Hither and thither and whither-who knows? II. "The river forever glides singing along, And away flows the river-but whither-who knows? III. "Let me be the breeze, love, that wanders along Be thou to my fancy the orange in bloom, Who knows? Who knows? If no breeze and no wave were to kiss them? As I sang, the lady listened, Silent save one gentle sigh: When I ceased, a tear-drop glistened Then my heart reproved the feeling Which I sang in words concealing What my heart would hide in vain. Up I sprang. What words were uttered Love, avowed with sudden boldness, Words half-vague and passion-broken, "Magdalena, dearest, hear me," Sighed I, as I seized her hand "Hola! Senor," very near me, And a stalwart caballero Comes upon me with a stride, On his head a slouched sombrero, A toledo by his side. From his breast he flung his capa With a stately Spanish air[On the whole, he looked the chap a Man to slight would scarcely dare.] "Will your worship have the goodness To release that lady's hand?""Senor," I replied, "this rudeness I am not prepared to stand. "Magdalena, say "-the maiden, With a cry of wild surprise, As with secret sorrow laden, Fainting sank before my eyes. Then the Spanish caballero Bowed with haughty courtesy, Solemn as a tragic hero, And announced himself to me. 66 Senor, I am Don Camillo No palabras, draw your 'spada; You will find I'm just your fellow- By the river's bank that night, Close, and closer still I pressed; I broke his guard, my weapon passed Through the caballero's breast Down to the earth went Don Camillo And he lay motionless as stone. Kneeling down, I raised his head; Senor Ingles, fly from Spain With all speed, for you have slain With the bleeding from his wound. I never knew, I ne'er shall know. Oft when autumn eve is closing, In my chamber lone reposing, That long, jointed, endless name;~ 'Tis a riddle past my solving, Who he was or whence he came. Was he that brother home returned? Was he some former lover spurned? Or some family fiance That the lady did not fancy? Was he any one of those? Sabe Dios. Ah! God knows. Sadly smoking my manilla, How fares the lady of the villa When I visited Sevilla Years and years ago. Has she married a Hidalgo? From an afternoon siesta, A COURTEOUS MOTHER.-HELEN HUNT. During the whole of one of last summer's hottest days, I had the good fortune to be seated in a railway car near a mother and four children, whose relations with each other were so beautiful that the pleasure of watching them was quite enough to make one forget the discomforts of the journey. It was plain that they were poor; their clothes were coarse and old, and had been made by inexperienced hands. The mother's bonnet alone would have been enough to have condemned the whole party on any of the world's thoroughfares; but her face was one which gave you a sense of rest to look upon-it was so earnest, tender, true, and strong. The children-two boys and two girls-were all under the age of twelve, and the youngest could not speak plainly. They had had a rare treat. They had been visiting the mountains, and they were talking over all the wonders they had seen with a glow of enthusiastic delight which was to be envied. In the course of the day, there were many occasions when it was necessary for her to deny requests, and to ask services, especially from the oldest boy; but no young girl, anxious to please a lover, could have done either with a more tender courtesy. She had her reward; for no lover could have been more tender and manly than was this boy of twelve. ness. Their lunch was simple and scanty; but it had the graces of a royal banquet. At the last the mother produced three apples and an orange, of which the children had not known. All eyes fastened on the orange. It was evidently a great rarity. I watched to see if this test would bring out selfishThere was a little silence-just the shade of a cloud. The mother said: "How shall I divide this? There is one for each of you; and I shall be best off of all, for I expect big tastes from each." "Oh, give Annie the orange; Annie loves oranges," spoke out the oldest boy, with the sudden air of a conqueror, at the same time taking the smallest and worst apple himself. Oh, yes, let Annie have the orange," echoed the second boy, nine years old. Yes, Annie may have the orange, because that is nicer than the apples, and she is a lady, and her brothers are gentlemen," said the mother, quietly. 66 Then there was a merry contest as to who should feed the mother with the largest and most frequent mouthfuls. Annie pretended to want apple, and exchanged thin, golden strips of orange for bites out of the cheeks of Baldwins. As I sat watching her intently, she sprang over to me saying: "Don't you want a taste, too?" The mother smiled understandingly, when I said: "No, I thank you, you dear, generous little girl; I don't care about oranges." At noon, we had a tedious interval of waiting at a dreary station. We sat for two hours on a narrow platform, which the sun had scorched till it smelt of heat. The oldest boy held the youngest child, and talked to her, while the tired mother closed her eyes and rested. The two other children were toiling up and down the banks of the railroad track picking ox-eye daisies, buttercups, and sorrel. They worked like beavers, and soon the bunches were almost too big for their little hands. Then they came running to give them to their mother. "Oh, dear," thought I, "how that poor, tired woman will hate to open her eyes! She never can take |