But Fatima first ordered some graves to be made,
And there the unfortunate ladies were laid,
And after some painful months, with the aid
Of her friends, her spirits came to her.

Then she cheered the hearts of the suffering poor,
And an acre of land around each door,

And a cow, and a couple of sheep, or more,

To her tenantry she granted.

So all of them had enough to eat,

And their love for her was so complete

They would kiss the dust from her little feet,
Or do anything she wanted.

IN THE CHIMNEY CORNER.-CHARLES B. LEWIS.

I sat and watched him as he softly rocked to and fro. It was an old-fashioned fire-place, and he was rocking in an old-fashioned splint-bottomed chair, which was likewise a veteran in years.

There was something so good, so kind and tender in his face that I could not turn my eyes away. His hair was white as snow, his eyes weak, and the hand resting on the arm of the chair trembled with the helplessness of age.

The logs burned brightly on the andirons, and as the old man sat and gazed into the flame, he must have compared his life to it. It rose and fell, wavered and struggled to climb up, fell back and rose again, just as men struggle against fate. There were charred brands to remind him of crushed hopes-ashes to make him remember his dead. I saw his face brighten at times, and then again it was covered with a shade of sadness, and the hand shook a little faster as he remembered the graves on the hill-side and those who had slept in them for so many long years.

By and by the flames fell, and the old room was filled with shadows, which ran over the floor, climbed the walls and raced along the ceiling. Sometimes they covered the old man's face, but leaped away again, as if fearing rebuke. Sometimes they drew together in a corner and whispered to each other, and the fall of an ember would send them danc ing around.

I was but a child, and the shadows made me afraid. I wished the old man would lift his eyes and speak to me, telling me his life's story, but he kept his gaze on the burning logs as if they were a magnet to draw him closer and closer. I watched the shadows until I fell asleep. Strange, sweet music came to my ears, and the shadows were replaced by a golden light and a sky so blue and pure that I tried to reach up and grasp it. Soft voices chanted in harmony with the music, and by and by I saw an angel leading an old man and helping him over the rugged path which stretched out before me until it touched the golden gates of heaven. They went on and on, and when they were lost to view I suddenly awoke.

The fire had burned still lower, and there were more shadows in the room; the old man sat there yet, but the chair no longer moved, and his hand had ceased to tremble. I crept softly over to him and laid my hand on his. It was cold. I shook him gently, but he did not answer.

The old man was dead! While I slept the shadows had brought an angel to lead him into heaven.

THE CROSS-EYED LOVERS.-JOHN H. JOHNSTON.

Two cross-eyed lovers in a horse-car sat,
Thinking they were looking each other at,
But she looked at me as plain as could be,
And wasn't a looking at all at he.

He seemed to think she was looking at him,
And she seemed to think he was looking at her;
But the glassy look of her eyeball dim

Shied over to me, while the conduct-or

Thought he was the object of her attention,

And was about the name of the street to mention;

But when he saw the crook in her eye,

He laughed till you'd thought he was ready to cry,

And going forward to collect a fare,

He turned around and saw the same stare

In the eye of her lover then and there.

With the sight of two lovers with both eyes crossed,
He seemed for a moment dazed and lost,

And he gave his bell a double ring,
And in his excitement pulled the string,

And by the time the driver had turned his brake The passengers all began to take

A decided interest in the case,

And each in the others began to trace
The taking in of the situation;

And long before we reached the station
The feeling sprang up all through the car
That this was the oddest looking pair
They had ever hearn tell of in all their lives.
And one man said "The more she strives
To look with one eye at her lover,

She's looking at me all the time with the other,
And if I was a feller who had a girl
That double glances could unfurl,
I'll bet I wouldn't more'n once
Try on the feelin's of a dunce.

While I my love was tryin' to tell her,

Some ignoramus of a feller

Might think it was he she was lookin' at,

And consider me a regular flat.

Fur-with one of her eyes she could smile on me,

And let the other light on him,
So that both of us might easily be
Made to feel decidedly slim."

