ye much about it, for I don't know much me- house; it had been wet and rainy for some days self; I think it wor the consumption, though; (I told ye so, yer know), but the night afore for I heer tell the mither of 'um died wid it Christmas the wind changed sudden, it cleared soon after that one wor born. The first I iver up fair and cold, and it friz; and next morning knew of her being sick wor at Christmas-time. (Christmas-day, ye mind), oh, Miss Tazie, it She hadn't ben out to the green-houses for some wor jist a glory to be looking at it! Ivery little days, and I tell ye we missed her there. It branch and twig, 'way up to the very tip top of seemed to me the flowers missed her, they niver the tallest trees, wor cased in ice, clear and bloomed so good whin she wouldn't be looking shining as barley candy, forenent the blue sky! at them; and meself missed her most of all, for There wasn't much wind at all; but now and I'd no heart to me woruk and she not coming agin there'd be a little brith to sweep the boughs to overlook me; but it had been damp and togither; and thin the brittle ice would crackle rainy, and I niver mistrusted but that wor the and kim down, all shining like diamonds and jewels! And the ground below, it looked for all the world as if forty thousand rainbows had been thrashed up fine and sowed over it broadcast!

reason.

"Well! come Christmas-day, they wor to have a power of company, as they allers did on that day; and I should make up ivergreen wreaths to dress off the rooms: for though they was 'Mericans born they comed of an ould English stock, and they loved to keep up all the ould country ways.

"Well! whin I'd made me wreaths, and cut me flowers, it come into me head I'd jist make up a bo-kay for Miss Rosamond, for I'd hearn tell that she wor born at Christmas-time: so I cut a beautiful passion-flower-did ye iver see a passion-flower, Miss Tazie?" Theresa shook her head. "Well thin, indade it's a pity but ye did! it's the most holiest and curiousest flower ye iver did see! I have an ould gar'nering book at home, and it tells all about it. What's this it sez? Stop a bit: it sez, This holy and beautiful flower, which wor named in memory of the death and passion of our Blissid Saviour, wor first diskivered by the mourning disciples, on the hill of Calvary, on the morning afther the Crucifixion.' And then it goes on to tell how it bears the cross, and the nails, and the thorns, and the rays of glory, and the twilve disciples! And it's all true, Miss Tazie. Sure I've seen 'um meself, oftin and oftin. Oh! I wish ye could be seeing one of 'um; I'd walk miles to get ye one, jist to be looking at, it is so wonderful curious. But them flowers is what we used to call 'eggshot-igs,' and doesn't live on'y in green-houses; and I don't know as there do be any greenhouses round here.

"So I put me passion-flower in the middle of me bo-kay, becaze, ye see, it wor a raal Christmas flower; and thin I put little white lilies and green leaves all round it; white lilies and green leaves; white lilies and green leaves; jist them and nothing more. Oh, it looked illigunt!"

"Ye have seen sich days, Miss Tazie, often; for ye have them here, one or more sich, mostly ivery winter. But, ye mind, I wor new to the country thin, and the sight of it fairly bewitched me.

"So, as I wor saying, I wint up to the house, and as I kim across the lawn, I jist looked up and there wor Miss Rosamond, all drist for the grand company, and she standing her lane in the big winder of the liba-ra-ry, a-looking out wid her two beautiful great eyes, as blue and shining as the winter sky; and I thought to the full as hivenly!

"Whin sho seen me, she smiled and beckoned, and signed to me wid the hand that I should bring the flowers to her; so I wint into the servants'-hall and the housekeeper met me and said she should take me basket. But I tould her how that I seen Miss Rosamond at the winder, and how she bade me come in; and so, by her lave, I'd make bould to take them to the liba-ra-ry door mesilf; and sure enough, whin I got into the hall Miss Rosamond opened the door and called me in.

"Yes! James,' sez she; 'and I'm glad that it happens to-day of all others. Earth ought to "What were the white lilies for, Jim? What look like heaven to-day, for this is the day that do they mean?" heaven came down to earth.'

