ly love can speak.

Tears--tears!--a shadow should not rest
Upon thy bridal day;
My spirit's murmurings shall cease
And joy be thine, sweet May.
They come with flowers--pure orange flowers--
To deck thy shining hair;
Young bride--go forth--and bear with thee,
My blessing and my prayer.

WHEN SHALL I SEE THE OBJECT THAT I LOVE.

A FAVORITE SWISS AIR.

ARRANGED FOR THE PIANO FORTE
BY
JOHN B. MUeLLER.

COPYRIGHTED BY GEORGE WILLIG, NO. 171 CHESNUT STREET, PHILADELPHIA.

[Illustration:]

_Not too slow_.

PIANO.

Wann wer-de oh wan wer-de ich, Die fer-nen blau-en Hoeh'n, Von

When shall I see, when shall I see, The ob-ject that I love? The

mei-nem Vat-er-land wenn dich, Hel-ve-lien wie-der seh'n? Denk'

friends, the home of in-fan-cy, The mai-den and the grove. The

[Illustration:]

ich da-ran, Schlaegt, selbst als Mann, Mir meine Brust mil Schmerz und lust', Denn

Val-leys fair, The wa-ter clear, The low-ing herds, The sing-ing birds, When

al-len Freu-den noch be-wust Moecht ich's noch ein-mal seh'n.

shall I see, when shall I see, The things I love so dear?

2.

When shall I see, when shall I see,
As I have seen before,
The gathering crowd beneath the tree,
With her that I adore?
And happy hear
Her voice so clear,
Blend with my own,
In liquid tone.
When shall I see, when shall I see,
The things I hold so dear?

2.

Zwar glaenzt die Sonne ueberall
Dem Menschen in der Welt;
Doch we zuerst ihr goldner Strahl
Ihm in das Auge faellt?
Wo er als Kind,
Sanft und gelind,
An muetter Hand,
Sprach und empfand,
Da ist allein sein Vaterland
Koennt' ich's noch einmal seh'n?

REVIEW OF NEW BOOKS.

_Edith Kinnaird, By the Author of "The Maiden Aunt."
Boston: E. Littell & Co._

Fiction has exercised an important influence over the public from the
earliest ages of the world. Nor is the reason difficult to determine.
Where one man takes delight in the subtleties of logic, ten derive
pleasure from the indulgence of the fancy. The love of fiction is
common to the unlettered savage as well as to the civilized European,
and has marked alike the ancient and the modern world. The oldest
surviving book, if we except the narrative of Moses, is, perhaps, a
fiction--we mean the book of Job. To reach its date we must