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And now I am old, the flag must not be missed
From the cathedral's summit.

I've no son,
Or he should bear the blame, or bear my curse.
I have a daughter—she shall wave the flag !
And this is how my girl shall wave the flag:
Ten suitors has she, and the valiant one
Who, strong of heart and will, can climb that perch,
And do what I so many times have done,
Shall take her hand from mine at his descent.
Speak up, Vienna's lads ! and recollect
How much of loveliness faint heart e'er won.”

Then there was clamor in the callow breasts
Of the Vienna youth; for she was far
The sweetest blossom of that city's vines.
But none spoke up, till Gabriel Petershein,
Whose ear the proclamation strange had reached,
Came rushing through the crowd, and boldly said, -
“ I am your daughter's suitor! and the one
She truly loves ; but scarce can gain a smile
Until I win her father's heart as well.

And thus the old man answered : “ Climb!
If senseful breeze should push you off your way,
And break that raw and somewhat worthless neck,
I cannot greatly mourn ;—but climb your way!
And
you
shall have the girl if you

succeed.”

High on the giddy pinnacle, next day,
Waited the youth ; but not till evening's sun
Marched from the western gate, that tardy king
Rode past the church. And though young

Gabriel's nerves
Were weakened by fatigue and want of food,
He pleased the people's and the monarch's eye,
And flashed a deeper thrill of love through one
Who turned her sweet face often up to him,
And whose true heart stood with him on the tower.

Now when the kingly pageant all had passed,
He folded up the flag, and, with proud smiles
And prouder heart, prepared him to descend :
But the small trap-door through which he had crept
Had by some rival's hand been barred !
He shouted, but no answer came to him,-
Not even an echo on that lofty perch.
He waved his hand in mute entreaty, but
The darkness crept between him and his friends.

A million sweet-eyed stars
Gave smiles to his beseechings, but no help.
And so the long procession of the night
Marched slowly by, and each chill hour was hailed
By the great clock beneath, and still he clung.

He prayed again,
To his lost mother in the skies above ;--
And then he prayed to God. About that time
The maiden dreamed she saw her lover, faint,
Clinging for life ; and, with a scream, uprose,
And rushed to the old sexton's yielding door,
Granting to him no peace until he ran
To find the truth, and give the boy release.
An hour ere sunrise he came feebly down,
Grasping the flag, and claiming his fair prize.

But the
young
maiden clasped his weary

head
In her white arms, and soothed him like a child ;
And said,—“ You lived a life of woe for me
Upon the spire, and now look old enough
Even to please my

father; but soon I Will nurse you back into your youth again.” And soon the tower bells

rung

his wedding song :The old young man was happy, and they both, Cheered by the well earned bounty of the king, Lived

many years within Vienna's gates.

OH! HAD I KNOWN!

If I had thought so soon she would have died,

He said, I had been tenderer in my speech ;
I had a moment lingered at her side,

And held her, ere she passed beyond my reach,
If I had thought so soon she would have died.

That day she looked up with her startled eyes,

Like some hurt creature where the woods are deep,
With kisses I had stilled those breaking sighs,-

With kisses closed those eyelids into sleep,-
That day she looked up with her startled eyes.

Oh! had I known she would have died so soon,

Love had not wasted on a barren land,
Love like those rivers under torrid noon,

Lost on the desert, poured out on the sand,
Oh! had I known she would have died so soon!

LITTLE TOMMY TUCKER.

(ARRANGED FROM E. S. PHELPS, BY SARAH N. HARRIS.)

There were three persons in the car -a merchant, an old lady, and a man in the corner, with his hat pulled over his eyes. Tommy opened the door, peeped in, hesitated, gave his little fiddle a shove on his shoulder, and walked in.

