Wrecked and naked, a hungry horde

Of fierce white surges leaping aboard,
And bale and bundle came up from the sea,
But nothing ever came back to me.

And through every pool where the full tides toss
I search for some lock of curling floss.
Yet still in my window, night by night,
The little candle is burning bright.
For, oh, if I suddenly turned to meet
My darling coming with flying feet,
While I, in the place they left me, sat,
No greater marvel 'twould be than that
When so softly, slowly stole up from the sea
The day that brought my dole to me.

OUR NEW LIVERY, AND OTHER THINGS.

GEO. WM. CURTIS.

MY DEAR CAROLINE:-Lent came so frightfully early this year that I was very much afraid my new bonnet would not be out from Paris soon enough. But fortunately it arrived just in time, and I had the satisfaction of taking down the pride of Mrs. Croesus, who fancied hers would be the only stylish hat in church the first Sunday. She could not keep her eyes away from me, and I sat so unmoved, and so calmly looking at the Doctor, that she was quite vexed. But whenever she turned away I ran my eyes over the whole congregation, and-would you believe it?-almost without an exception people had on their old things! However, I suppose they forgot how soon Lent was coming.

I've so many things to tell you that I hardly know where to begin. The great thing is the livery, but I want to come

regularly up to that and forget nothing by the way. I was uncertain for a long time how to have my prayer-book bound. Finally after thinking about it a great deal I concluded to have it done in pale blue velvet with gold clasps and a gold cross upon the side. To be sure it's nothing very new. But what is new nowadays? Sally Shrimp has had hers done in emerald, and I know Mrs. Crœsus will have crimson for hers, and those people who sit next us in church have a kind of morocco binding. I must tell you one reason why I fixed upon the pale blue. You know that aristocratic young man in white cravat and black pantaloons and waistcoat whom we saw at Saratoga a year ago, and who always had such a beautiful sanctimonious look and such small white hands. Well, he is a minister, as we supposed, "an unworthy candidate, an unprofitable husbandman," as he calls himself in that delicious voice of his. He has been quite taken up among us. He has been asked a good deal to dinner, and there was talk of his being settled. as colleague to the Doctor.

Well, I told him that I wished to take his advice upon something connected with the church. When I asked him in what velvet he would advise me to have my prayer-book bound, he talked beautifully for about twenty minutes. I wish you could have heard him. I'm not sure that I understood much of what he said, but it was very beautiful. Well, by and by he said, "Therefore, dear Mrs. Potiphar, as your faith is so pure and childlike, and as I observe that the light from the yellow panes usually falls across your pew, I would advise that you symbolize your faith by binding your prayer-book in pale blue, the color of skim milk, dear Mrs. Potiphar, which is so full of pastoral associations." What gossips we women are to be sure! I meant to write you about our new livery, and I'm afraid I have tired you

out already. You remember when you were here I said that I meant to have a livery; for my sister Margaret told me that when they used to drive in Hyde Park with the old Marquis of Mammon it was always so delightful to hear him say,

"Ah! there is Lady Lobster's livery!"

I told the Reverend Cream Cheese that as he had already assisted me in colors once, I should be most glad to have him do so again. What a time we had, to be sure, talking of colors and cloths and gaiters and buttons and kneebreeches and waistcoats and plush and coats and lace and hatbands and gloves and cravats and cords and tassels and hats! Oh, it was delightful.

I determined to have red plush breeches, with a black cord at the side, white stockings, low shoes with large buckles, a yellow waistcoat with large buttons, lappels to the pockets and a purple coat very full and fine, bound with gold lace, and the hat banded with a full gold rosette. Don't you think that would look well in Hyde Park? And why shouldn't we have in Broadway what they have in Hyde Park?

So now, Caroline dear, I have my livery and my footman, and am as good as anybody. It's very splendid when I go to Stewart's to have the red plush and the purple and the white calves springing down to open the door, and to see people look and say, "I wonder who that is!" And everybody bows so nicely, and the clerks are so polite, and Mrs. Gnu is melting with envy on the other side, and Mrs. Settum Downe says, "Is that the Potiphar livery? Ah, yes, Mr. Potiphar's grandfather used to shoe my grandfather's horses." Then I step out and James throws open the door, and the young men raise their hats and the new crowd says, "I wonder who that is!" and the plush and

the purple and the calves spring up behind and I drive home to dinner.

Now, Carrie, dear, isn't that nice? Well, I don't know how it is, but things are so queer. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning in my room, which I have had tapestried with fluted rose silk, and lie thinking, under the lace curtains; although I may have been to one of Mrs. Gnu's splendid parties the night before, and am going to Mrs. Silkes to dinner, and to Mrs. Settum Downe's and the opera in the evening, and have nothing to do all day but go to Stewart's and shop and pay morning calls,-do you know, as I say, that sometimes I hear an old familiar tune played upon a hand organ far away in some street, and it seems to me in that half-drowsy state under the laces that I hear the boys and girls singing it in the fields where we used to play.

I doze again until Adèle comes in and opens the shutters. I do not hear the music any more, but those days I do sometimes seem to hear it all the time. Of course Mr. Potiphar is gone long before I wake, so he knows nothing of all this. I generally come in at night after he is asleep, and he goes down town before I wake in the morning. He comes home to dinner, but he is apt to be silent; and after dinner he takes his nap in the parlor over his newspaper, while I go up and let Adèle dress my hair for the evening. So I don't see a great deal of him except in the summer when I am at Saratoga or Newport; and then not so much, after all, for he usually comes only to pass Sunday, and I must be a good Christian you know and go to church. On the whole we have not a very intimate acquaintance, but I have a great respect for him. He told me the other day that he should make at least thirty thousand dollars this year.

I am very sorry I can't write you a longer letter. I waut

to consult you about wearing gold powder like the new empress. It would kill Mrs. Croesus if you and I should be the first to come out in it; and don't you think the effect would be fine when we were dancing, to shower the gold mist around us? How it would sparkle on the gentlemen's black coats. Our little Fred is down with scarlet fever. I hope it won't spoil his complexion. I don't go into the room, but the nurse tells me through the keyhole how he is. I have a thousand things to say, but I know you must be tired to death.

Fondly yours,

POLLY POTIPHAR.

—A letter from Mrs. Potiphar to a friend in Paris.

TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW.

GERALD MASSEY.

HIGH hopes that burn'd like stars sublime,
Go down i' the heavens of freedom;
And true hearts perish in the time
We bitterliest need 'em!

But never sit we down and say,
There's nothing left but sorrow:
We walk the wilderness to-day-
The promised land to-morrow!

Our birds of song are silent now,
There are no flowers blooming,
Yet life holds in the frozen bough,

And freedom's spring is coming;
And freedom's tide comes up alway,
Though we may strand in sorrow:
And our good bark, aground to-day,

Shall float again to-morrow.