had one little friend who remained true to the last. It was her
little dog. He followed her to the block, and cowered, frightened,
under her dress, at the fatal moment, and lay down beside her headless
body when the last tragedy was over. It could not be driven away from
its mistress; and when the body was removed it began to droop, as
though understanding its loss, and in two days it died."

"I have spoken at school a poem by Bulwer Lytton, founded on the
incident," said Wyllys.

"Can you now repeat it?" asked Master Lewis.

"I will try."

THE DEAD QUEEN.

The world is full of life and love; the world methinks might spare,
From millions, one to watch above the dust of monarchs there.
And not one human eye!--yet, lo! what stirs the funeral pall?
What sound--it is not human woe wails moaning through the hall.
Close by the form mankind desert one thing a vigil keeps;
More near and near to that still heart it wistful, wondering, creeps.
It gazes on those glazed eyes, it hearkens for a breath;
It does not know that kindness dies, and love departs from death.
It fawns as fondly as before upon that icy hand,
And hears from lips that speak no more the voice that can command.

To that poor fool, alone on earth, no matter what had been
The pomp, the fall, the guilt, the worth, the dead was still a Queen.
With eyes that horror could not scare, it watched the senseless clay,
Crouched on the breast of death, and there moaned its fond life away.
And when the bolts discordant clashed, and human steps drew nigh,
The human pity shrank abashed before that faithful eye;
It seemed to gaze with such rebuke on those who could forsake,
Then turned to watch once more the look, and strive the sleep to wake.
They raised the pall, they touched the dead: a cry, and both were
stilled,
Alike the soul that hate had sped, the life that love had killed.

Semir'amis of England,[1] hail! thy crime secures thy sway;
But when thine eyes shall scan the tale those hireling scribes convey,
When thou shalt read, with late remorse, how one poor slave was found
Beside thy butchered rival's corse, the headless and discrowned,
Shall not thy soul foretell thine own unloved, expiring hour,
When those who kneel around the throne shall fly the falling tower?--
When thy great heart shall silent break; when thy sad eyes shall strain
Throug