him! If he had really been immured two days in the tomb, the
story, from my point of view, would have lost its tragic element.

After this it was but natural I should regard Mr. Wentworth with
deepened interest. As I met him from day to day, passing through the
Common with that same abstracted air, there was something in his
loneliness which touched me. I wondered that I had not before read in
his pale meditative face some such sad history as Mr. H---- had confided
to me. I formed the resolution of speaking to him, though with what
purpose was not very clear to my mind. One May morning we met at the
intersection of two paths. He courteously halted to allow me the
precedence.

"Mr. Wentworth," I began, "I--"

He interrupted me.

"My name, sir," he said, in an off-hand manner, "is Jones."

"Jo-Jo-Jones!" I gasped.

"Not Jo Jones," he returned coldly, "Frederick."

Mr. Jones, or whatever his name is, will never know, unless he reads
these pages, why a man accosted him one morning as "Mr. Wentworth," and
then abruptly rushed down the nearest path, and disappeared in the
crowd.

The fact is, I had been duped by Mr. H----. Mr. H---- occasionally
contributes a story to the magazines. He had actually tried the effect
of one of his romances on me!

My hero, as I subsequently learned, is no hero at all, but a commonplace
young man who has some connection with the building of that pretty
granite bridge which will shortly span the crooked little lake in the
Public Garden.

When I think of the cool ingenuity and readiness with which Mr.
H----built up his airy fabric on my credulity, I am half inclined to
laugh; though I feel not slightly irritated at having been the
unresisting victim of his Black Art.

FREEDOM IN BRAZIL.

With clearer light, Cross of the South, shine forth
In blue Brazilian skies;
And thou, O river, cleaving half the earth
From sunset to sunrise,
From the great mountains to the Atlantic waves
Thy joy's long anthem pour.
Yet a few days (God make them less!) and slaves
Shall shame thy pride no more.
No fettered feet thy shaded margins press;
But all men shall walk free
Where thou, the high-priest of the wilderness,
Hast wedded sea to sea.

And thou, great-hearted ruler, through whose mouth
The word of God is said,
Once more, "Let there be light!"--Son of the South,
Lift up thy honored head,
Wear unasham