ave these simple facts:
Spiders have no antennae, therefore rank
Not with the insects. As they breathe with gills
Beneath the body, they possess a heart.
The treasure of the tomb brought wealth to us,
And we who loved were wed one golden day;
And the great Czar hearing our story told,
Sent presents to the bride of silk and pearls.

GRACE BERNARD.

I know the drift and purpose of the years;
The will, which is the magnet of the soul,
Shall yet attain new powers, and man
Be something more than man. The husks fall off;
Old civilizations pass, the new come on.

I.

There are two farms which, smiling in the sun,
Adjoin each other, as I trust, some day
Two hearts will join, who from their bounty live.
One farm is John Bernard's, and one is mine;
And she, the one pearl woman in my eyes,
Is his sweet daughter, gentle Grace Bernard.

Three years ago, my father followed her
Who gave me birth home to his narrow house.
I was at college when death's summons came,
And all the grief fell on me, crushing me;
And all my heart cried out in bitterness,
Moaning to cease with its wet language,--tears.
Then with my prospects of professional life
Thwarted and void, I came back to the farm--
I came back to the love of Grace Bernard.
She was the dove that on the flood of grief
Brought to my window there love's olive spray.
From college to the farm-house where I dwelt
I took my books, friends who are never cold,
With fragile instruments of chemistry,
And cabinets of mineral and rock
With limestone encrinites; asterias
Old as the mountains, or the sea's white lash
Wherewith he smites the shoulders of the shore;
Tarentula and scarabee I brought,
And, too, I brought my diamond microscope
Which magnifies a pin's head to a man's,
And gives me sights in water and in air
The naturalists have not yet touched upon.
Over my fields I wander frequently,
Breaking the past's upturned face of shelving rocks
For special specimens to fill my home;
But find my footsteps always thither tend,
Toward the farm-house of the other farm,
Where Grace Bernard is noontime and delight.

When first I took the hand of her I love,
And held it only as a stranger might,
Some unseen mentor whispered in my ear,
_You twain are strands which Destiny shall braid_,
And then a numb misgiving, not explained,
Settled with chilly dampness on my heart.
My Grace Bernard in Grace was not misnamed,
There was a so