Year: 1859

ing determined to have him present at tn
w reading, as a wholesome check on his obst
cy. To my surprise Peggy answered tn
II, and told me that Trottle had stepped out
thout saying where. I instantly felt tn
'ongest possible conviction that he was a
5 old tricks and that his stepping out il
e evening, without leave, ,meant-Philander
Controlling myself on my visitors account,
missed Peggy, stifled my indignation, ant
epared, as politely as might be, to listen t.
rber.


THREE EVENINGS IN THE HOUSE.


NUMBER ONE.


Yes, it looked dark and dreary


That long and narrow street;
Only the sound of the rain,


And the tramp of passing feet,
The duller glow of the fire,


And gathering mists of night
To mark how slow and weary


The long days cherries fight!
Watching the sullen fire,


Hearing the dreary rain,
Drop after drop, run down


On the darkening window-pane;
Chill was the heart of Bertha,


Chill as that winter day
For the star of her life had risen


Only to fade away.


The voice that had been so strong


To bid the snare depart,
The true and earnest will,


And the calm and steadfast heart,
Were now weighed down by sorrow,


We're quivering now with pain;
The clear path now seemed clouded,


And all her grief in vain.
Duty, Right, Truth who promised


To help and save their own,
Scenic d spreading wide their pinions


To leave her there alone
So, turning from the Present


To well-known davs of yore,
She call'd on them to strengthen


And guard her soul once more.
She thought how in her girlhood


Her life was given away,
The solemn promise spoken


She kept so well day;
How to her brother Herbert


She had been help and guide,
And how his artist-nature


On her calm strength relied;
How through lifc's fret and turmoil


The passion and fire of art
In him was soothed and quicken'd


By her true sister heart;
How future hopes had always


Eeen for his sake alone:
And now, what strange new feeling
Possess d her as its own?
Her home; each flower that breathed there;
The winds sigh soft and low;
Each trembling spray of ivy;


The rivers murmuring flow;
The shadow of the forest


Sunset, twilight dim;
Dear as they were, were dearer


4,y- 4ea~i4rtr t4+e44- for lrir---
And each year as it found her


In the dull, feverish town,
Saw self still more forgotten,


And selfish care kept down
BY the calm Joy of evening
That brought him to her side,
To warn him with wise counsel,
Or praise with tender pride.
Her heart, her life, her future,
Her genius, only meant
Another thing to give him,
And be Herewith content
To-day, what words had stirrd her,
Her soul could, mot forget
What dream had filrd her spirit
With strange and wild regret?
To leave him for another:
Could it indeed be so?
Could ii have cost such anguish
To bid this vision go?
Was this her faith? Was Herbert
The second in her heart?
Did it need all this struggle


To bid dream depart?
And yet, within her spirit


\ far-off land was seen;
A home, which might have held her;
A love, which might have been;
And Life-not the mere being
OF daily ebb and flow,
But life itself had claimed her,
And she had let it go! ...-..
Within her heart there echod
Again the we'll known tone
That promised this bright future,
And ask'd her for its own;
Then words of sorrow broken
By half-reproachful pain;
And then 4 farewell, spoken


In words of cold disdain.
Where now was the stern purpose
That nerved her soul so long?
Whence came the words she utterd,
So hard, so cold, so strong?
What right had she to Danish


hope that God had given?
Why must she choose earth's portion,
And turn aside from Heaven?
To day Was it this morning?
If this long. fearful strife
Was but the work of hours,


What would be years of life?
Why did a cruel Heaven


For such great suffering call?
And why-O, still more cruel!-
Must her own words do all?
Did she repent? U Sorrow!


Why do we linger still
To take thy loving message,
And do thy gentle viii
See, her tears TALL more slowly;
The passionate murmurs cease,
And back upon her spirit
Flow strength, and love, and peace.
The fire burns more brightly,


The rain has passed away,
Herbert will see no shadow
Upon his home to-day;
Only that Bertha greets him


With double tender care,
Kissing a 1onder blessing


Down on his golden hair.


NUMBER TWO.
The studio is deserted.


Palette and brush laid by,
The sketch rests on>the easel,
The paint is scarcely dry;
And Silence-who seems always
Within her depths to bear
The next sound that will utter
Now holds dumb despair.
So Bertha feels it; listening
With breathless, stony fear,
Waiting the dreadful summons
Each minute brings more near;
When the young life, now ebbing,
Shall fall, and pass away
Into that mighty shadow


Who shrouds the house to-day.
But why-when the sick chamber
Is on the upper floor.
Why dares not Bertha enter
Within the close-shut door?
If he-her all-her Brother,
Lies dying in that gloom,
What % "