'T is a lady in her earliest youth,
The very last of that illustrious race,
Done by Zampieri-but by whom I care not.
He who observes it-ere he passes on-—
Gazes his fill, and comes, and comes again,
That he may call it up when far away.

She sits, inclining forward as to speak,

Her lips half-open, and her finger up,

As though she said, "Beware!" Her vest of gold
'Broidered with flowers, and clasped from head
to foot,

An emerald stone in every golden clasp;
And on her brow, fairer than alabaster,
A coronet of pearls. But then her face,
So lovely, yet so arch, so full of mirth,
The overflowings of an innocent heart—

It haunts me still, though many a year has fled,
Like some wild melody.

Alone it hangs

Over a moldering heirloom, its companion,
An oaken chest, half-eaten by the worm,
But richly carved by Antony of Trent

With scripture stories from the life of Christ:
A chest that came from Venice, and had held
The ducal robes of some old ancestor.
That by the way-it may be true or false-
But don't forget the picture; and thou wilt not,
When thou hast heard the tale they told me there.

She was an only child; from infancy
The joy, the pride of an indulgent sire.

Her mother dying of the gift she gave,

That precious gift, what else remained to him?
The young Ginevra was his all in life,
Still, as she grew, forever in his sight;
And in her fifteenth year became a bride,
Marrying an only son, Francesco1 Doria,
Her playmate from her birth, and her first love.

Just as she looks there in her bridal dress,
She was-all gentleness, all gayety,

Her pranks the favorite theme of every tongue. But now the day was come, the day, the hour; Now, frowning, smiling, for the hundredth time, The nurse, that ancient lady, preached decorum; And, in the luster of her youth, she gave

Her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco.

Great was the joy, but at the bridal feast,

When all sat down, the bride was wanting there,

Nor was she to be found! Her father cried,

66

""T is but to make a trial of our love!"

And filled his glass to all; but his hand shook, And soon from guest to guest the panic spread. 'T was but that instant she had left Francesco, Laughing and looking back and flying still,—Her ivory tooth imprinted on his finger.

But now, alas! she was not to be found;

Nor from that hour could anything be guessed
But that she was not.

Weary of his life,
Francesco flew to Venice, and forthwith
Flung it away in battle with the Turk.

Orsini lived; and long mightst thou have seen 1Pronounced frän-chěs'ko.

An old man wandering as in quest of something,

Something he could not find, he knew not what.
When he was gone, the house remained a while
Silent and tenantless; then went to strangers.
Full fifty years were past, and all forgot,
When on an idle day-a day of search
'Mid the old lumber in the gallery—

That moldering chest was noticed; and 't was said,
By one as young, as thoughtless, as Ginevra,
"Why not remove it from its lurking-place?"
'T was done as soon as said; but on the way
It burst, it fell; and, lo, a skeleton,
With here and there a pearl, an emerald stone,
A golden clasp, clasping a shred of gold!

All else had perished save a nuptial ring,
And a small seal, her mother's legacy,
Engraven with a name, the name of both,
"Ginevra." There, then, had she found a grave!
Within that chest had she concealed herself,
Fluttering with joy, the happiest of the happy;
When a spring lock, that lay in ambush there,
Fastened her down forever!

-Samuel Rogers.

NOTES

1. Modena, mô'dâ-nä, a city of northern Italy.

2. Reggio, rěd'jō, a city sixteen miles northwest of Modena.

3. Orsini, ôr-se'nē, a noted Italian family name.

4. Zampieri, tsȧm-pyâ'rē, an Italian painter, 1581-1641.

5. Antony, an artist of Trent in Austria.

6. Doria, celebrated family name of Genoa.

7. Study until every word and passage is clear.

EXERCISES

1. What suggested this poem to the author?

2. Give briefly the story of the poem.

3. Why is the author so anxious that the reader should see the picture if ever in Modena ?

4. What effect of the picture upon even the casual observer?

5. Describe the picture as the poet has made you see it.

6. Why does it haunt him still "like some wild melody"?

7. What shows his lesser interest in the chest?

8. Just what do you infer was Ginevra's character?

9. Explain "She gave her hand, with her heart in it, to Francesco."

10. Explain "his hand shook."

11. What was thought to be her fate?

12. What events led to the real explanation of her mysterious disappearance?

13. If this poem represents a great truth of life, in what sense is a young person to-day likely to shut himself up and come to naught?

14. What, then, seems to be the deeper meaning of her attitude and of "Beware!" in the third stanza?

ADDITIONAL READINGS

BIBLE: Parable of the Talents (Matthew xxv, 14-30).

LOWELL: Hebe.

BONAR: We Walked Among the Whispering Pines.

INA COALBRITH: Fruitionless.

SUSAN MARR SPAULDING: Fate.

BYRON: The Prisoner of Chillon.

HILDEGARDE HAWTHORNE: My Rose.

SUSAN COOLIDGE: Ginevra.

KEATS: Isabella.

THE DEATH OF LITTLE NELL

ABRAHAM LINCOLN once said that God

must love the common people because He made so many of them. Charles Dickens must have had something of this philosophy, as he has told us so many beautiful things of the very poor. And when we think seriously of the matter, it is true that the life of the poor is a pæan of praise of that in man which is divine. Wealth and affluence do not bring out the highest qualities of the human soul.

Pleasure is a necessity of the race. Providence meant for each of us to be happy and endowed us with faculties which make it possible for us to recall that which we have seen, or heard, or experienced in any way, and by recombining these things, to create a new experience for our comfort. Thus the beggar upon the highway gets real and genuine pleasure from the possessions of his more fortunate brother. Blessed is that person whose privations make it necessary for him to hold feasts in his imagination. If his training is true, he eliminates that which is repulsive, ugly, or mean enough to embitter his soul, and preserves that which ever