“Hi! little Tommy Tucker plays for his supper,” shouted the young exquisite, lounging on the platform, in tan-colored coat and lavender kids. “Oh, kids, you 're there, are you? Well, I'd rather play for it than loaf for it,” said Tommy stoutly. The old lady smiled benignly; the man in the corner neither looked nor smiled. Nobody would have thought, to look at that man, that he was at that very moment deserting wife and children,—a man weak, unfortunate, and selfish as unfortunate people are apt to be. That was the amount of it. He hated the dreary, needy home. Once fairly rid of him, his wastings and failings, Annie would send the children

all up

to school, and find ways to live. She had energy and invention, plenty of it, in her young, fresh days, before he came across her path to drag her down. Perhaps he should make a fortune, and come back to her, with a silk dress and servants, and make But if his ill luck went westward with him, she would forget him and be better off. So here he was, ticketed for Colorado, sitting here thinking about it. " H'm-'sleep! pronounced Tommy, with his keen glance in the corner. “ Guess I'll wake him up.” Tommy laid his cheek lovingly down on his little fiddle-you do n't know how Tommy loved that little fiddle—and struck up a gay, rollicking tune,

I care for nobody, and nobody cares for me."

The man in the corner sat quite still: when it was over, he shrugged his shoulders. “When folks are asleep they do n't hist their shoulders, not as a general thing," observed Tommy. “I'll try another. Nobody knows what possessed the little fellow—the little fellow least of all—but he tried this :

“We've lived and loved together
Through many a changing year."

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It was a new tune, and needed practice. “We've lived and loved together," played Tommy in a little plaintive wail. 6. We've lived and loved “Confound the boy!” Harmon pushed up his hat with a jerk and looked out of the window. The night was coming on. Against lonely signal-houses the water was splashing drearily, and playing monotonous bases to Tommy's wail.

_“ Through many changing years-Through many changing years.”

It was a nuisance, this playing on the train. What did the child mean by playing that? Harmon pushed up the window, fiercely vent:ng the passion of the music on the first thing that came in his way. What was the boy about now? Not “Home, sweet home”

" ? But that was what Tommy was about. “ There's no place like home," played Tommy, “there's no place like home.” There, in the lighted home, out on the flats, she was waiting now; she would put the baby down, and stand at the window with her hands raised to her face to shut out the light-watching—watching! Oh! the

long nights that she must stand watching, and the years.

66 Home, home, sweet, sweet home," played Tommy.

How about that cove in the corner, with his head lopped down on his arms ? But that cove was awake now in every nerve. Tommy knew that, it being a part of his trade to learn how to use his eyes. Oh, the sweet loyal passion of the music! It would take worse playing than Tommy's to drown the music out of “ Annie Laurie,” as its strains rose above the noise of the train :

"6'T was there that Annie Laurie
Gave me her promise true.”

She used to sing that, the man in the corner was thinking, this Annie of his own—why, she had been his own once, and he had lɔved her—how he had loved her! “Gave me her promise true," murmured the little fiddle—“That's a fact,” said poor Annie's husband, and kept it, too—ah, how she had kept it! “ Her face is as the fairest that e'er the sun shone on,” suggested the little fiddle. That it should be darkened forever, and that he should do it,—he sitting here bound for Colorado! “ And ne'er forget will I,” murmured the little fiddle. He wondered if it were ever too late for a fellow to make a man of himself. “And she's all the world to me. And for bonnie Annie Laurie I'd lay me down and die,” sang

the little fiddle triumphantly. Harmon shook himself and stood up. The train was slackening. It was about time for supper, so Tommy passed round his faded cap.

The merchant threw him a penny. The old lady was fast asleep with her mouth wide open.

6 Come here,” said Harmon: Tommy shrank back afraid. “I tell you, boy, you do n't know what you have done to-night.” Tommy could n't help laughing, though there was a twinge of pain at his stout little heart as he fingered the solitary penny in the faded cap. “Done, sir ? well, I guess I waked you up.” “ That's it, you've waked me up; here, hold your cap.” Harmon emptied his pocket into the faded сар, ,

and shook it clear of paper and copper alike, and was off the train before Tommy could say “ Jack Robinson.” eyes ! ” gasped Tommy. • Methusalah! look-er-here! one, two, three,--that chap must have been crazy—that's it, crazy.

“He'll never know what he's done to-night, nor, please God, shall she.”—She was standing at the window, as he had known she would, her hand raised to her face, her figure cut out against the

“My

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