Many and many are the mighty great Have swayed, have monarchized, o'er earth And gained the conqueror's fame and glory's meeds; But these, too, these have nobly shone with out The vain fictitious glitter of the crown, Circled by splendors far more bright aboutThe splendors of their own sublime renown. Thus woman needeth not the crown's poor pride: As toward his home in Israel's sheltered vales The holy man his peaceful threshold passed And she who from life's morn his heart had shared Breathed her fond welcome. Bowing o'er The blessing of his fathers' God he sought, She reigns-she reigns where'er her smile "And let me bless them ere their hour of The observant mother spake with gentle | Even in those hallowed courts, to Israel's wont To linger long amid the prophets' school, sight. But yet, methinks, thou'rt paler grown, my love, And the pure sapphire of thine eyes looks dim, Of journeying and return: Would thou As though 'twere washed with tears." hadst seen With me the golden morning break to light Yon mountain-summits whose blue, waving line Faintly she smiled: "One doubt, my lord, I fain would have thee solve: Scarce meets thine eye, where chirp the joy- Gems of rich lustre and of countless cost ous birds, Were to my keeping trusted. Now, alas! And breath of fragrant shrubs and spicy They are demanded. Must they be restored, gales, Or I not a little longer gaze may And sigh of waving boughs, stirred in the Upon their dazzling hues?" His eye grew soul stern Warm orisons. Yet most I wished thee And on his lip there lurked a sudden curl near priest, Clad in his robe pontifical, invoked The God of Abraham, while from lute and harp, Cymbal and trump and psaltery and glad Of tuneful Levite, and the mighty shout With brighter crimson. 'Mid their raven My hand I'll lay, and dedicate them there, claim His own again !"-" Nay, rabbi; come behold These priceless jewels ere I yield them back." So to their spousal-chamber with soft hand Lay his two sons, pale, pale and motionless, my sons! Light of my eyes!" the astonished father cried; "My teachers in the law, whose guileless And prompt obedience warned me oft to be Mary, I dare not call thee dear, To earth he fell Like Lebanon's rent cedar, while his breast Heaved with such groans as when the laboring soul Breaks from its clay companion's close em- I felt a pride to name thy name, brace. The mourning mother turned away and wept Till the first storm of passionate grief was still; Then, pressing to his ear her faded lip, But now that pride hath flown, How loth to part, how fond to meet, She sighed in tone of tremulous tenderness : The summoned jewels. See! the Lord did eager I hastened unto thee! Scarce nine days passed us ere we met In spring-nay, wintry-weather; Thy face was so familiar grown, A moment's memory when alone But now my very dreams forget That witching look to trace; When last that gentle cheek I prest Even loftier hopes than ours: JOHN CLARE. THE TRUE LEGEND OF A BILLIARD CLUB. I. A DANGEROUS MISSION. HAT a strange commotion has prevailed in the house all day! servants hurrying hither and thither, young people nailing elaborate devices in ivy and holly, mysterious packages from town being opened, and even hampers of borrowed silver and crystal coming in from our neighbors across the Downs. It reminds one of the noise and bustle that reign in a theatre when the last rehearsals of a pantomime are being pushed forward; and our stage-manager-she is about five feet three, with a Tower of Babel on her head and a white rose near her neck— keeps whipping about from room to room, making everybody fly before her as if she were a combination of several whirlwinds. But when she comes into this particular room, it is to be observed that there is on her face a subdued expression of triumph and revenge which is not in consonance with wifely sentiment. "Will it please Your Most Gracious Majesty "this is the way in which it is safest to address Queen Tita when she is in a hurry" to tell me how much wine you women and children are likely to drink to-morrow night?" "As there are to be no gentlemen of the party," she says, with perfect sweetness, "I think you need not fear leaving us the key of the cellar." She is off again in a moment. It is always the way with those women. Before you have your answer ready (and, of course, you wish to give it due consideration, lest it should cause pain) they are round the corner, through the hall, and pretending to count bonbons on the dining-room sideboard. This particular young person never admits that she says anything rude or impertinent or calculated to annoy, but somehow, just after uttering a little sentence or two, she has a trick of disappearing suddenly, leaving the conversation to be continued in our next. What could any one say to the insinuation about the wine consumed by one's gentleman-friends at dinner? And here it may be necessary to explain why, with all these preparations going forward, our party to-morrow is to consist exclusively of women and children. 'Tis a sad story, but it shall be told without concealment or extenuation. We are a small community down here in Surrey, consisting of half a dozen families and pretty well thrown in upon ourselves for amusement and social recreation. We dine at each other's houses; we listen to each other's wives singing all the well-known songs over again; we fall asleep in the drawing-room, and are then woke up to be driven home to bed. This form of existence is highly moral and proper, but it is not exciting. In the summer-time, of course, we have our walks by the side of |