_Wesleyan Literary Monthly._
~George Du Maurier.~
"Ah, if we knew; if we only knew for certain."
"Ah, if we only _knew_!" he said,
The master--now laid cold and dead--
Under the sweetest song joy sang
This, like a burden, ever rang--
"Ah, if we only _knew_!" can we,
Now death shows him the certainty,
Now he has won his peace thro' pain,
Wish him back to the doubt again?
Nay, pass! thou great prince Gentle Heart!
Crowned with the deathless days of Art--
To that far country--old, yet ever new--
The land where all the dreams are true.
ARTHUR KETCHUM.
_Williams Literary Monthly._
~Lizy Ann.~
"My darter?" Yes, that's Lizy Ann
Ez full o' grit ez any man
'T you ever see! She does the chores
Days when I can't git out-o'-doors
'Account o' this 'ere rheumatiz,
And sees to everything there is
To see to here about the place,
And never makes a rueful face
At housework, like some women do,
But does it well--and cheerful, too.
There's mother--she's been bedrid now
This twenty year. And you'll allow
It takes a grist o' care and waitin'
To tend on _her_. But I'm a-statin'
But jest the facts when this I say:
There's never been a single day
That gal has left her mother's side
Except for meetin', or to ride
Through mud and mire, through rain or snow,
To market when I couldn't go.
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