as
Sheila's home.

[To be continued.]

FOOTNOTES:

[G] "My black-haired girl, my pretty girl, my black-haired girl, don't
leave me." _Nighean dubh_ is pronounced _Nyean du_.

[H] Literally, _Gearaidh-na'h-Aimhne_--"the cutting of the river."

[I] Another name given by the islanders to these stones is
_Fir-bhreige_, "false men." Both names, False Men and the Mourners,
should be of some interest to antiquarians, for they will suit pretty
nearly any theory.

WINTER.

The golden sunshine has fled away,
The clouds o'erhead hang heavy and gray,
The world is woefully sad to-day;

And I am thinking of you, dear, you.
The cold clay hides from the rain and dew
The tenderest heart that the world e'er knew.

Why should I think of you when the rain
Smiteth so sharply the window-pane,
And the wild winds round the old house 'plain?

You were so sweet and sunny and bright,
Ever your presence brought life and light,
And I recall you in storm and night.

When snow-shrouds hang on the corpse-cold trees,
When sharp frosts sting and the north winds freeze,
What has your mem'ry to do with these?

O fair lost love! O love that is dead!
The pleasant days from my life are fled,
The rosy morns and the sunsets red.

The light has faded from out my life,
Leaving the clouds and the stormy strife,
And the keen sharp cold that cuts like a knife.

The days and the months, how slow they glide,
Gray-robed and cold-breathed and frozen-eyed!
The summer died for me when you died.

O world of woe and of want and pain!
O heaven of clouds and storm and rain!
When shall I find my summer again?

LUCY H. HOOPER.

NEW WASHINGTON.

A stranger visiting the national capital should begin by leaving it. He
should cross the Anacostia River at the Navy-yard, climb the heights
behind the village of Uniontown, be careful to find exactly the right
path, and seat himself on the parapet of old Fort Stanton. His feeling
of fatigue will be overcome by one of astonishment that the scene should
contain so much that is beautiful in nature, so much that is exceedingly
novel if not very good in art, and so much that has the deepest
historical interest. From the blue hills of Prince George's county in
Maryland winds the Anacostia, whose waters at his feet float all but the
very largest vessels of our navy