Rienzi abandoned Rome. Yes, now, Nina, we part. If this is my last hour, may God shield and bless thee!"

What! Part? Never! This is my place! I am the wife of Cola di Rienzi, the great Senator, and by his side will I live and die! All Rome cannot separate me from him!”

Again from earth to heaven arose that ominous shout "Down with the tyrant!" And once again Rienzi vainly pleaded with Nina. "Be it so then; come, we will die together! Listen! But a few days ago and Long live Rienzi!' was the cry. Now, Beware lest the traitor escape disguised.'

"Enough, enough! Let Rome perish! I feel at last that I am nobler than my country!" Then in a loud voice he cried-"I am the Senator; who dare touch the representative of the people?" Silent he stood, awaiting the issue. What lurid glare lights up the morning sky? The whole Capitol is in flames, with Nina and Rienzi in their bridal chamber, now the chamber of execution. "Die, traitor!" and the life of Rienzi flowed out at Nina's feet. Alone with her dead she stood upon his funeral pyre. Ere yet the sound of that thrilling cry had died upon the air, down with a mighty crash thundered the whole wing of the Capitol-a blackened and smouldering mass.

The lurid glare of the conflagration cast its reflection upon a smooth and placid stream, far in the distance, while, with a beauty, soft beyond all art of painter and of poet, the sunlight quivered over the autumnal herbage and hushed into tender calm the waves of the golden Tiber.-Adapted from Bulwer's "Last of the Tribunes."

THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT SEAT.

Where hast thon been toiling all day, sweetheart,
That thy brow is burdened and sad?

The Master's work may make weary feet,
But it leaves the spirit glad.

Was thy garden nipped with the midnight frost,
Or scorched with the mid-day glare?
Were thy vines laid low, or thy lilies crushed,
That thy face is so full of care?

"No pleasant garden toils were mine.
I have sat on the judgment seat,
Where the Master sits at eve, and calls
The children around His feet."

How camest thou on the judgment seat,
Sweetheart, who set thee there?
'Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee,
And well might fill thee with care.

"I climbed on the judgment seat myself,
I have sat there alone all day,

For it grieved me to see the children round
Idling their life away.

"They wasted the Master's precious seed,
They wasted the precious hours;

They trained not the vines, nor gathered the fruit,
And they trampled the sweet, meek flowers."

And what didst thou on the judgment seat,
Sweetheart, what didst thou there?
Would the idlers heed thy childish voice?
Did the garden mend for thy care?

"Nay; and that grieved me more; I called and I cried,

But they left me there forlorn;

My voice was weak, and they heeded not,

Or they laughed my words to scorn."

Ah! the judgment seat was not for thee,

The servants were not thine;

And the eyes which fix the praise and the blame
See farther than thine or nine.

The voice that shall sound there at eve, sweetheart,
Will not strive nor cry to be heard;

It will hush the earth, and hush the hearts,
And none will resist its word.

"Should I see the Master's treasures lost, The gifts that should feed His poor,

And not lift my voice (be it as weak as it may), And not be grieved sore?"

Wait till the evening falls, sweetheart,
Wait till the evening falls;

The Master is near and knoweth all;
Wait till the Master calls.

But how fared thy garden plot, sweetheart,
Whilst thou sat on the judgment seat?
Who watered thy roses, and trained thy vines,
And kept them from careless feet?

66

Nay! that is saddest of all to me,

That is saddest of all!

My vines are trailing, my roses are parched,
My lilies droop and fall."

Go back to thy garden plot, sweetheart,
Go back till the evening falls,

And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines,
Till for thee the Master calls.

Go make thy garden fair as thou canst,
Thou workest never alone;

Perchance he whose plot is next to thine
Will see it, and mend his own.

And the next shall copy his, sweetheart,
Till all grows fair and sweet;
And when the Master comes at eve,
Happy faces His coming will greet.

Then shall thy joy be full, sweetheart,
In thy garden so fair to see,

In the Master's voice of praise to all,
In a look of His own for thee.

By the Author of the" Cotta Family."

MAY DAYS.

In sweet May time, so long ago,
I stood by the big wheel, spinning tow,
Buzz, buzz, so very slow;

Dark rough logs from the ancient trees,
Fireplace wide for the children's glees.

Above the smoky boards and beams,

Down through the crevice poured golden gleams, Till the wheel dust glimmered like diamond dreams; Mother busy with household cares,

Baby playing with upturned chairs,

Old clock telling how fast time wears.

These within. Out under the sky

Flecked mists were sailing, birds flitting by,
Joyous children playing "I spy."

Up from the earth curled leaves were coming,
Bees in the morning sunshine humming,
Away in the woods the partridge drumming,

O, how I longed to burst away,
From my dull task to the outer day;
But we were poor and I must stay.
So buzz! buzz!-'twas very slow,
Drawing threads from the shining tow,
When the heart was dancing so.

Then hope went spinning a brighter thread;
On, on, through life's long lane it led,
A path my feet should one day tread.

So pleasant thoughts would time beguile,
Till my mother said, with beaming smile,

66

My child may rest, I will reel awhile."

Rest! 'twas the est that childhood takes,
Off over fences and fragrant brakes,

To the wilds, where the earliest woodland flings.
Spring of the year, and life's sweet spring,
Words are poor for the thoughts ye bring.

But ye come together to me no more,
Your twin steps rest on the field of yore,
Ye are mine on yonder immortal shore.
'Twas hard to leave those bright May days,
The mossy path, and leafy maze

For common work, and humdrum ways.

But my steps were turned, I was up the lane,
Back to the buzzing wheel again;
My yarn had finished the ten knot skein,
And my gentle mother stroked my head:
"Your yarn is very nice," she said,
"It will make a beautiful tablespread.

"You are my good girl to work so well." Great thoughts my childish heart would swell, 'Till the happy tears like rain drops fell. I would toil for her, I would gather lore, From many books a mighty store, And pay her kindness o'er and o'er.

She should work no more at wheel or loom,
My earnings should give her a cozy room,
Bright and warm for the winter's gloom,
A soft arm-chair for her weary hours,
Books and music, pictures, flowers.

S the sweet dream ran, as the wheel buzzed on, "fill the golden gleams of light were gone, And the chilling rain came dripping down.