One of the friends of this troubled gent,
Who seemed on fun and frolic bent,

Said he'd willingly give a dime

To see them try to walk a bee line;
The more they tried to toe the mark,
'Twould be like walking in the dark,

If the line was the equator they'd see the poles.
Why if we were as blind as bats or moles,

It seemed to him we could find our way

Better than with eyes that were crossed that way. And he wondered how the words would look

If they should attempt to read a book;

The lines would certainly be all crossed,

And the words so jumbled the sense would be lost.
Why to them the book of Common Prayer
Would be no more sacred than Vanity Fair;
And a divine command of " Thus saith the Lord,"
Might read like the jokes of Artemus Ward;
While Webster's unabridged to them would be
As senseless as it is to a heathen Chinee.

A Teuton with a gallon of lager aboard,

At the sight of our lovers for a moment was floored, "Mein cracious goodness! Vat's dis dat I zee,

Four eyes wrongside out like ein big bumble bee;

Do dese beeple on deir heads schtand ven dey, vant to zee sdraight,

Or do dey turn round ven dey undertake

To zee somedings right like oder folks do;

Mit dem eyes, ein lager must look shust like two."
And if such were the fact it seemed plain to me,
He'd like to be cross-eyed two days out of three.
Now as I sat and listened to all that was said,
I called on the Muses to come to my aid,
And teach me a moral worth learning by all,
And they came in a flash at my very first call.

The cross in our own eye we never can see,
While the cross in our neighbor's is plain as can be;
And the cross in ourselves may be oftentimes worse
Than that which in others we're ready to curse.

NORA M'GUIRE'S LOVERS.—WM. WHITEhead.

Young Nora McGuire in humble attire,
One sweet summer day in the morning,
Gazed wistfully shy, with a tear in her eye,
O'er the waves that the sun was adorning.

She was seated, ochone, on her trunk all alone,
On the quay of Liverpool harbor;

And her eloquent face had as lovely a grace,

As though she had bloomed in an arbor.

Her poor heart was beating at thought of her meeting

The rough world of places and strangers;

A life yet to know on the treacherous flow

Of ocean and all its wild dangers.

Tom Timmins, galore, and Will Jackson, ashore,

Had been rollicking off to the leeward;

And jollier tars never gazed at the stars,

Or cast up their reckonings seaward.

They were true sons of Mars, and had been in the wars When Britain for volunteers pressed men ;

Till the craft was a wreck they had fought the main deck,¦ As if the Old Harry possessed them.

'Mid volley and rattle and crises of battle,

They had met all the phases of war;
Stood by Nelson and Hardy who never were tardy,
Through the horrors of red Trafalgar.

It is said, on a time, in a gale on the line,
Their good ship careened on the billows;
And they floated for days o'er the perilous waves,
With the foremast and jib for their pillows.

Long friendship still found them as true as it bound them
When they sailed their first voyage together,
All fresh with their blarney from verdant Killarney,
And hopeful of fair wind and weather.

As Nora was sitting and moments were flitting
In primitive sadness apast her;

And thoughts of the mornings with beautified dawnings
At home, brought the tears all the faster,-

Our messmates came down from the Anchor and Crown
To board the good ship they were seeking;
They spied the fair Nora, with none to adore her,
And crowds pushing on without greeting.

Old women were worrying, and porters were scurrying
With their trunks and their traps to the fore;

As though the whole town was about to dump down
All the plunder it e'er had in store.

The friends Nora greeted as thus she was seated,
Who offered their services freely,

To take her big chest to where she might rest
Aboard of the waiting Cybele.

The ship was eased off from the well crowded wharf,
With cheers from the true and good hearted;
And 'mid the commotion and breezes from ocean,
Sweet Nora from loving hearts parted.

There's a meddlesome tot, full of mischief and plot,
That oft plays the dickens with men;

To pack them with trouble he don't care a bubble,
Nor does he mind who, where, or when.

'Mid the scenes of departure, this villainous archer
Drew his missiles on poor Tom and Will;
Disregarding what's fair, for what does he care?-
He punctured their hearts with a will.