"I only wish that yerself would kim out into the garden, Miss Rosamond,' sez I, 'and see some of our trees there! Why the big willow is a regular show!'

"And I wish I could, James,' she answers me back agin. 'But I am not very well; I have taken cold, and I have a little cough, and they think it is not prudent for me to go out.' Oh, Miss Tazie, me heart misgived me whin she spoke them words.

652

"Thin I opens me basket and gives her me flowers; and whin she seen the bo-kay she wor plazed, I tell ye, and her eyes sparkled, and her cheeks grew redder than the roses; and she sez to me, 'That is the welcomest gift I have had to-day, James.' Yes, she did-them wor her very words, Miss Tazie; and thin she turns around toardst the table and takes up her illigunt little purse, and takes out a nate little bit of gould, and slipt it into me hand, and she sez, 'I haven't been well enough to go out and buy me Christmas gifts for any of me friends, James, so you must take this and buy something to plaze yerself.'

"Ah, Miss Tazie! I niver hoarded up gould before nor since; and sure it's but little of that same meself iver had to be hoarding; but I have that piece by me yet, and, pea-cock! it's the last bit of money I iver will part wid.

"Well! I wint home; but that evening, as I sot in me lodge a-thinking of Miss Rosamond, I felt so troubled that a big groan burst from me full heart, all unknownst to me; and, 'the blissid saints be round us!' sez me woman; 'Why, Jim O'Brine! man alive, why how yer scart me! Whatever's come over ye, to be groaning that a-way? and this the blissid Christmas too!' And then I up and tould her how that Miss Rosamond wor sick, and that me heart misgived me that she would niver be well agin. "Oh, pshaw! nonsense!' sez me woman; 'yes she will. She's young and strong, bless her! and ye may be sure it's she as will have the illigunt care and the best of doctering. Oh! sure she will do well enough. Why, Jim, man! rouse up! ye've got the megrims!'

I

"Well! that didn't comfort me any. didn't say no more to Nora-'twasn't no use; but I jist kept thinking of her wid the glory round her head; and I wor sartin she wor more fitter for hiven than airth; and, sure enough, she niver wor well agin!

"All the winter she wor better and worser; now up, and now down; and come spring she faded faster still; and she that wor used to be on the light foot round the garden airly and late kim out now only at noon in the warm sunny days.

her ways), and I made up a little cross, all of white flowers, and herself tuck it to her; and she telled me Miss Rosamond held it in her hands all night, and died wid it lying on her breast. Ah, Miss Tazie, dear! that's nothing, I know-and she wasn't a Catholic; but it wor a comfort to me to know that she died wid the emblem of salvation in her hands, and that it wor meself as furnished it to her."

"How old was she when she died, Jim?” asked little Theresa, striving hard to wink away the tears which would fill her pretty bright eyes.

"On'y jist fifteen, Miss. Mesilf read it on her coffin: Rosamond Berkley, aged 15.' And oh! it was a sight to remember, Miss Tazie! To see her lying smiling there, and the great, grand picters of all her ancestors-iver and iver so far back-all hanging there forenenst her! Great, stately, beautiful leddies! in their silks, and satins, and furs; and noble, grand-looking gintlemen, in lace ruffles and scarlet cloaks! jist as natural as very life! looking as though they'd walk right out of their frames! And she, sweet lamb! the flower of 'um all, lying pale and still in that great silent room! Ah, well! God knows best!

"Well, after that, Miss Tazie, the master, poor man! I pitied him (though, indade, that seems strange for me to be saying, and he a grand estated gintleman, and I on'y his serv ant); but I thought how me own heart ached whin the light wint out of me little Jamsie's blue eyes-not that I'd aquil me child to Miss Rosamond, or liken his loss to mine; by no manes!-on'y I suppose the heart's sorrow is Well, he wor restthe same in rich or poor!

less like, and it wor plain to see the world wor changed to him.

