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SAINT DOROTHY.

But here are only smiles for her,
And counsels kindly meant;

"Blench not, fair maiden," smirks the Judge "Thou art but hither sent

To check those foolish, slanderous tales
Which link thy honoured name
With his-the Wretch of Galilee-
Who died the death of shame."

"Who died the death of shame," she cries,
"To save the souls he made,
And for our ransom, on the Tree

His last red life-drop paid.
Be glory to the one true God,
One God in Persons Three!
Be glory to the Eternal Son,
Jesus who died for me!"

"Hold!" yells the angry Governor,
"This impious jargon cease.
Adore the gods whom all adore,
And live thy life in peace.

Adore or die !"-" Or die ?" she saith
"Choose sterner threat than this,
For death is but the golden gate
To radiant home of bliss-

That garden fair, whose autumn fruits
'Mid flowers of springtime gleam;
Nor blight nor tempest dares to break
The rose's summer dream.

Ah, might I fade from this dark earth,
Melt quite away, and flee

To Him, my Lover and my Lord,
Jesus who died for me !"

The young Theophilus o'erhears
The martyr's raptured sighs,
And with a not ungenerous scorn,
"O Dorothy," he cries,

:

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"If flowers and rosy fruits are there
In this rude season found,

Send me a few,"—" I will," she saith.
The snow was on the ground.

The girl hath braved the tyrant's rage;
All tortures, threats, are vain.
Now butchers eager press, their steel
In virgin blood to stain;
While at the last before her kneels
Yon beauteous smiling child,
A basket in his tiny hands,
With fruits and flow'rets piled.
"Take these unto Theophilus:
Say Dorothy hath cried
To heaven for mercy on his soul,
Ere with glad heart she died.
Tell him I go, and he shall come
Where flowers and fruits abound
Of softer sheen, of sunnier tint."-
The snow was on the ground.

The snow shone white o'er all the ground,
Save where the ruby gush
From that young fearless Christian heart
Forced pagan earth to blush.

St. Dorothy is throned on high,

Close, close to Christ, her Spouse;

And by her side Theophilus,

With laurel round his brows.

THE TREASURE DIGGERS. (From the German of Bürger.) A HUSBANDMAN, when near his death, Addressed his sons with parting breath: "A treasure in our vineyard lies;

"Dig for it!" "Father, where's the prize?" Aloud they altogether cried.

"Dig, dig!" he whispered, and he died.

THE NEW NURSERY.

Ere in his grave he long had lain,

They dug and dug, with might and main;
The earth they o'er and o'er did throw,
With spade, and pick-axe, and with hoe.
No clod escaped their zealous toil,
E'en through a sieve they passed the soil;
They drew the rakes across, around,
And ev'ry stone took from the ground,
But of the treasure found no trace.
Each thought it but a wild-goose chase.
But scarce the sun his yearly round
Had made, when they with wonder found,
That each vine bore a threefold prize.
The young men then at length grew wise:
And, as each vintage time came round,
Dug richer treasures from the ground.

THE NEW NURSERY.

SUSAN COOLIDGE.

IN the old familiar nursery

The children were busy at play, So busy they scarcely noticed When, now and again, all day, Mother or nursey entered

And carried something away.

A chair or a tiny table,

A pillow from off a bed,

The blankets and the coverlets

They took, but they nothing said;
The pretty pictures from off the wall,
The table-cloth bright and red.

The cribs and then the cradle
Rolled through the open door,
The bread-and-milk basins vanished,
The carpet from the floor;

Then one by one the playthings went,
At last there was nothing more.

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And the little ones ceased their playing, And sat with solemn surprise, Watching mamma and nursey,

For they could not at all surmise Why they should carry the toys away And hide them from their eyes.

The old familiar nursery

Seemed lonely now and bare:
They missed the little snow-white beds,
And every table and chair;

And the red lips quivered with crying,
While the grieved blue eyes did stare.
Then suddenly someone opened
A carefully guarded door,
And they saw a large new nursery
They had never seen before,
All gay, and bright, and beautiful,
With sunshine on the floor.

There were the chairs and tables,
And the pictures from the wall,
And the little beds all neatly spread,
Each with its pillow small,
And every plaything they had missed,
There were they, one and all.

And puzzle and sorrow forgotten,
The joyous little crew

Left the bare, lonely room behind,
And ran the doorway through;
And they did not miss the old at all,
So pleasant was the new.

And I thought, as I saw them going,
Of lives grown dull and bare,
Stripped of the sweet, accustomed things
Which made them dear and fair,
And only a puzzled patience left

For the hearts that waited there.

MAIDENHOOD.

And how shall suddenly open
Some day, with a heavenly key,
A closely guarded, invisible door,
And the happy eyes shall see
Where, set in the glory of sunshine,
The vanished and dear things be.

And they will laugh for pleasure,
And scarcely believe it true,
And hasten to pass the portal;
And, once they are safely through,
Forget the old sad and lonely life
In the happiness of the new.

MAIDENHOOD.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

MAIDEN! with the meek brown eyes,
In whose orbs a shadow lies,

Like the dusk in evening skies!

Thou whose locks outshine the sun,
Golden tresses wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!

Standing, with reluctant feet
Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood fleet!

Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
On the river's broad expanse !

Deep and still, that gliding stream
Beautiful to thee must seem,
As the river of a dream.

Then why pause with indecision,
When bright angels in thy vision
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?

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