And the streets still reëcho the names of the trees of

the forest,

As if they fain would appease the Dryads whose haunts they molested.

There from the troubled sea had Evangeline landed,

an exile,

Finding among the children of Penn a home and a

country.

There old René Leblanc had died; and when he de- 1260

parted,

Saw at his side only one of all his hundred descendants.
Something at least there was in the friendly streets of

the city,

Something that spake to her heart, and made her no longer a stranger;

And her ear was pleased with the Thee and Thou of

the Quakers,

For it recalled the past, the old Acadian country,
Where all men were equal, and all were brothers and

sisters.

So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed en

deavor,

Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, uncom

plaining,

Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned her

thoughts and her footsteps.

1265

As from the mountain's top the rainy mists of the 1270 morning

Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape below

us,

Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities and

hamlets,

So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw the world far below her,

Dark no longer, but all illumined with love; and the

pathway

Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth and fair 1275

in the distance.

Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart was his

image,

Clothed in the beauty of love and youth, as last she

beheld him,

Only more beautiful made by his death-like silence and absence.

Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for it was

not.

Over him years had no power; he was not changed, 1280 but transfigured;

He had become to her heart as one who is dead, and

not absent;

Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion to

others,

This was the lesson a life of trial and sorrow had

taught her.

So was her love diffused, but, like to some odorous

spices,

Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the air 1285

with aroma.

Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but to

follow

Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of her

Saviour.

Thus many years she lived as a Sister of Mercy;

frequenting

Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded lanes of the

city,

Where distress and want concealed themselves from 1290

the sunlight,

Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished

neglected.

Night after night, when the world was asleep, as the watchman repeated

Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was well in

the city,

High at some lonely window he saw the light of her

taper.

Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 1295 through the suburbs

Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and fruits

for the market,

Met he that meek, pale face, returning home from its

watchings.

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell on the

city,

Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by flocks of

wild pigeons,

Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught in their 1300 craws but an acorn.

And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month of

September,

Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to a lake in the meadow,

So death flooded life, and, o'erflowing its natural

margin,

Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of ex

istence.

Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to charm, 1305

the oppressor;

But all perished alike beneath the scourge of his

anger;

Only, alas! the poor, who had neither friends nor

attendants,

Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of the

homeless.

Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of mead

ows and woodlands ;—

Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its gate- 1810

way and wicket

Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble walls seem

to echo

Softly the words of the Lord :-"The poor ye always

have with you."

Thither by night and by day, came the Sister of

Mercy. The dying

Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, to be

hold there

Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead with 1315

splendor,

Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of saints and

apostles,

Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at a dis

tance.

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the city celestial,

Into whose shining gates erelong their spirits would enter.

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the streets, de- 1320 serted and silent,

Wending her quiet way, she entered the door of the

almshouse.

Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flowers in

the garden;

And she paused on her way to gather the fairest

among them,

That the dying once more might rejoice in their

fragrance and beauty.