I went to the woods, through the narrow paths where of old the birds
twittered, and javelins of sunshine pierced--on, where we had gone
together long ago, till I reached the dell where we pledged our love.
Ah! I should find her here--

The sweet face where I should kindle smiles--the brown hair I could once
more stroke--the lithe form that I longed to clasp--the true heart that
should beat for me in a quiet home.

No. No waiting eyes--no true heart --no glad smile. But a cross and a
grave and a name:
'CHRISTINE.'


* * * * *


Aspirants of the Age! Offspring of Alo[=e]us I you have chosen a worship
that admits not a divided heart. But your faith, like the Mystic's,
shall also make your strength; and though _Aspiro_ stoops not to your
stature, yet she reigns, and she rewards. Be true. Be firm. Even if it
be upon the wreck of some frail, temporal heart-hopes, you _must_ reach
higher, till, in the sheen of the approving smile, you read the
world-lesson: Salvation through sacrifice. Through strife and
suffering--excellence.




THE RED MAN'S PLEA.