lock shade the reedy shallow,
Where, screened by dusky leaves,
The guileless moose comes down to browse and wallow
On still balsamic eves.

The great blue heron starts as if we sought her,
On pinions of surprise,
And to our lure the darlings of the water
In pink and crimson rise.

Still gliding on, how throng the sweet romances
Of Youth's enchanted land!
A lordly eagle, as our bark advances,
Glares on us, sad and grand.

Onward we float where mellow sunset glory
Streams o'er the lakelet's breast,
And every ripple tells a golden story
Of the transfigured west.

Onward, into the evening's calm and beauty,
To camp and sleep we go:
Thrice bless'd are lives, in tasks of love and duty,
That end in such a glow!
--HORATIO NELSON POWERS.

THE RUIN OF ME.

(TOLD BY A YOUNG MARRIED MAN.)

I am Poverty scuffing about in old shoes and rubbers. I _was_ one of
those who, at a good salary, think up smart things to put around in the
corners of the Chicago _Times_. When every newspaper, from the London
_Punch_ down, was making jokes about Elihu Burritt's _Sanskrit for the
Fireside_, it was I who beat them all by saying in solid nonpareil,
"The best way to learn Sanskrit is to board in a family of
Sanskritters." It was I who said, "Let the Communists carry pistols:
they may shoot each other;" and, "Sara Bernhardt's children are
articles of _virtu_."

_O quam me delectat_ Sara Bernhardt! I love such diversified, such
picturesque gifts. Sculpture, painting, acting, writing! This is why I
loved Lydia, who was an adept at numberless arts and accomplishments.
She was a brunette with a clear, cream-tinged skin, red cheeks, rolling
black eyes, ripe velvety lips, and hair of a beautiful hue and rich
lustre--raven black, yet purple as the pigeon's wing in the sun. I
believe it is true that dark people belong to the pre-historic races:
centuries of sunlight are fused in their glowing complexion. Blondes
are beautiful--both the rosy ones with pinkish eyelids and warm golden
locks, and the pale ones with ash-colored hair, gray eyes and dark
brows and lashes--but a florid brunette excels them all.

In seeing Lydia you would make the mistake that you usually make in
judging girls: entering among them, you think their attitudes proclaim
their traits. For instance, you take the most giggling one for a
simpleton, but afterward learn tha