"He tried to busy hisself; he kim out into the garden and made great changes; he moved the trees and planned great improvements; but his heart wor not in it, Miss Tazie, I knew. One day he ordered me to cut down an old tree, and he standing by while I dun it; and close near-hand to it wor a bunch of white vi'lets which Miss Rosamond had set there, and as I dug round the tree I wor in dread for them vi'lets; and at last I jist tuck off my hat and put over them.

"Niver mind the vi'lets, man,' sez the mas "They isn't worth saving; there's ter to me. plinty more of 'um in the garden.' And before I thought I spoke right out, and I sez:

"Miss Rosamond set them there wid her own hand, yer honor! I seen her whin she dun it.'

"Ah! thin, her brither, the poor master! He wouldn't belave it, and he hurried her away this way and that way-now it wor to some wonderful springs; now to a famous doctor; now to the say-side; thin to the mountains; and agin to the pine-woods. And she, sweet But it wasn't lamb wint jist as they bid her. no use! And ivery time she'd kim back her great wonderful eyes looked larger and clearer, "Oh, Miss Tazie, dear! whin I'd sed it I and her sweet cheeks more rosy, and her little, thin, thrimbling white hands paler and thinner! wor fairly frightened, for the poor master he "And thin, Miss Tazie, I wasn't let to see dropped one hand on me shoulder and kivered her ony more; but day be day I sarched the his face with the other, and he wint deadly whole garden for the very chi-cest fruit and flow-pale, and giv sich a great choking sob-I could ers for her; and the night before she died me woman wor called in to sit up wid her (not but she had a rigular sick nurse besides, but ye see she'd a fancy to have Nora round her-she knew

have torn me fool's tongue out be the roots for saying it; and I spoke out, all thrimbling and frightened like, and I sez: 'She's a blissid angel now, Sir.'

"She always was, James,' sez he; and he | Miss Tazie," said O'Brian, rising and shaking giv me hand a grip and walked away. out his work, "me patch is on-see what a banging big one it is! And I must go down now and feed me crathers. And so, now ye know how I wor cured of swearing."

"Well! about a month, or mebbee it might be two months afther that, he walks out to me one day, and he sez to me: 'James,' he sez, 'I'm going to Europe,' he sez. 'I can not stop here. Me uncle will take the place while I am gone; and if ye like to remain he will employ ye on the same terms; but if ye prefer to lave I will give yer a good recommind,' he sez, and pay ye a quarter's wages in advance.'

"Is any of the family to remain here, Sir?' sez I.

"No,' he sez; 'they will all travel with me.' "Then, yer honor, Sir,' sez I, 'I'll go; for the heart of me would be broke intirely to be stopping here and yeez all gone. No, I'll go! and plaze Hiven to bring ye all home safe, and if yer wants me, I'll be on'y too proud to be taking sarvice wid ye agin.'

"And so I lift whin they did. And now,

WHAT

"Stop one minute, Jim, if you please," said little Theresa, speaking fast and breathlessly. "Do you think, Jim, if I tried hard—very hard indeed, Jim-I could ever be like your Miss Rosamond?"

"No, Miss Tazie," said O'Brian-regarding his little companion affectionately, and shaking his head slowly and reluctantly, as if loth to discourage her laudable ambition-"No, Miss Tazie, dear! I doubt yer couldn't! Yer a nice little girl, and a good one, and if yer life is spared I dare say ye'll make a fine young woman. But Miss Rosamond! I niver saw any one else like her; and I don't belave I iver will -at least not in this world. I suppose there's more of them in hiven!"

MARE VICTUM.

BY RICHARD HENRY STODDARD.

I.

HAT means this clamor in the summer air,
These pealing bells, the firing of these guns?
What news is this that runs

Like lightning every where?

And why these shouting multitudes that meet

Beneath our starry flags that wave in every street?
Some mighty deed is done,

What victory?

Dare pour their

Some victory is won!

No hostile Power, or Powers,

slaves on this free land of ours;

What could they hope to gain, beyond their graves?
It must be on the waves:

It must be o'er the race of ocean-kings,

Whose navies plow a furrow round the Earth.
The same great Saxon Mother gave us birth,
And yet, as brothers will, we fight for little things!
I saw her battle-ships, and saw our own,

Midway between the Old World and the New:
I feared there was some bloody work to do,
And heard, in thought, the sailor-widows' moan!
Triumphant waved their fearless flags; they met,

But not with lighted match or thundering gun:
They meet in peace, and part in peace, and yet
A victory is won!

