his morning early, dear nephew, just after you left your room,
knowing how you disliked the trouble."

Still wider opened my cousin's eyes.

"Harry, my son," said mamma to my little brother, "those cakes and
dough-nuts are for your cousin to take with him for his lunch."

"Mayn't I have a piece of pie then?"

"Go and get what you want of Mercy, my dear. I put some runs of yarn
in your trunk, dear nephew, you may give them with my love to sister
Abigal, and tell her the wool is from white Kitty. She will remember
the sheep. Give my love to brother Abiram with this letter."

Still wider opened Cousin Jehoiakim's eyes.

"You will find also in your trunk a dozen and a half of new linen
shirts that I have taken the liberty of putting there instead of your
old ones."

"Thank you, dear aunt, you are very kind. I really am very sorry to
leave you all. I have enjoyed myself very much here; but Aunt Abigail
will feel hurt if I do not pay her a visit. I shall come again as soon
as I can, so do not cry your eyes out, Cousin Clarry."

The stage came and Cousin Jehoiakim went.

And the way I lured back my flown bird would make quite an interesting
sentimental little story of itself. Bless his bright eyes! they are
shining on me now, full of mischief at this sketch I am giving you,
beloved reader. But _didn't_ we have a nice wedding time? There was
Anna and her brave lieutenant, Brother Dick and his bright little
Fanny, the beautiful, majestic Jane, and my beautiful, majestic Cousin
Clarence, and my darling, good Edgar, and, dear reader, your very
humble servant.

CORIOLANUS.

BY HENRY B. HIRST.

How many legends have been told or sung
Since Rome--the nursling of the wolf--arose,
Lean, gaunt and grim, and lapped the bubbling blood
Of fallen and dying foes.

How many lyrics, which, like trumpets heard
At dawn, when, clad in steel, the long array
Of marshaled armies glittering in the sun
Stretch, like the skies, away.

But none so golden, chivalric and holy
As that of thine, Coriolanus--none
In the imperial purple of old days
But pale before its sun.

True, thou wast proud, and deemed the people base,
Prone to idolatry of those who sought
Their April smiles--who fawned to win their votes,
Nor dreamed them dearly bought.

Thou, who hadst stood where death reigned like a king,
First in Corioli-