nsive tears,
Though once in pride half scorned and lightly prized;
Fair pictured scenes long vanished from her sight,
Soft tones of songs and voices loved of yore.
And words of tenderness and looks of light,
And fresh young hopes that bloom for her no more.

But this one hour has crowned in deep despair
The many sorrows of life's galling chain,
Yet mid those sighs that rend her aching soul
The heart's wild struggle is not felt in vain,
For she has turned to Him whose smile can cheer
The darkened mind and hopes lost light reveal,
And learns to feel 'mid trembling doubt and fear--
That HE whose power can wound is strong to heal.

While loftier thoughts to nobler purpose given
Than those long wasted amid fashion's glare,
And deep resolves the future shall be fraught
With holy deeds, her earnest musings share--
Though in the dance her step no more may glide,
The glittering circle miss its chosen queen,
Around the vacant place a closing tide
Will leave no record where her form was seen.

But where the widow's tear-drop may be dried,
And where the orphan wanders sad and lone,
Where poverty its grieving head may hide,
Will breathe the music of her voice's tone;
And if her face was blest with beauty rare
'Mid gilded sighs and worldly vanity,
When heavenly peace has left its impress there
Its loveliness from earthly stain is free.

LE PETIT SOULIER.

A STORY: IN TWO PARTS.

BY IK. MARVEL.

PART I.

I have said that the Abbe G---- had a room in some dark corner of a
hotel in the Rue de Seine, or Rue de la Harpe--which of the two it was
I really forget. At any rate, the hotel was very old, and the street
out of which I used to step into its ill-paved, triangular court, was
very narrow, and very dirty.

At the end of the court, farthest from the heavy gateway, was the box
of the _concierge_, who was a brisk little shoemaker, forever
bethwacking his lap-stone. If I remember right, the hammer of the
little _cordonnier_ made the only sound I used to hear in the court;
for though the house was full of lodgers, I never saw two of them
together, and never heard them talking across the court from the upper
windows, even in mid-summer.

At this distance of time, I do not think it would be possible for me
to describe accurately all the windings of the corridor which led to
the abbe's door. I remember that the first part was damp and low, and
after it I used to mount a crazy stone s