last words of our mother are ever with me, which she whispered in my ear as I stooped, weeping, to kiss away the last breath from her cold lips: Bid Amram,' said she, bid Amram, child of my pride and fear, hasten from this guilty city, for the anger of the Highest is gathering over it.' Come, then, my orphaned brother, let us hie away to yon mountain village, and rest till the storm has spent itself upon the vale." "Cease, Miriam, to dwell upon such frightful fancies; I fear thou hast listened to the idle babblings of that accursed Lot. Forget thy fears, and look out now upon this gorgeous scene. Is there any thing in the breath of this mild zephyr, that comes floating down upon the ripples of the Jordan; any thing in this rich sunlight, that betokens ought of terror? But let what will come, my bosom shall be thy sanctuary; thither, gentle lamb, thou mayest ever hie for shelter. But hark! what means that rush of footsteps round the dwelling-place of Lot? Rest thee awhile, Miriam, by our mother's tomb; I shall soon return."

"Oh, go not, Amram, my heart is breaking with terror." But he had gone, and the poor girl sank unconscious upon the grave. Now the lurid flames began to shoot up along the horizon, and heavy thunders echoed from the rugged heights of the distant mountains, while a dark, heavy cloud gathered over the whole heavens. Sounds of rushing footsteps and startling cries, mingled with bitter curses, began to issue from the city. For a moment Miriam revived, and startled with the change, cried out, "Amram! my brother! come, let us haste away from this dreadful place;" but, affrighted, she sank back again into a state of unconsciousness.

"Miriam, sweet sister, where art thou? speak, for I cannot see thee. I believe now, thy kind warnings, but it is too late, I fear." Choked with the falling flames, he groped his way along, and fell prostrate upon the body of his sister.-Once again Miriam revived, and recognized her brother's body."Amram, my brother Amram, speak again to thy sister." But the dead answer not! And now the waves of that sea of fire roll on, quenching shriek after shriek of the expiring victims. "Sainted mother, I come to thee!" and the last wail of Sodom went up to heaven.

B. K. P.

A DIRGE FOR THREE VOICES.

POETRY WRITTEN BY MISS LANDON.

MUSIC COMPOSED FOR THE "CASKET," BY 1. N. METCALF.

b2 4

1. Lay her in the gen-tle earth, Where the

2. From the midnight's qui-et hour, Will come

Dibb

-b-b

lovely one! With the rose her funeral stone: And for

fair and dear, For our troub-led pathway here; Heav'n, that