I would be strong, I would live on, and in the end forget; But sometimes, in the night, I woke and found my pillow wet, And knew that all the years to come would be a long regret.

Soon tidings came that turned my love to gall and wounded pride;

He who had knelt, and sworn to love me only, none beside, Had pledged his perjured word again, and won another bride. I hated him, I hated her; I hugged my misery;

I writhed against God, earth, and heaven; I cursed my sunless sky.

"They shall not build their bliss," I cried, " upon my agony."

Then came a day, from weariness I slept till after dawn, And started at the clang of bells-it was his bridal-morn; The whole world seemed to keep a feast, and I was so forlorn. I watched the clock, I told each beat, and as the hours went by,

I knew I must have cherished hope, for some hope seemed to die;

They to be building up their bliss upon my misery.

I would go gliding up the church, right to the altar-stair, And steal a spectre to the feast, and break upon the prayer, And throw him back his ring, in sight of all the people there. Small pity had he had for me, that I should spare his bride; Nay, I would laugh to see the girl grow pallid at his side. No mercy had been shown to me, I would show none, I cried. Then quick as thought, my cruel thought, I rushed into the street,

And plucked my shawl about my face, and never turned to greet,

But passed, like vengeance, through the crowd, with evilwingéd feet.

The solemn, solemn church, it soothed and healed me un

aware;

The holy light came flooding in, like balm on my despair: How could I harbor evil thoughts when Jesus Christ was there? And then I heard the organ peal-no gorgeous burst of sound, But a low, pleading, human voice, scul-thrilling, passionbound,

That seemed to say, "My child is dead; behold the lost is found!"

I looked upon her face, poor bride! so young, so true, so fair, And blushing, half with love and half to see the people stare; I sank my shafts, I hid my face, and clasped my hands in

prayer.

I heard their vows, I heard his voice, I heard the priest who prayed.

I suffered still, but, Christ be praised! the thunder-storin was laid:

God had said, "Peace, be still," and lo! the stormy heart obeyed.

Through tears I looked upon my love, in sadness, not in hate; It was not he that worked my woe-not he, but only fate: Sorrowing, not sinful, bruised, not lost, I left the church's gate.

DEATH AND THE DRUNKARD.

His form was fair, his cheek was health:
His word a bond, his purse was wealth;
With wheat his field was covered o'er,
Plenty sat smiling at his door.

His wife, the fount of ceaseless joy;
Now laughed his daughter, played his boy:
His library, though large, was read

Till half its contents decked his head.
At morn, 'twas health, wealth, pure delight;
"Twas health, wealth, peace, and bliss at night.
I wished not to disturb his bliss:

'Tis gone! but all the fault is his.

The social glass I saw him seize,
The more with festive wit to please,
And to increase his love of cheer:
Ah, little thought he I was near!
Gradual indulgence on him stole,
Frequent became the midnight bowl.
I, in that bowl, the headache placed,
Which, with the juice, his lips embraced.
Shame next I mingled with the draught:
Indignantly he drank, and laughed.

In the bowl's bottom, bankruptcy
I placed he drank with tears and glee.
Remorse did I into it pour:

He only sought the bowl the more.
I mingled, next, joint torturing pain:
Little the more did he refrain.
The dropsy in the cup I mixed:
Still to his mouth the cup was fixed.
My emissaries thus in vain

I sent, the mad wretch to restrain.

On the bowl's bottom, then, myself
I threw the most abhorrent elf

Thy hastening ruin to prevent;—
Their lessons naught-then here am I:
Think not my threatenings to defy!
Swallow this, this thy last will be,
For with it, thou must swallow me!"
Haggard his eyes, upright his hair,
Remorse his lips, his cheeks despair:
With shaking hands the bowl he clasped,
My meatless limbs his carcass grasped
And bore it to the church-yard, where
Thousands, ere I would call, repair.

