word, nor had she so much as glanced at her fellow-mourners. Pale and still she knelt there, a look of quiet misery in her patient large eyes.

"Who is she?" I whispered to Nasif. "The boy's mother," he answered. She did not once turn her eyes from the boy or move, except now and then to put out her hand and smooth a stray lock of hair that had been shaken loose from under his turban. Once, when she did this, she stroked his forehead and smiled.

Seeing the smile, her singing sister stopped clapping long enough to point at her, and screamed out some words, evidently in rebuke. The fellow-singers caught up the rebuke, moaning it dolorously and shaking their heads at the offender. Then, evidently feeling that they had wasted quite enough time on such an unimportant person as the mother, they took up the song and dance once more. We left them in the thick of it, and far down the street we could hear them.

"You noticed no men were there?" said Nasif. "The men-friends of the boy's father-will come later with the priests (the family are Latins) and take the body to be buried. They will bring the coffin with them. The women will keep on singing until the men come: then they will stop. Their part will be done, for they never follow the body to the church or to the grave."

We met the procession of men a furlong or two farther on, marching solemnly through the streets, headed by three priests and a small troop of incense bearers. In the middle, an empty coffin was carried on the shoulders of four men. It was bright red, decorated with white bars and crosses. A cover of the same hue was carried under the arm of a fifth mourner. We watched them pass; and, a few moments later, the mourning chant died away.

"How quiet the mother was," said Nasif, recurring to the scene among the women. "She seemed to care less than any of them."

From "Syria from the Saddle." By Albert Payson Terhune. Silver, Burdett & Co., Publishers.

YOUTH AND LOVE.

To the heart of youth the world is a high

wayside.

Passing forever, he fares; and on either hand,

With him went smiles a few, and many tears,

And peace is sweeter far than those or these.

So long his yoke? what pleasant thing had we

We too gave gifts-his gifts were less than ours;

We gave the world, that held so many flowers,

For this-the world that only holds his grave. E. NESBIT.

Athenæum.

"SO WE'RE TOGETHER, LOVE." So we're together, love, the sky Seems blue though it be grey; And winter's unkind voice assumes The gracious speech of May; And be it sad or singing weather, We reck not, love, so we're together!

So we're together, love, the world
Moves sweetly on in tune;

Each flower becomes a dew-washed rose,
Each month a balmy June;

And be it sad or singing weather,
We reck not, love, for we're together!

GUSTAV KOBBE.

AUTUMN. I.

A "little love and laughter," many tears:

A gleam of sunshine in the heaven appears,

A beam from those blue depths, that may

not stay:

Then rain, unceasing; withered leaves in showers

Come rustling down: so with this life of

ours.

II.

A smile to kindle love, a tender look From lovelier depths than heaven's brightest blue;

One golden chapter in a dreary book,
And then life takes again its dull grey hue.
Yet if forgetfulness could make it bright,
Would we forego remembrance, if we
might?

Chambers' Journal. MAUD ARNOLD.

THE BULLY,

BY IVAN TOURGENIEFF.

Translated for THE LIVING AGE by Mary J.

Safford.

CHAPTER III.

Several months elapsed. Lutschkoff had not paid a single visit to the Perekatoffs, while Kister went there quite frequently. Nenila liked him; but it was her daughter who was the cause of his calls. An inexperienced, innocent young fellow, he found special pleasure in a mutual exchange of thoughts and feelings, and in his kindly honesty believed in the possibility of a lofty, unsullied friendship between a young man and a young girl.

One day he drove his carriage, drawn by three well-fed, spirited horses, over to the Perekatoffs. It was a hot, sultry summer day. The sky was perfectly cloudless, but on the verge of the horizon a peculiar bluish mist was rising that betokened a thunder-storm. The house occupied by the family as a summer residence had been built by Perekatoff, and with the foresight peculiar to the nobility of the steppes he had so arranged it that the windows directly faced the sun.

Nenila had had all the blinds closed very early in the morning. Kister entered the cool, dusky drawing-room. The light flickered in long lines over the floor, but rested on the walls in short, broad bars. The young cornet was very cordially received by the family. After dinner Nenila retired to her chamber to rest a little while; Perekatoff made himself comfortable on the drawing-room sofa and Marja seated herself at the window behind her embroidery-frame. Kister took his place opposite to her.

Without closing the frame, Marja leaned against it, resting her head on her hands. Kister began to talk. The girl listened inattentively-it might have been supposed that she was waiting for something. Ever and anon she glanced at her father-suddenly she held out her hand.

"Listen, Fedor Fedorovitsch, but you must speak low, papa is asleep." In truth Perekatoff had fallen asleep as usual, and sat with his head thrown back and his mouth partly open. "What do you want?" asked Kister expectantly.

"You won't laugh at me?" "Pray don't suppose so."

Marja bent her head till her whole face except her forehead was hidden in her hands. Then, in a low tone, and with a somewhat embarrassed manner, she asked why he never brought Captain Lutschkoff with him.

This was not the first time that the girl had spoken of Lutschkoff since the ball.

Kister made no reply.

Marja glanced timidly up at him through her interlaced fingers. "May I tell you my opinion frankly?" asked Kister.

"Why not? Of course."

"It seems to me that Lutschkoff has made a deep impression upon you."

"Not at all!" she replied, bending her bead still lower as if to examine the pattern. A slender shaft of gold light flickered over her hair.

"Not at all! But-"

"But" repeated Kister, smiling. "You see," said Marja, suddenly raising her head, so that the ray of light shone directly into her eyes, "you see, he "

"He interests you."

"My, yes," she answered slowly, blushed to the roots of her hair, turned her head a little aside, and in this attitude continued: "He has something SO There, you are laughing," she suddenly added, locking sharply at the cornet.

A gentle smile was hovering around Kister's lips.

"I tell you everything that comes into my head," Marja continued. "I know you are a" (faithful friend to me, she was going to say) "you mean me well."

Kister bowed. Marja, in silence, timidly held out her hand to him, and he respectfully pressed her finger-tips.

"He must be very eccentric," she