Unfold the royal battle-rolls of Time,

In every land, a grander can not be:

So simple, so sublime!

A victory o'er the Sea!

VOL. XVII.-No. 101.-TT

II.

What would they think of this, the men of old,
Against whose little world its waters rolled,
Immeasurable, pitiless as Fate,

A Thing to fear and hate?

Age after age they saw it flow, and flow,

Lifting the weeds, and laying bare the sands; Whence did it come, and whither did it go?

To what far isles, what undiscovered lands?
Who knoweth? None can say, for none have crossed
That unknown sea; no sail has ventured there,
Save what the storms have driven, and those are lost,
And none have come-from where?

Beyond the straits where those great pillars stand
Of Hercules, there is no solid land;

Only the fabled Islands of the Blest,

That slumber somewhere in the golden West;

The Fortunate Isles, where falls no winter snow,
But where the palm-trees wave in endless spring,
And the birds sing,

And balmy west winds blow!

Beyond this bright Elysium all is sea;

A plain of foam that stretches on, and on,
Beyond the clouds, beyond the setting sun,
Endless and desolate as Eternity!

At last from out the wild and stormy North—
Or is it but a dream?-a bark puts forth
Into that unknown sea. It nears me now;

I see its flapping sails, its dragon prow,

Its daring men; I know the arms they bear;

I know those shaggy Jarls with lengths of yellow hair! They go, and come no more.

Still lies the sea as awful as before!

Who shall explore its bounds, if bounds there be? Who shall make known to Man the secret of the Sea? The Genoese! His little fleet departs,

Steered by the prospering pilot of the wind;
The sailors crowd the stern with troubled hearts,
Watching their homes that slowly drop behind:
His looms before, for by the prow he stands,
And sees in his rapt thoughts the undiscovered lands!
All day they sail; the sun goes down at night
Below the waves, and land is still afar;
The sluggish sailors sleep, but see, his light
As steady as a star!

He pores upon his chart with sleepless eyes,
Till day returns and walks the gloomy skies.
In vain the sullen sailors climb the shrouds,

And strain their eyes upon the giddy mast;

They see the sky, the sun, the anchored clouds-
The only land is past!

Day follows day; night, night; and sea and sky
Still yawn beyond, and fear to fear succeeds.
At last a knot of weeds goes drifting by,

And then a sea of weeds!

The winds are faint with spice, the skies are bland,
And filled with singing birds, and some alight,
And cheer the sailors with their news of land,
Until they fly at night.

At last they see a light!

The keen-eyed Admiral sees it from his bark,
A little dancing flame that flickers through the dark!
They bed their rusty anchors in the sand,
And all night long they lie before the land,
And watch, and pray for Day!

When Morning lifts the mist, a league away,

Like some long cloud on Ocean's glittering floor,
It takes the rising sun-a wooded shore,

With many a glassy bay!

The first great footstep in that new-found world
Is his, who plucked it from the greedy main,

And his the earliest kiss, the holiest prayer;

He draws his sword, his standard is unfurled,

And while it lifts its wedded crowns in air He plants the cross, and gives his world to Heaven and Spain! His silver furrow faded in the sea,

But thousands followed to the lands he won:

They grew as native to the waves, as free

As sea-birds in the sun!

Their white sails glanced in every bay and stream;

They climbed the hills, they tracked the pathless woods,
And towns and cities o'er the solitudes
Rose, as in a dream!

The happy Worlds exchanged their riches then ;
The New sent forth her tributes to the Old,
In galleons full of gold,

And she repaid with men!

Thus did this grand old sailor wrest the key
From Nature's grasp, unlocking all the Past,
And thus was won at last

A victory o'er the Sea!

III.

The victory of To-Day
Completes what he began,

Along the dark and barren watery way,

And in the Mind of Man!