Not one to save her, of all the pitying angels in heaven!
Not one bolt of God to strike him dead there before her!
Wildly she waved him back, we waiting in silence and horror!
Over the swarthy face of the gambler a pallor of passion
Passed, like a gleam of lightning over the west in the night-

time.

White, she stood, and mute, till he put forth his hand to secure her;

Then she turned and leaped,-in mid-air fluttered a moment,― Down, there, whirling, fell, like a broken-winged bird from a

tree-top,

Down on the cruel wheel, that caught her, and hurled her, and crushed her,

And in the foaming water plunged her, and hid her forever."

VI.

Still with his back to us all the pilot stood, but we heard him Swallowing hard, as he pulled the bell-rope to stop her. Then, turning,—

"This is the place where it happened," brokenly whispered the

pilotr

Somehow, I never like to go by here alone in the night-time." Darkly the Mississippi flowed by the town that lay in the starlight,

Cheerful with lamps./Below we could hear them reversing the engines,

And the great boat glided up to the shore like a giant exhausted.

Heavily sighed her pipes. Broad over the swamps to the eastward

Shone the full moon, and turned our far-trembling wake into silver.

All was serene and calm, but the odorous breath of the

willows

Smote like the subtile breath of an infinite sorrow upon us. 1

་

Jean deflow

ECHO AND THE FERRY.

Ay, Oliver! I was but seven, and he was eleven;
He looked at me pouting and rosy. I blushed where I stood.
They had told us to play in the orchard (and I only seven!
A small guest at the farm); but he said, "Oh, a girl was no

good!"

So he whistled and went, he went over the stile to the wood.
It was sad, it was sorrowful! Only a girl-only seven!
At home in the dark London smoke I had not found it out.
The pear-trees looked on in their white, and blue-birds
flash'd about,

And they too were angry as Oliver. Were they eleven?
I thought so. Yes, everyone else was eleven-eleven!

So Oliver went, but the cowslips were tall at my feet,
And all the white orchard with fast-falling blossom was

litter'd;

And under and over the branches those little birds twitter'd, While hanging head downward they scolded because I was

seven.

A pity. A very great pity. One should be eleven.

But soon I was happy, the smell of the world was so sweet,
And I saw a round hole in an apple-tree rosy and old.
Then I knew! for I peeped, and I felt it was right they
should scold!

Eggs small and eggs many. For gladness I broke into

laughter;

And then some one else—oh, how softly!—came after, came

after

With laughter with laughter came after.

And no one was near us to utter that sweet mocking call,
That soon very tired sank low with a mystical fall.

But this was the country-perhaps it was close under heaven;
Oh, nothing so likely; the voice might have come from it

even.

I knew about heaven. But this was the country, of this
Light, blossom, and piping, and flashing of wings not at all.
Not at all. No. But one little bird was an easy forgiver:
She peeped, she drew near as I moved from her domicile
small,

Then flashed down her hole like a dart-like a dart from the

quiver,

And I waded atween the long grasses and felt it was bliss.

-So this was the country; clear dazzle of azure and shiver
And whisper of leaves, and a humming all over the tall
White branches, a humming of bees. And I came to the
wall-

A little low wall-and looked over, and there was the river,
The lane that led on to the village, and then the sweet river
Clear shining and slow, she had far far to go from her snow;
But each rush gleamed a sword in the sunlight to guard her
long flow,

And she murmur'd, methought, with a speech very soft-very

low.

"The ways will be long, but the days will be long," quoth the

river,

"To me a long liver, long, long!" quoth the river—the river.

I dreamed of the country that night, of the orchard, the sky, The voice that had mocked coming after and over and under. But at last-in a day or two namely-Eleven and I

Were very fast friends, and to him I confided the wonder. He said that was Echo. "Was Echo a wise kind of bee "That had learned how to laugh: could it laugh in one's ear and then fly

"And laugh again yonder?" "No; Echo "-he whispered it

low

Was a woman, they said, but a woman whom no one could

see

"And no one could find; and he did not believe it, not he, "But he could not get near for the river that held us asunder. "Yet I that had money—a shilling, a whole silver shilling—

We might cross if I thought I would spend it." "Oh yes, I was willing"

And we ran, hand in hand, we ran down to the ferry, the

ferry,

And we heard how she mocked at the folk with a voice clear

and merry

When they called for the ferry; but oh! she was very-was

very

Swift footed.

cried,

She spoke and was gone; and when Oliver

Hie over! hie over! you man of the ferry-the ferry!"

By the still water's side she was heard far and wide-she

replied

And she mocked in her voice sweet and merry, " You man of

the Ferry,

You man of-you man of the Ferry!"

Hie over!" he shouted. The ferryman came at his calling, Across the clear reed-bordered river he ferried us fast;Such a chase! Hand in hand, foot to foot, we ran on; it

surpass'd

All measure her doubling-so close, then so far away falling,
Then gone, and no more.
Oh! to see her but once unaware,
And the mouth that had mocked, but we might not-(yet

sure she was there!),

Nor behold her wild eyes and her mystical countenance fair.

We sought in the wood, and we found the wood-wren in her stead;

In the field, and we found but the cuckoo that talked over

head;

By the brook, and we found the reed-sparrow deep nested, in

brown

Not Echo, fair Echo, for Echo, sweet Echo! was flown.

So we came to the place where the dead people wait till God

call.

The church was among them, gray moss over roof, over wall. Very silent, so low. And we stood on a green grassy mound And looked in at a window, for Echo, perhaps, in her round Might have come in to hide there. But no; every oak-carven seat

Was empty. We saw the great Bible-old, old, very old,

And the parson's great Prayer-book beside it; we heard the slow beat

Of the pendulum swing in the tower; we saw the clear gold Of a sunbeam float down to the aisle and then waver and

play

On the low chancel step and the railing, and Oliver said, "Look, Katie! look, Katie! when Lettice came here to be

wed

"She stood where that sunbeam drops down, and all white was

her gown;

"And she stepped upon flowers they strew'd for her." Then quoth small Seven:

"Shall I wear a white gown and have flowers to walk upon

ever ? "