e of me?

"Me whom ye pierced with curse and jeer,
Whose mortal thirst ye quenched with gall?
I died for your immortal cheer:
What profit have I of you all?

"Liars, traducers, proud in thought,
Misers! no offering of psalms
Or prayer or thanks ye ever brought--
No deed of penitence or alms."

Michael and Paul at that dread speech,
With all the myriads of Heaven,
Fell on their faces to beseech
Peace for the lost one day in seven.

The Son of God, who hearkens prayer,
In mercy to those souls forlorn
Bade that their torments should forbear
From Sabbath eve to Monday morn.

The torments swarmed forth at the gate--
Hell's solemn guardians let them pass:
Those awful cherubim who wait
All sorrowful surveyed the mass.

But from the lost a single cry,
Which rang rejoicing through the spheres:
"O blessed Son of God most high!
Two nights, a day, no pain or tears?"

"O Son of God, for ever blessed!
Praise and give thanks, all spirits sad:
A day, two nights of perfect rest?
So much on earth we never had!"

[Footnote 1: See Fauriel, _Hist. de la Poesie provencale_, tom. i. ch.
8.]

THE ATONEMENT OF LEAM DUNDAS.

BY MRS. E. LYNN LINTON, AUTHOR OF "PATRICIA KEMBALL."

CHAPTER XXIX.

THE FRIEND OF THE FUTURE.

Instead of going home when she left Steel's Corner, Leam turned up
into the wood, making for the old hiding-place where she and Alick had
so often sat in the first days of her desolation and when he had been
her sole comforter. She was very sorrowful, and oppressed with doubts
and self-reproaches. As she climbed the steep wood-path, her eyes
fixed on the ground, her empty basket in her hand, and her heart as
void of hope or joy as was this of flowers, she thought over the last
hour as she might have thought over a death. How sorry she was that
Alick had said those words! how grieved that he loved her like this,
when she did not love him, when she could never have loved him if even
she had not been a Spaniard and her mother's daughter!

But she did not wish that he was different from what he was, so that
she might have been able to return his love. Leam had none of that
shifting uncertainty, that want of a central determination, which
makes so many women transact their lives by an If. She knew what she
did not feel, and she did not care to regret the impossible, to tamper
with the indefinite. She knew that she