y two, with their faces hid,
The mourners walked to the burying-ground.
She let the staff from her clasped hands fall:
"Lord, forgive us! we're sinners all!"
And the voice of the old man answered her:
"Amen!" said Father Bachiler.

So, as I sat upon Appledore
In the calm of a closing summer day,
And the broken lines of Hampton shore
In purple mist of cloudland lay,
The Rivermouth Rocks their story told;
And waves aglow with sunset gold,
Rising and breaking in steady chime,
Beat the rhythm and kept the time.

And the sunset paled, and warmed once more
With a softer, tenderer after-glow;
In the east was moon-rise, with boats off-shore
And sails in the distance drifting slow.
The beacon glimmered from Portsmouth bar,
The White Isle kindled its great red star;
And life and death in my old-time lay
Mingled in peace like the night and day!

* * * * *

THE SCHOOLMASTER'S STORY.

I was in the shop of my friend on the day of the great snow-storm, when
the plan was proposed which he mentions in the beginning of his story,
called "Pink and Blue," printed in this magazine in the month of May,
1861. Fears were entertained that some of the women might object. And
they did. My sister Fanny, Mrs. Maylie, said it was like being set in a
frame. Farmer Hill's wife hoped we shouldn't tell _exactly_ how much we
used to think of them, for "praise to the face was open disgrace." But
my wife, Mrs. Browne, thought the stories should be made as good as
possible, for praise could not hurt them so long as they knew
themselves, just what they were. It was suggested by some one, that, if
the married men told how they won their wives, there were a couple of
old bachelors belonging to our set who ought to tell how they came to be
without, which seemed very fair.

When the lot fell upon me, my wife laughed, and declared that our
affairs ran so crooked, she didn't believe I could tell a straight
story. But Fanny said _that_ would make it seem more like a book; the
puzzle to her was what I should call myself, seeing that I was neither
one thing nor another. It was finally agreed, however, that, as I had
taught school one winter, and that an important one, I should call mine
"The Schoolmaster's Story." The truth is, my own calling would not look
well at the head of an article, for I am by profession a loafer. For
this vocation, which was my own deliberate ch