of Keats.~

Like listless lullabies of sail-swept seas
Heard from still coves, and dulcet-soft as these,
Such is the echo of his perfect song,
It lives, it lingers long!

We love him more than all his wonder tales,
Sweeter his own song than his nightingale's;
No voice speaks, in the century that has fled,
So deathless from the dead!

How many stately epics have been tossed
Rudely against Time's shore, and wrecked and lost,
While Keats, the dreaming boy, floats down Time's
sea
His lyric argosy!

FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES.
_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._

~George Du Maurier.~

"Ah, if we knew; if we only knew for certain."

"Ah, if we only _knew_!" he said,
The master--now laid cold and dead--
Under the sweetest song joy sang
This, like a burden, ever rang--

"Ah, if we only _knew_!" can we,
Now death shows him the certainty,
Now he has won his peace thro' pain,
Wish him back to the doubt again?

Nay, pass! thou great prince Gentle Heart!
Crowned with the deathless days of Art--
To that far country--old, yet ever new--
The land where all the dreams are true.

ARTHUR KETCHUM.
_Williams Literary Monthly._

~Lizy Ann.~

"My darter?" Yes, that's Lizy Ann
Ez full o' grit ez any man
'T you ever see! She does the chores
Days when I can't git out-o'-doors
'Account o' this 'ere rheumatiz,
And sees to everything there is
To see to here about the place,
And never makes a rueful face
At housework, like some women do,
But does it well--and cheerful, too.

There's mother--she's been bedrid now
This twenty year. And you'll allow
It takes a grist o' care and waitin'
To tend on _her_. But I'm a-statin'
But jest the facts when this I say:
There's never been a single day
That gal has left her mother's side
Except for meetin', or to ride
Through mud and mire, through rain or snow,
To market when I couldn't go.

"She's thirty-five or so?" Yes, more
Than that. She's mighty nigh twoscore.
But what's the odds? She's sweet and mild
To me and mother as a child.
There doesn't breathe a better than
Our eldest darter, Lizy Ann!

"Had offers?" Wal, I reckon; though
She ne'er told me nor mother so.
I mind one chap--a likely man--
Who seemed clean gone on Lizy Ann,
And yet she let the feller slide,
And he's sence found another bride.

The roses in her cheeks is gone,
And left 'em kinder pale and wan.
Her mates is married, dead, or strayed
To other places. Youth nor maid
No longer co