nused. Then, when his fight is done,
Pronounce the verdict,--be it loss or gain."

I felt her right hand lightly smooth my brow,
Her left hand on my heart; and a sweet thrill
Swept all the strings of being, and the flow
Of a full harmony aroused the dormant will.
Death slunk away, sweet Resignation paled,
And Hope's bright star made all the future bright;
The clouds were rent;--a woman's love prevailed,
And dragged a sinking soul once more to love and light.

Angels there are who walk this troublous world,
Whose wings are hid beneath poor mortal clay,
Lest their effulgence to man's eyes unfurled,
Might scare the timid-hearted ones away.
The whispered word, the smile, the gentle tone,
Love-prompted from a woman's heaving breast,
Enforce her claim to make the world her throne,
Beyond compare,--of all God's gifts the best.

Nettie.

Nettie, Nettie! oh, she's pretty!
With her wreath of golden curls;
None compare with charming Nettie,
She's the prettiest of girls.
Not her face alone is sweetest,--
Nor her eyes the bluest blue,
But her figure is the neatest
Of all forms I ever knew.
But she has a fault,--the greatest
That a pretty girl could have;
When she's looking the sedatist,
And pretending to be grave,--
You discover, 'spite of hiding,
What I feel constrained to tell;
That she knows she is a beauty,--
Knows it,--knows it,--aye, too well.
May be when the bloom has vanished;
Which we know in time it will;
And her foolish fancies banished,
May be, she'll be lovely still.
For though Time may put his finger,
On her dainty-fashioned face;
There will still some beauty linger,
Round her form so full of grace.
And her heart,--the priceless treasure,
Which so many long to win,
Still shall prove a fount of pleasure,
To the love that enters in.
Pity 'tis that fairest blossoms
Must in time fall from the tree;
Pity 'tis that snow-white bosoms
Must yield up their symmetry.
Brightest eyes will lose their love-light,
Fairest cheeks grow pale and gray;--
Golden locks will lose their sunlight,
And the loveliest limbs decay.
But whilst life is left we hunger
For a taste of earthly bliss;
But the man need seek no longer,
Who can call sweet Nettie his.

The Dean's Brother.

A little lad, but thinly clad,
All day had roamed the street;
With stitled groans and aching bones,
He beg'd for bread to eat.

The wi