And so, for the sake of old friendship, I ven- | And you? Have you aimed at the highest? ture to tell you the truthHave you too aspired and prayed? As plainly, perhaps, and as bluntly, as I Have you looked upon evil unsullied? have might in our earlier youth. Five summers ago, when you wooed her, you your souls could be parted again. She loved you at that time entirely, in the bloom of her life's early May, And it is not her fault-I repeat it-that she does not love you to-day. Nature never stands still, nor souls either: they ever go up or go down; And hers has been steadily soaring, but how has it been with your own? She has struggled and yearned and aspired grown purer and wiser each year; The stars are not farther above you in yon luminous atmosphere; For she whom you crowned with fresh roses, Her eyes they are sweeter and calmer, but their vision is clearer as well; Her voice has a tenderer cadence, but is pure as a silver bell. you conquered it undismayed? Have you too grown purer and wiser as the months and the years have rolled on? Did you meet her this morning rejoicing in the triumph of victory won? Nay, hear me: the truth cannot harm you. When to-day in her presence you stood, Was the hand that you gave her as white and clean as that of her womanhood? Go measure yourself by her standard; look that the love of her girlhood is dead. She cannot look down to her lover: her love, like her soul, aspires; He must stand by her side or above her who Now farewell! For the sake of old friendship That glittered like stars by the light of the moon? Her face has the look worn by those who with God and his angels have talked; The white robes she wears are less white than Oh, why are these dewdrops dissolving so Hath the sun in his wrath chased their brightness away, As though nothing that's lovely might live for a day? THE TZAR AND THE SHEPHERDS. THE HE tzar has wandered from the citygate The moonlight has faded, the flowers still To seek seclusion from the cares of state, remain, But the dewdrops have fled from their petals again." And thus he mused: "What troubles equal mine? That I accomplish when I purpose this. In vain I bid the sun of concord shine, "My child," said the father, "look up to And toil unwearied for my subjects' bliss: the skies; Its brightness lasts a moment, and the tzar Behold yon bright rainbow, those beautiful For the state's safety is compelled to war. dyes: There, there are the dewdrops in glory re set; 'Midst the jewels of heaven they are glittering yet. God knows I love my subjects-fain would bless them, But oft mistake, and injure and oppress them. I seek for truth, but courtiers all deceive me; And thus we are taught by each beautiful They fill their purses and deluded leave me. My people sigh and groan: I share their pain, And struggle to relieve them, but in vain." Thus mused the lord of many nations; then 'Tis but borne from this earth to beam Looked up, and saw wide scattered o'er the brighter in heaven." That the beautiful child—a bright star of his They fled from place to place, alarmed, day He cries, he beats his breast, he tears his The monarch lost all patience now: And the lambkin that through fear had The lucky arrow missed a vital part— strayed Is gathered into the fold anew; And the shepherd's pipe was echoed still Down the vale and up the hill. Or was it some kind wind that pushed it by? And only struck and broke the creature's thigh. The poor thing tumbled in a lily-bed, ers, Large as a pigeon's egg and red as wine. Again it saw its blood upon the flowers, And, last, the cruel prince, who laughed with And saw the walks, the fountain's shaft in air, glee, Fixing the picture in its memory; Beyond the city walls a league or more Her name was Heraclis. The fainting stork She fetched it water from a neighbor spring, And while it drank and washed each dabbled wing She set the fractured bones with pious care And bound them with the fillet of her hair. Eased of its pain, again it flew away, Leaving the maiden happier all the day. But not the cruel prince: no prince was there; So There came a light tap on the window-pane In walked the stork again, as white as snow, That night the prince, as usual, went to And something human brightened in its eye Great pearls milk-white and shining like the She stretched her hand to sleek its bowing Emeralds grass-green, sapphires like skies of But ere she could it made a sudden stand And thrust the priceless ruby in her hand, June, Brilliants that threw their light upon the And, sailing swiftly through the cottage door, Mounted the morning sky, and came no wal', And one great ruby that outshone them all, more. RICHARD HENRY STODDARD. T BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCHES. EDGAR ALLAN POE. HIS gifted, versatile, but very erratic, writer was born in Boston, Massachusetts, February 19, 1809. His father was David Poe, a meritorious officer in the Revolutionary army; his mother, Elizabeth Arnold, was an English actress, and her husband also went on the stage. Their children were left orphans at a very early age, with no provision for their support. Edgar was adopted by Mr. John Allan, a wealthy gentleman of Richmond, Virginia, who sent him to England for his preliminary educa tion. After remaining there four or five years he returned to Richmond in 1822, and made preparation to enter the University of Virginia, which he did in 1826. Although quick and receptive and clever in scholarship, he was so dissipated in his conduct that he was expelled within less than a year. In 1827 he started on a quixotic expedition to aid the struggling Greeks, and turned up unaccountably in St. Petersburg in a very forlorn condition. He was succored by the American minister, and returned to the United States. In 1829 he published a small volume of poems in Baltimore, Al Aaraaf, Tamerlane and Minor Poems. Mr. Allan then procured for him a cadet's warrant, and he entered the Military Academy at West Point in 1830. His irregular conduct caused him to be dismissed from the institution before a year had passed. This created an estrangement from his adopted father, and he was thrown upon his own resources for a livelihood. He began to write with great industry; in 1833 he gained two prizes for literary efforts, and was soon known as a promising writer. He was invited to the editorship of The Southern Literary Messenger, and, on the strength of his new success, he married his cousin, Miss. Virginia Clemm. Virginia Clemm. His restless spirit and irregular habits caused him to leave this post and go to New York City in 1837, where he lived precariously by his pen. In 1838 he published the Narrative of Arthur Gordon Pym, which increased his reputation. In 1839 he became editor of Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, in Philadelphia; this office he held for only one year. From 1840 to 1842 he edited Graham's Magazine, and at that time published his Tales of the Grotesque and Arabesque, which established his fame. His story entitled "The Gold-Bug" gained a prize of one hundred dollars in 1843. Ever restless, he was again in New York in 1844, and the next year presented to the world that most curious, quaint, weird poem called "The Raven.' Raven." He contributed much in a desultory way to many journals, among them particularly The Home Journal, edited by Morris and Willis. But his career had culminated; he went down hill rapidly, became very poor and shiftless, and lost his |