"Dies iræ, dies illa," sobs the choir; "In pace, pace," from the altar rises higher; "Lux æterna;" daylight floods the altar, Priest and choir take up the holy psalter. "Requiescant in pace!" Amen, amen, in pace!
THE MESSAGE OF THE NOVEMBER WIND.
BY ELEANOR C. DONNELLY.
I.
Wrapped in lonely shadows late,
(Bleak November's midnight gloom),
As I kneel beside the grate
In the silent sitting-room:
Down the chimney moans the wind,
Like the voice of souls resigned,
Pleading from their prison thus,
"Pray for us! pray for us!
Gentle Christian, watcher kind,
Pray for us, oh! pray for us!"
II.
Melt mine eyes with sudden tears—
Old familiar tones are there;
Dear ones lost in other years,
Breathing Purgatory's prayer.
Through my fingers pass the beads,
Tender heart, responsive bleeds,
As the wind, all tremulous,
"Pray for us! pray for us!"
Seems to murmur "Love our needs—
Pray for us! oh, pray for us!"
A LEGEND OF THE TIME OF CHARLEMAGNE.
We read in the Gesta Caroli Magni that Charlemagne had a man-at- arms who served him faithfully till his death. Before breathing his last he called a nephew of his, to make known to him his last will:
"Sixty years," said he, "have I been in the service of my prince; I have never amassed the goods of this world, and my arms and my horse are all I have. My arms I leave to thee, and I will that my horse be sold immediately after my death; I charge thee with the care of this matter, if thou wilt promise me to distribute the full price amongst the poor."