"THE TWO TOURISTS.

To elocutionists we would commend the following extract, as likely to be singularly effective if carefully studied and tastefully rendered::

"THE PRINCESS OF SANTA CROCE.

"Wailing winds were round the castle,

Sleepless lay she until dawn,

And the pale light found her paler

Than her couch's snowy lawn.

'Sigismund, her only brother,

Drew in dungeon-keep his breath;
He, to holy Church a rebel,

By the Pope was doomed to death.
"In the grey dawn of the morning,
Like a golden light she rose,
And unlocked an antique casket
Never hands but hers unclose.

There, in bed of velvet cradled,
Shone an emerald dark and clear,
Which a diver in the ocean

Found in some far-distant year.
"Then she summoned the old artist,
With his hair of silver grey,
Who on many a gem had sculptured
Fancies beautiful as day;

"Who had sculptured stone and marble
Into shapes minute and fine,
Delicate as early wild flowers,
Light as tendrils of the vine.

"Take,' she said, 'my emerald sacred,
Carve upon it Christ his head;'
To his lips he pressed it softly,
Like a bride when she is wed.

"Two long days unwearied worked he,
With a silent, reverent air,
Two long days and nights devoutly,
On the third the head was there.

"Many a forest, many a mountain,
"Twixt her castle lay and Rome;-
With the emerald in her bosom

She has left her stately home.

"From St. Angel's dark recesses,
Hark! the Miserere swells
For the soul of one who dieth
At the sound of matin bells.

"And Christ's vicar, the anointed,
Sits within the Vatican,
With the keys and the tiara,

Power to bless and power to ban.

"Tis a princess kneels before him,
Kneels to ask a brother's life,
But his cold, averted visage

Cuts her like a two-edged knife.
"Then from out her heaving bosom
Trembling she draws forth the gem,
And she lays it trembling, fainting,
On his garment's outmost hem.
"Suddenly his brow grew scarlet,
Suddenly his eye flashed light,-
'Is she dead who was possessor
Of that ocean stalactite?'

'Paul Donati! Paul Donati!

She who had that stone of thee,
Knew thee not as Pope or Kaiser,
Was thy playmate frank and free;

Ofter, 'neath her father's castle,

Has she roamed with thee unchecked;
Thou, the chaplain and the tutor,

Taught'st her more than cold respect.
""Twelve long years, O Paul Donati,

Twelve long years have flown since then;
She has kept her father's castle,

Thou hast set thy foot on men.

"On the last night ere you left her,
This the emerald which you gave,
Though it bore not then the sculpture,
Christ arisen from the grave.

แ 'By this token, by that symbol,
Paul, thy pupil kneels to thee;
Let the words of doom be cancelled,
Let her brother be set free!'

"For a moment in the silence

You might hear his pulses beat;
See his hand shake like an aspen,

As he raised her from his feet.

"Leonore, the past is over!

Rome has set her seal on me;

We must meet no more for ever;

Take thy brother; he is free!'

The succeeding specimens are somewhat Thackerayan, covering the wounded feelings of the heart by affected cynicism :

"MY VIS-A-VIS.

"That olden lady can it be?

Well, well, how seasons slip away!

Do let me hand her cup of tea,
That I may gently to her say,

'Dear madam, thirty years ago,

When both our hearts were full of glee, In many a dance and courtly show,

I had you for my vis-à-vis.

"That pale blue robe, those chestnut curls,
That eastern jewel on your wrist,
That neck encircling string of pearls,
Whence hung a cross of amethyst,-
I see them all,-I see the tulle

Looped up with roses at the knee.
Good Lord! how fresh and beautiful

Was then your cheek, my vis-à-vis, "I hear the whispered praises yet,

The buzz of pleasure when you came,
The rushing eagerness to get,

Like moths, within the fatal flame;
As April blossoms, faint and sweet,

As apples when you shake the tree,
So hearts fell showering at your feet
In those glad days, my vis-à-vis.
"And as for me, my breast was filled
With silvery light in every cell;
My blood was some rich juice distilled
From amaranth and asphodel;
My thoughts were airier than the lark
That carols o'er the flowery lea;

They well might breathlessly remark,

By Jove! that is a vis-à-vis."

'O time and change, what is't you mean? Ye gods! can I believe my ears?

Has that bald, portly person been

Your husband, ma'am, for twenty years?

That six-foot officer your son,

Who looks o'er his moustache at me!
Why did not Joshua stop our sun
When I was first your vis-à-vis?

"Forgive me if I've been too bold,

Permit me to return your cup;
My heart was beating as of old,
One drop of youth still bubbled up.'
So spoke I: then, like cold December,
Only these brief words said she,-
'I do not in the least remember
I ever was your vis-à-vis.'"

"THE CI-DEVANT JEUNE HOMME.

"I've seen the day,-but now no more

Bright eyes glance brighter when I come;

By Jove! I'm almost thought a bore,

They curtsey, and grow staid and dumb;

Or, whispering to themselves, they say,
'How old he looks! how old! dear me!'
Then carelessly they turn away,

And pass me by like ships at sea.
"I sometimes wonder what the deuce
Such shocking want of manners means,
And try to find some fair excuse
For silly girls scarce in their teens;
I've hardly got a grey hair yet,
My teeth are nearly all my own;
I am by no means heavy set,

Indeed, I'm barely fourteen stone.
"I still can dance with perfect grace,
My voice is musical and strong;
There's scarce a crowfoot on my face,
My hand is white, my fingers long;
My tailor says he never saw

A finer shape at forty-three,-
And yet, by some mysterious law,
They pass me by like ships at sea.
"'Tis most preposterous, I vow,

The fancy that they have for boys;
They liked men formerly, but now
Mere curlèd darlings, nursery toys.
I asked that girl with all her faults,
And she refused me like a fool;
And now she's whirling through the waltz
With that thin stripling fresh from school.
Those red coats, too, that hang so loose
On shoulders without breadth or strength,
Why, now-a-days the veriest goose
In such a coat goes any length.
And budding maidens gasp and blush
As if they stood by Genghis Khan,
And watchful mothers jump and rush
To ask him to a thé dansante.

"While I, forsooth, am left to stand
In some odd corner by myself,
And hear old tabbies underhand
Pronounce me fairly on the shelf.

By heaven! it almost looks as if

They spoke the truth, for, light and free,

Each gilded poop, each buoyant skiff,
Goes sailing past me out to sea!

"So be it! I have seen the day

I could have won of smiles my fill; But if we will not when we may,

Perhaps we may not when we will. Then let them take their beardless pet, And lisp with Harry, Dick, or Tom; But if they want a true man yet,

I'll back the ci-devant jeune homme!"