written has found its way to a young heart. My Poetry makes mention of a large number of Poets on purpose to draw to them the attention, and, as far as may be, the hearts of young and generous readers-readers capable of being raised by what they admire. I rejoice in the good account you send respecting the prospects of your new book. Believe me, Very sincerely yours, AUBREY DE VERE. Has not your uncle's Essay on The Sonnet been separately published? If not, could you lend it to me in any form, that I might lend it in turn to Miss Fitz Maurice whom I have the pleasure of knowing. I will return it safely. The two sonnets of Miss Fitz Maurice, which gave the old man so much pleasure, appeared, as did the review in question, in the issue of this magazine for February 1890, and bore the heading On Reading Aubrey de Vere's " Legends of St. Patrick." The latter of them we quote by way of conclusion. I read, and as I read, upon my ear Arose a swell of music. Through the whole EASTER MORNING ANNO DOMINI 33 On that early Easter morning Eighteen centuries ago, When the amber clouds were dawning Christ arose, and we all know How the stones were rolled aside On that early Easter morning But the grave clothes white and fair In the dawn of Easter morning O what joyful rapture theirs! ANNO DOMINI 1915 On this happy Easter morning By some humble act of love On this happy Easter morning Asking, for the present, guidance, For the future simply cast All our care for it away Christ Our Lord is risen to-day. May be, we may chance to meet Him! These are Easter gifts that each one Then when night falls, He may say Child 'twas I you helped to-day. LUCY A. M. PEACHEY. THE THIRD DOLOUR Are they but days, or are they years, Days drenched with rain of tears, For Thee, my Son! All day the streets, stony and steep, I tread and tread. With eyes that will not sleep Into the dark I weep For sickening dread. Dost miss Thy Mother's kisses sweet, And feel forlorn? Hast Thou had bread to eat, Or place to rest Thy feet, So small and worn? O Christ, my Child, I cry to Thee, Wheree'er Thou art; Thou, Who art God, dost see Thy Mother's agony, Her breaking heart. T. D. A. A SILVER SHRINE By CONSTANCE E. BISHOP, "The Seventh Wave and other Soul Stories." CHAPTER VIII. The rainy season set in unusually early that autumn. The gentle showers that harbingered the coming torrents, revived and refreshed flower beds and dusty shrubs: afterwards a steamy heat arose, and hung upon the oppressive, windless air. Mould began to develop and grow vigorously upon all leathern articles, cushions and curtains. Our mistress suffered greatly in this hot, depressing weather: the intermittent rain; the dank, pungent, clinging odour that arose from earth; these things tried and irritated her sensitive nature. She seldom ventured for a ride, or went to the club: it was a difficult matter to find delicacies which would stimulate her flagging appetite. It was pleasant to see green grass springing in the compound: I grew mustard and cress upon an old blanket, and was proud when the mistress ate it sandwiched between thin bread and butter. Martin had brought a cock and three hens down to the plains from Gobilamal; the eggs which these hens now laid were fine ones. Some were boiled for his lady's breakfast; the rest he set beneath a country fowl who was a good and experienced mother. I helped him to set the bird: a matter entailing no little ceremony. First cook-matey filled an old shallow terra-cotta tripod with fresh ashes: upon these cook placed a rusty nail; a chilli and other lucky articles. These mascots keep away devils, and ensure a good hatching out of every egg. After these preparations Martin put eighteen beautiful eggs in a circle and gently placed the hen upon them. Afterwards cook said words of encouragement to the fowl, and presently covered her with a large domed basket. The bird was set in the kitchen, near the hearth, where it was warm and dry. At first she made a loud clucking as, with her curved beak, she drew the eggs under her fluffedout feathers. Afterwards, when she was quiet, we all made salaam to the good fowl, wished her good luck and left her. : The weather was now too wet for any but very short games of golf and tennis; but English people are never hard up for amusement. It was intimated that a great General intended to visit Tiroderam. At that everybody became excited there would be a durbar; the native town illuminated; dinner parties given. A blaze of social excitement at once burst forth. Missus roused herself from languid apathy, and quickly summoned the native tailor. Ayah and he held a consultation over certain alterations which must be made in Parisian and English costumes. To show her interest in the coming gaieties, Juli dressed up her dolls and Teddy bears! The night of the great Residency dinner was fortunately a fine one. It heralded the first quarter of a new moon, and we trusted that luck had come in also. At a little past the half hour of seven, I stood upon the front verandah, and gazed out into the evening darkness; I was stationed there to look out for the hired carriage and give Martin the signal of its approach. During this spell of wet weather ferns and flowering plants had expanded and grown to maturity: the scent of tuberroses was sweetly overpowering. The large verandah lamp burned softly: now and again some moth or beetle would dash heavily against the hot chimney, and tumble to the ground-a shrivelled, unsightly thing. Presently I perceived the twinkling of carriage candles in the distance; I heard the thud-thud of hoofs. I clapped my hands and Martin joined me hurriedly. In another moment the coach was beside us. Master came into the portico, looking at his watch beneath the storm-proof lamp. Ayah hurried forward, and threw wraps into the carriage-for the night air was chill and moist, |