Though it pass like summer showers;
Clouds will dim the soul’s pure skies,
Hope will weep o’er broken flowers.
Speak, then, gently; tones of strife
Lightly breathed have lasting power;
Memories that embitter life
Often rise from one rash hour.
THE KING OF METALS
FROM THE FRENCH.
There once lived a widow named Mary Jane, who had a beautiful daughter called Flora. The widow was a sensible, humble woman; the daughter, on the contrary, was very haughty. Many young persons desired her in marriage, but she found none to please her; the greater the number of her suitors, the more disdainful she became. One night the mother awoke, and, being unable to compose herself again to sleep, she began to say her rosary for Flora, whose pride gave her a great deal of disquietude. Flora was asleep near her, and she smiled in her sleep.