of the wedding, that the portrait
was painted. Giuseppe is in the centre. The brothers all said 'twas his
place. Pietro has his cowl over his head, you see, but he is fat and
hearty for all that. Domenico leans on a book, as ever, and the populace
smile pleasantly and in a well-bred manner. Guido and his wife are side
by side--the daring, jaunty, happy man and his high-born, full-throated,
soft-eyed wife. And where is Barnaba? Just over her. Below her, even in
the picture, he should have been, he thinks, and beside her, never, but
once, in a play. Dear, poor, brave Barnaba! He has changed in the six
months. His collar is as twisted, his hair as long and straight, and his
eyes as full of wonder; but there are two new turns to his lips--smiling
turns. "I've lost," they seem to say, "and I might have won. Life has
treated me poorly, but I owe her no grudge. Guido and his wife have gone
away. Giuseppe is visiting the poor. Pietro is at his priestly
work--what is it? The others are back in their lives." Barnaba walks in
the grove alone, and repeats to himself: "There is a road, and the name
of it is Patience. The flowers that grow by it are few, but they are
very sweet; and if you pluck them and weave them into a crown, the
fragrance shall last forever." And Barnaba smiles.

MARY MURDOCH MASON.

THE DEAD STAR.

Yonder in empty dark
Wanders, somewhere, a wasted sun, whose light,
Erst breathed abroad with life-creating spark,
Made hanging gardens of the circling night.

Through Time's dark emptiness
Some soul, that genius lit, goes, withered, wan,
Its flame to blackness fallen, purposeless--
The dead star wanders with the fire-spent man!

JOHN JAMES PIATT.

THE LONDON THEATRES.

A person taking up his residence in a foreign city is apt, I think, to
become something of a playgoer. In the first place he is usually more
or less isolated, and in the absence of complex social ties the
theatres help him to pass his evenings. But more than this, they offer
him a good deal of interesting evidence upon the manners and customs of
the people among whom he has come to dwell. They testify to the
civilization around him, and throw a great deal of light upon the ways
of thinking, feeling, and behaving of the community. If this exotic
spectator to whom I allude is a person of a really attentive
observation, he may extract such evidence in very large quantities. It
is furnished