rough all its fibres
With living motion stirred,
And, in a dirge-like murmur,
These solemn words I heard--

Oh, thou, who wanderest hither,
A timely guest thou art!
For thee this cruel engine
Is passing through my heart.

When soon, in earth's still bosom,
Thy hours of rest begin,
This wood shall form the chamber
Whose walls shall close thee in.

Four planks--I saw and shuddered--
Dropped in that busy mill;
Then, as I tried to answer,
At once the wheel was still.

EFFIE MORRIS.

OR LOVE AND PRIDE.

BY ENNA DUVAL.

So changes mortal Life with fleeting years;
A mournful change, should Reason fail to bring
The timely insight that can temper fears,
And from vicissitude remove its sting;
While Faith aspires to seats in that domain
Where joys are perfect--neither wax nor wane. WORDSWORTH.

It was a warm, cloudy, sultry summer morning--scarcely a breath of air
stirred the clematis and woodbine blossoms that peeped in and
clustered around the breakfast-room window, greeting us with fresh
fragrance; but on this morning no pleasant air breathed sighingly over
them, and they looked drooping and faded. I was visiting my friend
Effie Morris, who resided in a pleasant country village, some twenty
or thirty miles from my city home. We were both young, and had been
school-girl friends from early childhood. The preceding winter had
been our closing session at school, and we were about entering our
little world as women. Effie was an only daughter of a widowed mother.
Possessing comfortable means, they lived most pleasantly in their
quiet romantic little village. Effie had stayed with me during the
winters of her school-days, while I had always returned the compliment
by spending the summer months at her pleasant home. Her mother was
lovely both in mind and disposition, and though she had suffered much
from affliction, she still retained youthful and sympathizing
feelings. Effie was gentle and beautiful, and the most innocent,
unsophisticated little enthusiast that ever breathed. She had arrived
at the age of seventeen, and to my certain knowledge had never felt
the first heart-throb; never had been in love. In vain had we attended
the dancing-school balls, and little parties. A host of boy-lovers
surrounded the little set to which we belonged, and yet Effie remained
entirely heart-whole. She never flirted, ne