" Good-night, papa," sounded from the stairs. What was there in the voice? was it the echo of the mandate, “ Bring me the babe?"'—a silvery plaintive sound, a lingering music that touched the father's heart, as when a cloud crosses the sun. "Good-night, my darling;" but his lips quivered and his broad brow grew pale. "Is Jessie sick, mother? Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes have a strange light." "Not sick," and the mother stooped to kiss the flushed brow; "she may have played too much. Pet is not sick?" "Jessie tired, mamma; good-night, papa; Jessie see you in the morning." "That is all, she is only tired," said the mother as she took the small hand. Another kiss and the father turned away; but his heart was not satisfied. Sweet lullabies were sung; but Jessie was restless and could not sleep. "Tell me a story, mamma ;" and the mother told of the blessed babe that Mary cradled, following along the story till the child had grown to walk and play. The blue, wide open eyes filled with a strange light, as though she saw and comprehended more than the mother knew. That night the father did not visit the saloon; tossing on his bed, starting from a feverish sleep and bending over the crib, the long weary hours passed. Morning revealed the truth-Jessie was smitten with the fever. 66 Keep her quiet," the doctor said; "a few days of good nursing, and she will be all right." Words easy said; but the father saw a look on the sweet face such as he had seen before. He knew the messenger was at the door. Night came. "Jessie is sick; can't say good-night, papa;' and the little clasping fingers clung to the father's hand. "O God, spare her! I cannot, cannot bear it!" was wrung from his suffering heart. Days passed; the mother was tireless in her watching. With her babe cradled in her arms her heart was slow to take in the truth, doing her best to solace the father's heart; A light case! the doctor says, Pet will soon be well." Calmly as one who knows his doom, the father laid his hand upon the hot brow, looked into the eyes even then covered with the film of death, and with all the strength of his manhood cried, "Spare her, O God! spare my child, and I will follow thee." With a last painful effort the parched lips opened: "Jessie's too sick; can't say good-night, papa-in the morning." There was a convulsive shudder, and the clasping fingers relaxed their hold; the messenger had taken the child. Months have passed. Jessie's crib stands by the side of her father's couch; her blue embroidered dress and white hat hang in his closet; her boots with the print of her feet just as she had last worn them, as sacred in his eyes as they are in the mother's. Not dead, but merely risen to a higher life; while, sounding down from the upper stairs, “Goodnight, papa, Jessie see you in the morning," has been the means of winning to a better way one who had shown himseif deaf to every former call. REVERIE IN CHURCH.-GEO. A. BAKER, JR. Too early of course! How provoking! I told ma just how it would be. I might as well have on a wrapper, I know my suit cost more than her's did, I do think that sexton's too stupid He's put some one else in our pew And the girl's dress just kills mine completely; The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet! For people to get late to service, Just to make a great show coming in. I declare it would serve her just right. Of that bonnet if Virot did make it, And those coat-sleeves-they wore them last summer- So dreadful!-a minister's wife, And thinking so much about fashion!— The altar's dressed sweetly-I wonder Who sent those white flowers for the font !- So devout-I suppose she don't know Why will these old things dress so gay? And there's Jenny Wells with Fred TracyShe's engaged to him now-horrid thing! Dear me! I'd keep on my glove sometimes, If I did have a solitaire ring! How can this girl next to me act so The way that she turns round and stares, Through at last. Well, it isn't so dreadful -Scribner's Monthly. THE RUINS OF BABYLON.-HUSENBETH. The desert was my dwelling,-and I stood She of the brazen gates and loftiest towers NUMBER TEN. Reared on her mighty walls; she that o'erlooked Of wealth, the springs of glory and dominion Come and contemplate! come and read the fate Of fallen Babel, on her sepulchre ! Here are a thousand hillocks, where there stood, Here are long mounds of ruin, stretching on Such now is Babylon! A dwelling-place Serpents, and creeping things, and reptiles now But still, amid these lone and awful wrecks, The great Euphrates-monarch of the streams, Unhurt, unchanged by all the woes poured out His banks are hoary with the whistling reeds, The waving willows fringe his borders still, And these are all that tell of Babylon! The foot of man hath rarely trodden there, Of her, whose crimes had mounted up to heaven, Shall the Arabian's tent be fastened there: Serpents shall fill her houses, beasts shall roam They that pass by shall hiss at all her plagues, Among the nations!' None shall build her up; BEGINNING AGAIN. When sometimes our feet grow weary The path stretching long and dreary We pause on the upward journey, Glancing backward o'er valley and glen, And sigh with an infinite longing To return and "begin again." For behind is the dew of the morning And before are doubts and shadows, And we think of the sunny places |