THE CHRISTIAN MAIDEN AND THE LJON.

FRANCIS A. DURIVAGE.

"Give the Christians to the lions!" was the savage Roman's cry,

And the vestal virgins added their voices shrill and high; And the Cæsar gave the order, "Loose the lious from their den!

For Rome must have a spectacle worthy of gods and men."
Forth to the broad arena a little band was led,
But words forbear to utter how the sinless blood was shed.
No sigh the victims proffered, but now and then a prayer
From lips of age and lips of youth rose upward on the air;
And the savage Cæsar muttered, “By Hercules! I swear,
Braver than gladiators these dogs of Christians are.”
Then a lictor bending slavishly, saluting with his axe,
Said, "Mighty Imperator! the sport one feature lacks:
We have an Afric lion, savage, and great of limb,
Fasting since yester-eve; is the Grecian maid for him?”
The Emperor assented. With a frantic roar and bound,
The monster, bursting from his den, gazed terribly around.
And toward him moved a maiden, slowly, but yet serene;
"By Venus!" cried the Emperor," she walketh like a queen."
Unconscious of the myriad eyes she crossed the blood-
soaked sand,

Till face to face the maid and beast in opposition stand;
The daughter of Athene, in white arrayed, and fair,
Gazed on the monster's lowered brow, and breathed a silent
prayer.

Then forth she drew a crucifix and held it high in air.

Lo, and behold! a miracle! the lion's fury fled,
And at the Christian maiden's feet he laid his lordly head;
While as she fearlessly caressed, he slowly rose, and then,
With one soft, backward look at her, retreated to his den.
One shout rose from the multitude, tossed like a stormy sea:
"The Gods have so decreed it; let the Grecian maid go free!"
Within the catacombs that night a saint with snowy hair
Folded upon his aged breast his daughter young and fair;
And the gathered brethren lift a chant of praise and prayer;
From the monster of the desert, from the heathen fierce
and wild,

"God has restored to love and life his sinless, trusting child.

SSSSS

ON THE CHANNEL BOAT.

"What! Fred, you here? I didn't see
You come aboard at Dover.

I met the Browns last week; they said
That you were coming over,
But didn't say how soon."

"Oh, yes;

I came by the Britannic;

And what a rush there was for berths!

"Twas almost like a panic.

I'm mighty glad to meet

Where are you going?"

"Paris."

you,

Will.

"Good! so am I. I've got to meet
My cousin, Charley Harris,

To-morrow. He and I have planned¦
A little trip together

Through Switzerland on foot; I hope
We'll have some decent weather."

"Take care there! hold your hat; it blows."

"Yes; how this steamer tosses! I'm never sea-sick; Charley is, Though, every time he crosses. Who's with you, Will?”

"I'm traveling with

My sister and my mother;

They're both below. I came on deck;

It's close enough to smother

Down there. These chaps don't care a snap

For ventilation, hang 'em!

Where did you stop in London? We

Were stopping at the Langham.”

"You were? why, so was I. But then
I only got there Sunday,

At breakfast time, and went away
The afternoon of Monday.

And yet, within the short sojourn

I lost my heart completely;

Such style! such eyes! such rosy cheeks!
Such lips that smiled so sweetly!

I only saw her twice, and then

Don't laugh-'twas at a distance.
But Will, my boy, I tell you what,
In all my blest existence

I ne'er before set eyes upon
A girl so really splendid.
But, pshaw! I couldn't stay, and so
My short-lived visions ended.
I don't suppose she'll ever know
How I, a stranger, love her."
"Who was she, Fred?"

"Ah! that's just it;

I couldn't e'en discover

Her name, or anything at all
About her. Broken-hearted,
I saw it wasn't any use

To try; so off I started,

And here I am, disconsolate."

"All for an unknown charmer!

You're soft, my boy. Let's stroll abaft,→

The sea is growing calmer,

Or forward, if you like. The view May make your feelings rally.

We're drawing near to France; in half An hour shall be at Calais.

See! there's the town, and just this side

The port with shipping in it;

And there, beyond, you see the spires, And-"

"Here, Will, stop a minute.

By Jove! look there! that girl in gray, With red flowers in her bonnet!

1 do declare-I—yes—it's she!

I'd take my oath upon it.

What luck! If I had only known!

How can it be I've missed her?

Look! here she comes!"

"Why, Fred, you fool!

That girl in gray's my sister."

THE REVELLERS.

There were sounds of mirth and joyousness
Broke forth in the lighted hall,

And there was many a merry laugh,
And mary a merry call;

And the ass was freely passed around,
And th's nectar freely quaffed;
And many a heart felt light with glee
And the joy of the thrilling draught.
A voice arose in that place of mirth,
And a glass was flourished high;
"I drink to Life," said a son of earth,
“And I do not fear to die;

I have no fear-I have no fear--
Talk not of the vagrant Death;
For he is a grim old gentleman,

And he wars but with his breath.

"Cheer, comrades, cheer! We drink to Life, And we do not fear to die!" Just then a rushing sound was heard,

As of spirits sweeping by;

And presently the latch flew up,

And the door flew open wide;

And a stranger strode within the hall,

With an air of martial pride.

He spoke: "I join in your revelry,

Bold sons of the Bacchan rite;

And I drink the toast you have drank before,

The pledge of yon dauntless knight.

Fill high-fill high-we drink to Life,

And we scorn the reaper Death;

For he is a grim old gentleman,

And he wars but with his breath.

"He's a noble soul, that champion knight,
And he bears a martial brow;

Oh, he'll pass the gates of Paradise,
To the regions of bliss below!"
This was too much for the Bacchan ;
Fire flashed from his angry eye;
A muttered curse, and a vengeful oath-
"Intruder, thou shalt die!"

He struck-and the stranger's guise fell off,
And a phantom form stood there-
A grinning, and ghastly, and horrible thing,
With rotten and mildewed hair!

And they struggled awhile, till the stranger blew
A blast of his withering breath;

And the Bacchanal fell at the phantom's feet,
And his conqueror was-Death.

MRS. McWILLIAMS AND THE LIGHTNING.
MARK TWAIN.

Well, sir,—continued Mr. McWilliams, for this was not the beginning of his talk,—the fear of lightning is one of the most distressing infirmities a human being can be afflicted with. It is mostly confined to women; but now and then you find it in a little dog, and sometimes in a man. It is a particularly distressing infirmity, for the reason that it takes the sand out of a person to an extent which no other fear can, and it can't be reasoned with, and neither can it be shamed out of a person.

Well, as I was telling you, I woke up with that smothered and unlocatable cry of “Mortimer! Mortimer!" wailing in my ears; and as soon as I could scrape my faculties together I reached over in the dark and then said:

"Evangeline, is that you calling? What is the matter? Where are you?"

"Shut up in the boot-closet. You ought to be ashamed to lie there and sleep so, and such an awful storm going on.” "Why, how can one be ashamed when he is asleep? It is unreasonable; a man can't be ashamed when he is asleep, Evangeline."

"You never try, Mortimer-you know very well you never try."

I caught the sound of muffled sobs.

That sound smote dead the sharp speech that was on my lips, and I changed it to

"I'm sorry, dear-I'm truly sorry. I never meant to act so. Come back and "

"MORTIMER!"

"Heavens! what is the matter, my love?"