e) in love
with--Creshy Williams? What melodramatic difficulties might have been
built upon this foundation! And as for Fessenden's being a fool and a
pauper, he should turn out to be the son of some proud man, either
Gingerford or Frisbie. But it is too late now. We acknowledge our fatal
mistake. Who cares for the fortunes of a miserable negro family? Who
cares to know the future of Mr. Williams, or of any of his race?

Suffice it, then, to say, that, as for the Williamses, God has taken
care of them in every trial,--turning even the wrath of enemies to their
advantage, as we have seen; just as He will, no doubt, in His fatherly
kindness, provide for that unhappy race which is now in the perilous
crisis of its destiny, and concerning which so many, both its friends
and enemies, are anxiously asking, "What will become of them?"

FORGOTTEN.

In this dim shadow, where
She found the quiet which all tired hearts crave,
Now, without grief or care,
The wild bees murmur, and the blossoms wave,
And the forgetful air
Blows heedlessly across her grassy grave.

Yet, when she lived on earth,
She loved this leafy dell, and knew by name
All things of sylvan birth;
Squirrel and bird chirped welcome, when she came:
Yet now, in careless mirth,
They frisk, and build, and warble all the same.

From the great city near,
Wherein she toiled through life's incessant quest,
For weary year on year,
Come the far voices of its deep unrest,
To touch her dead, deaf ear,
And surge unechoed o'er her pulseless breast.

The hearts which clung to her
Have sought out other shrines, as all hearts must,
When Time, the comforter,
Has worn their grief out, and replaced their trust:
Not even neglect can stir
This little handful of forgotten dust.

Grass waves, and insects hum,
And then the snow blows bitterly across;
Strange footsteps go and come,
Breaking the dew-drops on the starry moss:
She lieth still and dumb,
And counts no longer any gain or loss.

Ah, well,--'t is better so;
Let the dust deepen as the years increase;
Of her who sleeps below
Let the name perish and the memory cease,
Since she has come to know
That which through life she vainly prayed for,--Peace!

WET-WEATHER WORK.

BY A FARMER.

VIII.--CONCLUSION.

As I sit in my li