Death speaks: ah! reader, dost thou hear?
Hast thou no lurking cause to fear?
Has yet o'er thee the sparkling bowl,
Constant, commanding, sly control?
Betimes reflect, betimes beware,
Though ruddy, healthful now, and fair!
Before slow reason lose the sway,
Reform: postpone another day,

You soon may mix with common clay.

FALSE WITNESS DETECTED.-J. S. KNOWLES.

"Do you entertain any ill-will toward the prisoner?" asked Therese's counsel of the attendant.

66 'None," said the witness.

"Have you ever quarreled with her?"

"No."

"Do you truly believe that she deposited the jewel in her trunk?"

"I do not like to think ill of any one."

“That is not an answer to my question:-do you believe that she put it there?"

How else could it have come there?"

"Answer me, Yes or No," said the advocate. "Do you believe that Therese secreted the jewel in her trunk? or No?"

"Yes!" at last faltered out the attendant.

Yes

Now, my girl," continued the advocate," pay heed to what you say; remember you are upon your oath! Will you

swear that you did not put it there yourself?" There was a pause and a profound silence. After about a minute had elapsed, "Well," said the advocate. Another pause; while, in an assembly where hundreds of human hearts were throbbing, not an individual stirred, or even appeared to breathe, such was the pitch of intensity to which the suspense of the court was wound up. "Well," said the advocate, a second time;" will you answer me? Will you swear, that you yourself did not put the jewel into Therese's trunk?"

"I will!" at last said the attendant, boldly.

"You swear it ?"

"I do."

"And why did you not answer me at once?"

"I do not like such questions to be put to me," replied the attendant.

For a moment the advocate was silent. A feeling of disappointment seemed to pervade the whole court; now and then a half-suppressed sigh was heard, and here and there a handkerchief was lifted to an eye, which was no sooner wiped than it was turned again upon Therese with an expression of the most lively commiseration. The maid herself was the only individual who appeared perfectly at her ease; even the baroness looked as if her firmness was on the point of giving way, as she drew closer to Therese, round whose waist she now had passed her arm.

"You have done with the witness?" said the advocate for the prosecution.

No," replied the other, and reflected for a moment or two longer. At length, "Have you any keys of your own?" said he.

"I have!"

"I know you have," said the advocate. "Are they about you? "Yes."

"Is not one of them broken ?"

After a pause,-"Yes."

"Show them to me."

The witness, after searching some time in her pocket, tock the keys out and presented them.

"Let the trunk be brought into the court," said the advocate. "Now, my girl," he sternly resumed, "attend to the questions which I am going to put to you, and deliberate well

Were you ever

before you reply; because I have those to produce who will answer them truly, should you fail to do so. in the service of a Monsieur St. Ange?"

"Yes," replied the attendant, evidently disconcerted. "Did you not open, in that gentleman's house, a trunk that was not your own?"

"Yes," with increased confusion.

"Did you not take from that trunk an article that was not your own?"

"Yes; but I put it back again."

"I know you put it back again,” said the advocate. “You see, my girl, I am acquainted with the whole affair; but, before you put it back again, were you not aware that you were observed?"

The witness was silent.

"Who observed you? Was it not your mistress? Did she not accuse you of intended theft? Were you not instantly discharged? successively asked the advocate, without eliciting any reply. "Why do you not answer, girl?" peremptorily demanded he.

"If you are determined to destroy my character," said the witness, bursting into tears, "I can not help it."

"No," rejoined the advocate; "I do not intend to destroy a character; I mean to save one,-one which, before you quit the court, I shall prove to be as free from soil as the snow of the arm which is leaning upon that bar!" continued the advocate, pointing toward Therese.

The trunk was here brought in. "You know that trunk?" "Yes."

"Whose is it?"

"It belongs to the prisoner."

"And these are your keys?"

"Yes."

"Were these keys out of your possession the day before that trunk was searched, and the jewel found in it?"

"No."

"Now mind what you are saying. You swear, that, for two days preceding the morning upon which that trunk was searched, these keys were never once out of your possession ?"

TTTT