Ho, maidens of Vienna! ho, matrons of Luzerne!

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. Ho! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles,

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's souls.

Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright;
Ho! burghers of St. Généviève, keep watch and ward to-night:
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise and valor of the brave.
Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are;
And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre!

EPITAPH ON A JACOBITE.

To my true King I offer'd free from stain
Courage and faith: vain faith and courage vain.
For him, I threw lands, honors, wealth, away,
And one dear hope, that was more priz'd than they.
For him I languish'd in a foreign clime.
Gray-hair'd with sorrow in my manhood's prime;
Heard on Lavernia Seargill's whispering trees,
And pin'd by Arno for my lovelier Tees;
Beheld each night my home in fever'd sleep,
Each morning started from my dream to weep;
Till God who saw me tried too sorely, gave
The resting-place I ask'd, an early grave.

Oh thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone
From that proud country which was once mine own,
By those white cliffs I never more must see,
By that dear language which I spake like thee,
Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear
O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.

7485

GEORGE MACDONALD.

GEORGE MACDONALD, a noted Scottish poet and novelist, born at Huntly, Aberdeenshire, in 1824. He was educated at the University of Aberdeen, studied theology at the Independent College of London, and became an Independent minister. He resigned his ministry and began a literary life in London, and visited the United States on a lecturing tour. Afterward he removed to Italy. His first work, a dramatic poem entitled "Within and Without," appeared in 1856. It was followed by "A Hidden Life and Other Poems" (1857); and by "Phantastes, a Faerie Romance," in 1858. Among his subsequent works are "David Elginbrod" (1862); "The Portent, a Story of Second Sight" (1864); "Alec Forbes of Howglen" (1865); "The Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood" (1866); "Guild Court" (1867); "The Disciple and other Poems" and "Robert Falconer" (1868); "Unspoken Sermons" (1866); "The Miracles" (1870); "The Vicar's Daughter" (1872); "Malcolm " (1874); "St. George and St. Michael" (1875); "Thomas Wingfield, Curate" (1876); "The Marquis of Lossie" (1877); "Paul Faber, Surgeon" (1879); "Mary Marston" (1881); "The Gifts of the Child Christ, and Other Poems" (1882); "Donald Grant" (1883); "What's Mine's Mine" (1886); "Home Again" (1887); "The Elect Lady" (1888); "There and Back" (1891); “A Rough Shaking" (1891); "Poems" (1893); "The Light Princess and other Fairy Tales" (1893); "Heather and Snow "(1893); "Lilith " (1895); "The Lost Princess" (1895); "Salted with Fire" (1897); "Rampolli" (1897).

MY FIRST MONDAY AT THE MARSHMALLOWS.

(From "Annals of a Quiet Neighborhood.")

THE next day I might expect some visitors. It is a fortunate thing that English society now regards the parson as a gentleman, else he would have little chance of being useful to the upper classes. But I wanted to get a good start of them, and see some of my poor before my rich came to see me. So after breakfast, on as lovely a Monday in the beginning of autumn as ever came to comfort a clergyman in the reaction of his efforts

to feed his flock on the Sunday, I walked out, and took my way to the village. I strove to dismiss from my mind every feeling of doing duty, of performing my part, and all that. I had a horror of becoming a moral policeman as much as of "doing church.” I would simply enjoy the privilege, more open to me in virtue of my office of ministering. But as no servant has a right to force his service, so I would be the neighbor only, until such time as the opportunity of being the servant should show itself.

The village was as irregular as a village should be, partly consisting of those white houses with intersecting parallelograms of black which still abound in some regions of our island. Just in the center, however, grouping about an old house of red brick, which had once been a manorial residence, but was now subdivided in all modes that analytic ingenuity could devise, rose a portion of it which, from one point of view, might seem part of an old town. But But you had only to pass round any one of three visible corners to see stacks of wheat and a farm-yard; while in another direction the houses went straggling away into a wood that looked very like the beginning of a forest, of which some of the village orchards appeared to form part. From the street the slow-winding, poplar-bordered stream was here and there just visible.

I did not quite like to have it between me and my village. I could not help preferring that homely relation in which the houses are built up like swallow-nests on to the very walls of the cathedrals themselves, to the arrangement here, where the river flowed, with what flow there was in it, between the church and the people.

A little way beyond the farther end of the village appeared an iron gate, of considerable size, dividing a lofty stone wall. And upon the top of that one of the stone pillars supporting the gate which I could see, stood a creature of stone, whether natant, volant, passant, couchant, or rampant, I could not tell, only it looked like something terrible enough for a quite antediluvian heraldry.

As I passed along the street, wondering with myself what relations between me and these houses were hidden in the future, my eye was caught by the window of a little shop, in which strings of beads and elephants of gingerbread formed the chief samples of the goods within. It was a window much broader than it was high, divided into lozenge-shaped panes. Wondering what kind of old woman presided over the treasures