THE FLIGHT OF THE GODS.-ADELAIDE BIDDLES. ""Tis said that when the gods flew from the earth, Love stayed behind, selfexiled for man's sake." -From the German. Upon their tree-crowned hill the gods reclined, And gazed in sadness on the sunlit earth; Then from her torch Religion quenched the flame, Upon her withered branch, sad Peace then gazed, Shrouded from light by the dark cypress gloom. Then said Humility with dovelike tones, "Let me, too, wander from this new-born world, To brood in silence o'er the cold gravestone; To meet, unfriended, misery and death; The blood-stained scaffold and the blazing stake; I'll float no more upon the zephyr's breath, Then sadness fell upon the spirit band; With gentle tones they prayed him not remain,— NNNNN "Oh, float with us into yon cloud-built land, Where hearts will wither up like autumn leaves, And quit your starry homes amid the air, And silent sleeps beneath the daisied sod, THE AGED PRISONER. "Nigh on to twenty years Have I walked up and down this dingy cell! "With every gray-white rock I am acquainted; every seam and crack, "My little blue-eyed babe, That I left singing by my cottage door, "Oh, this bitter food That I must live on! this poisoned thought That judges all my kind, because by men "If they had killed me then, By rope, or rack, or any civil mode "Plucked at my hair— Bleached of all color, pale and thin and dead-- Pass funerals of dead hopes. "To-morrow I go out! Where shall I go? what friend have I to meet? An old man, bent and gray, Paused at the threshold of a cottage door. He stretched his wasted hands-then drew them back A comely, tender face Looked from the casement; pitying all God's poor, Fell prostrate at her feet. "O child!" he sobbed, "now I can die. When last Her words came falteringly: "Are you the man-who broke my mother's heart? No! no! O father,―speak! Look up-forget!" Then came a stony calm. Some hearts are broken with joy-some break with grief. The old gray man was dead. LITTLE ALLIE.-FANNY FERN. The day was gloomy and chill. At the freshly-opened grave stood a little, delicate girl of five years, the only mourner for the silent heart beneath. Friendless, hopeless, homeless, she had wept till she had no more tears to shed, and now she stood, with her scanty clothing fluttering in the chill wind, pressing her little hands tightly over her heart, as if to still its beating. 66 "It's no use fretting," said the rough man, as he stamped the last shovelful of earth over all the child had left to love. Fretting won't bring dead folks to life. Pity you hadn't got no ship's cousins somewheres to take you. It's a tough world, this 'ere, I tell ye. I don't see how ye're going to weather it. Guess I'll take ye round to Miss Fetherbee's; she's got a power of children, and wants a hand to help her; so come along. If you cry enough to float the ark, it won't do you no good." Allic obeyed him mechanically, turning her head every few minutes to take another look where her mother lay buried. The morning sun shone in upon an underground kitchen in the crowded city. Mrs. Fetherbee, attired in a gaycolored calico dress, with any quantity of tinsel jewelry, sat sewing some showy cotton lace on a cheap pocket-handkerchief. A boy of five years was disputing with a little girl of three about an apple; from big words they had come to hard blows, and peace was finally declared at the price of an orange apiece and a stick of candy-each combatant "putting in" for the biggest. Poor Allic, with pale cheeks and swollen eyelids, was staggering up and down the floor under the weight of a mammoth baby, who was amusing himself by pulling out at intervals little handfuls of her hair. "Quiet that child, can't ye?" said Mrs. Fetherbee, in no very gentle tone. "I don't wonder the darling is cross to see such a solemn face. You must get a little life into you somehow, or you won't earn the salt to your porridge here. There, I declare, you've half put his eyes out with those long curls, dangling round. Come here, and have 'em cut off; they don't look proper for a charity child," and she glanced at the short, stubby crops on the heads of the little Fetherbees. Allie's lip quivered as she said, "Mother used to love to brush them smooth every morning. She said they were like little dead sister's; please, don't!" said she, beseechingly. "But I tell you I do please to cut 'em off; so there's an end of that!" said she, as the severed ringlets fell in a shining heap on the kitchen floor. "And do, for creation's sake, stop talking about 'dead folks;' and now eat your breakfast, if you want it. I forgot you hadn't had any. There's some the children's left; if you're hungry, it will go down; and if you ain't, you can go without." Poor Allie! the daintiest morsel wouldn't have "gcne down." Her eyes filled with tears that wouldn't be forced back, and she sobbed out, "I must cry, if you beat me for it; my heart pains me so bad.” "H-i-t-y T-i-t-y! What's all this?" said a broad-faced, rosy milkman, as he set his shining can down on the kitchen table. "What's all this, Miss Fetherbee? I'd as lief eat pins and needles as hear a child cry. Who is she?" pointing at Allie, "and what's the matter of her?" "Why, the long and the short of it is, she's a poor pauper that we've taken in out of charity, and she's crying at her good luck,-that's all," said the lady, with a vexed toss of her head. "That's the way benevolence is always reward, ed. Nothing on earth to do here, but tend the baby, and amuse the children, and run to the door, and wash the dishes, and dust the furniture, and tidy the kitchen, and go of a few errands. Ungrateful little baggage!" Jemmy's heart was as big as his farm, and that covered considerable ground. Glancing pitifully at the little weeper, he said, skillfully, "That child's going to be sick, Miss Fetherbee, and then what are you going to do with her? Besides, she's too young to be of much use to you. You'd better let me take her." "Well, I shouldn't wonder if you was half right," said the frightened woman. "She's been trouble enough already. I'll give her a 'quit-claim.'" |