.

As the great universe is order and harmony only through the perfection of its laws, so in life and human government, the happiness and prosperity of a people depend on the orderly subservience of act and thought to the good of the whole.

Be great, therefore, in small things. If it is your ambition to be a citizen reverenced for his virtues, remember that nothing is more admirable than devotion to duty, and the more admirable as that duty leads to self-sacrifice in others' behalf.

When Pompeii was exhumed, a few years ago, after lying under the cinders of Vesuvius about eighteen hundred years, the body of a Roman soldier was discovered at the Herculaneum gate of the city. He evidently had been placed there as a sentinel-and there, amid the accumulated horrors of that August day, he unflinchingly remained.

He stood at his post while the earth rocked and shivered beneath his feet. He stood at his post while the grim old mountain towering above him was thundering from base to summit. He stood at his post while the air, surcharged with smoke and ashes, was impenetrable to the sight,

though lit up with a lurid glare scarcely less than infernal by the flames bursting and roaring all around him. He stood at his post while the men, women and children of the doomed city were screaming with affright and agony, as they surged through its narrow streets in their maddening efforts to pass the gates to the open country. He stood at his post till enveloped in the mantle of a fiery death!

O hero of the dead city! Step out from your ashen shroud and exalt us by the lesson of your death. When the very earth rocked beneath your feet, and the heavens seemed falling, you stood on guard,—a sentinel to the gate that protected the city; and standing there were entombed, a sacrifice to duty. Awful death, but oh, how sublime is its lesson! Who would not honor such heroism? Build there a mausoleum, for one greater than princes and kings has hallowed that spot, and humanity itself will worship there.

-

Emulate this heroism. In whatever position of life you are placed, be true to the trust reposed in you; then the Republic is safe. Go forth with a heart glowing, not with the fires of a lordly ambition, to ride to power over opposition and against the wishes of your fellowmen, but with the flame of an honest purpose to be a good citizen and an ornament to the State that Then, indeed, shall you be great.

gave you birth.

POETICAL COURTSHIP.-L. P. HILLS.

By permission of the Author,

Some years ago, in an Eastern town,
There lived a girl named Susan Brown,
Who, through the country up and down,
Obtained considerable renown;

Not for any special grace

Of intellect, or form, or face;

For certainly it would be vain,

To deny that she was extremely plain.

Her form was remarkably short and stout,
Her complexion was like a speckled trout,
Her eyes were the color of well skimmed milk
And her hair like a snarl of crimson silk,
Tinged with the vivid tint that lies
In the glowing autumn sunset skies;
In fact, so red, I've heard it said,
That often in the night, it shed
Upon the darkness such a glow
The roosters all began to crow.

For, seeing the light shine out in the night,
So exceedingly red and uncommonly bright,
The birds, which isn't at all surprising,
Supposed, of course, the sun was rising,
And so they crowed with all their might.

But Susan had one saving grace,
Aside from mind, or form, or face;
For every one in the village knew
Her paternal parent was rich as a Jew;
In fact, possessed of a million or two;
And so, each impecunious bach'
Thought, for a matrimonial match,
Susan would make a most elegant catch.

Now, in the selfsame village, where
Lived the heiress of this millionaire,
There dwelt a youth, surpassing fair,
With coal black eyes and raven hair,
Named, Charles Augustus James St. Clair;
His accomplishments were many and rare,
And he bore himself with a courtly air,
Which a modern school-girl would declare
Was quite distingue and militaire.
And as far as anyone could see,

Only a single fault had he,

Which was impecuniosity;

For the truth must be told,

That, in silver and gold,

Like Mr. Lazarus of old,

He was as poor as poor could be,—

Poor as a pauper, without a cent;

Poor as a church mouse-during Lent;

Or even poorer still than that,

Poor as a country parsonage rat.

Yet, despite his poverty, all the same,
This youth with the long euphonious name,
Deciared his soul was all aflame

With a passion which no power could tame,
For the girl with the golden hair and fame;
And when the village gossips came

To whisper slyly in his ear

That Susan Brown was 1ather queer,
Or, when some envious maiden said
That Susan's temper, like her head,
Was a perfect snarl, and a fiery red,
He only smiled his blandest smile,
Childlike it seemed, though full of guile,
And snapped his fingers at their warning.
And all their sage advices scorning,

Declared that he would woo and win her,
Although “Old Nick " himself were in her.

Alas! my muse must here proclaim,
That, in the matrimonial game,

'Tis often wealth, not worth, that wins,
And gold we see, like charity,

Can hide a multitude of sins.

But to resume: one Sabbath night,

When moon and stars were shining bright,
Our Charles Augustus James St. Clair
Arrayed himself with special care,
In a broadcloth suit, glossy and new,
(For which he had paid with an I. O. U.)
And sallied forth to meet the maid
On whom his future hopes were staid,
Determined, without more debate,
That night he would decide his fate.

While silently wandering on his way,
And carefully pondering what to say,
He framed a speech, brim full of lies,
Such as we know all ladies prize,
Of features fair, and glossy hair,
And mental graces rich and rare,
And ruby lips and sparkling eyes.

And being æsthetic, and somewhat poetic,
And having a voice that was very magnetic,