the voice from the temple! The Christians, who claim powers over demons, bidding them go and come at pleasure, may well be thought capable to change, by the magic imputed to them, the nature of a beast."

At those cruel words the doors of the vivaria were at once flung open, and an hundred of their fierce tenants, maddened by hunger and the goads that had been applied, rushed forth, and in the fury with which in a single mass they fell upon Probus-then kneeling upon the sands--and buried him beneath them no one could behold his fate; nor, when that dark troop separated and ran howling about the arena in search of other victims, could the eye discover the least vestige of that holy man.

A

TWO PICTURES.

MARION DOUGLAS.

N old farmhouse, with meadows wide

And sweet with clover on each side;
A bright-eyed boy, who looks from out
The door with woodbine wreathed about,
And wishes his one thought all day-
"Oh if I could but fly away

From this dull spot, the world to see,
How happy, happy, happy,

How happy I should be!"

Amid the city's constant din

A man who round the world has been,
Who, 'mid the tumult and the throng,
Is thinking, thinking all day long-
“Oh could I only tread once more
The field-path to the farmhouse door,
The old green meadows could I see,

How happy, happy, happy,

How happy I should be!"

1

CALPURNIA.

HJALMAR HJORTH BOYESEN.

H1

IGH on the Palatine Hill, within the cool courts of his palace, Lay Maxentius Cæsar, the scourge of the angry immortals. Close to the Emperor's couch stood Ausonius Mycon, the prætor; Tall and noble his growth, and his face was as clear as Apollo's. And as he lifted his eyes he beheld, 'mid the blooming acacias Which close clustering grew at the brimming marge of the fountain,

Shyly a maiden approaching-a child of delicate stature.

Pure was her brow, and her pallid cheek was wasted with weeping; And in her eyes, where the gathering tears hung mute and appealing, Lay something strange and remote, like the glow of a deep inspira

tion.

Wondering sore in his mind, Ausonius Mycon, the prætor,

Gazed on the lily-white maid, and saw her tremble and shiver,
Saw how her bosom shook with smothered sobs, as her voice she

uplifted—

Cried with a wild, sharp cry, as if wrung from a soul in despairing:
"Cæsar Maxentius, hear me! Oh, hear me, Maxentius Cæsar!
Give me death at thy hand! Oh, let me die, I implore thee!
Why hast thou spared a life so worthless, so weak and unfaithful,
When thou throw'st to the beasts my father, my mother, my

mother

To be thrown to the beasts in the sight of the blood-thirsty people! Take me, O Cæsar, now; for now I am brave and intrepid! Take me ere I grow weak, and my heart within me unsteady!" Silently listened Cæsar; a fierce frown wrinkled his forehead; Then a curt, menacing laugh which boded ill for the maiden. "Death thou demandest," quoth he, "and sav'st us the cost of the hunting.

Foolish bird, that fliest unsought to the claws of the eagle!

Sooth, ere to-morrow's noon thou wilt flutter in vain in his talons.

Take her, Ausonius Mycon, and see that her prayer be denied not."
Thus he spoke, and the prætor, Ausonius Mycon, made answer.
Master," he said, "thy servant I am, and my law is thy bidding.
Yet, if ever I merited praise for aught I have done thee,
Give me this maid as my slave. My two Egyptian dancefs,
Graceful, endowed with a skill that passes all understanding,-
These will I give thee if thou wilt deign to accept from thy servant
What is already thine own." But, with a snort of impatience,
Shouted Maxentius: "Take her, and send thy Egyptian dancers,
Even to-day-dost thou hear?-for languor oppresses me sorely."
Stooping, the prætor uplifted the swooning form of the maiden.
From the hard touch of the stone, and bore her out of the palace,
While the faint rhythm of the maiden's heart that beat 'gainst his
bosom

Filled his soul with an unknown peace and with tender compassion.
On the Quirinal Hill, not far from the Gardens of Sallust,
Loudly he knocked at the gate and entered a high-ceiled dwelling,
Placed the maid on a couch, and thus he gently addressed her:
"Child, I see by thy garb that thou art free-born and gentle.
Far be the thought from my heart to make thee a slave in my
household;

Rather my child thou shalt be, and my daughters will comfort and soothe thee.

But, till thy wound be healed, I ask no importunate question Touching thy birth and thy name, but bide my time till thou comest Like mine own child to my knee, and reposest confidence in me."

Pale through the azure expanse of the sky the moon was ascending;
While, 'neath the brow of the Palatine Hill the vast Colosseum
Flung its mantle of gloom to hide the deeds of the darkness
Wrought on this terrible day for the joy of a barbarous people.
Sheltered deep in the shade of those huge and cavernous portals
Stood, close pressed to the stone, a little, quivering maiden.
Trembling she stood, and hugged the rigid bars of the iron
Close to her breast; but her sense seemed dead; and feeling, she
felt not.

Silence brooded about her, until at the mouth of the portal

Saw, 'gainst the brightness without, three men advancing to meet her

One a youth in the garb of the far-famed imperial legion,

Rugged the others and clad in the humble attire of the freedmen. "Glaucus, I thank thee," so spoke in a shuddering whisper the maiden;

"Christ, who seeth in secret this kindly deed, will requite thee.
Now unbar me the gate and bid these brethren await me
Here, in the gloom of this arch, until I have rescued the bodies
Safe from the fangs of the beasts, that piously we may commit them
Unto the consecrate earth. My soul is constant and fearless,
Though this frail flesh be weak."

Heaving a sigh, the soldier undid the bolts of the barriers,
And, with unfaltering feet, Calpurnia passed through the gateway,
While with loud-beating heart the soldier gazed from the portal.
Now stoops she and tenderly gazes into the sunken eyes of a saint.
Behold how she raises full to the moon the prostrate form,
And kisses the pallid lips of the dead.

Then pale she stood, and erect, and her frame seemed translucent,
As if the light of the radiant soul were shimmering through it;
And at her feet, with withered lips and rigidly staring,
Lay her beloved dead; and Glaucus, forgetting his terror,
Lifted the lifeless clay of the saints, and tenderly placed them
Side by side on a bier, 'neath a shroud of precious linen.
Swiftly they moved through the night, and Calpurnia followed be-
hind them,

Feeling scarcely the weight of her limbs nor the touch of the lava-
Feeling only a world of woe that throbbed in her bosom.
Hushed from the depths of the earth, with a sweet, ethereal cadence,
Came the soft strains of a song-" Blessed are the dead who die in
the Lord."

Calpurnia paused,

Then, with wary hand, she knocked on a stone that was hidden. "Christ is risen," she said; and the answer came to the watchword:

"Yea, He is risen, indeed;" and, lo! the stone was uplifted Quickly by strong arms beneath; and, in reverent silence, Bore they the saints to their rest, through the long, subterranean chambers,

Praised the Lord in prayer and song, while the white-haired bishop Spoke the word of life to strengthen the weak and the weary.

Then suddenly from the watchers came a loud shriek of alarm, and Beheld they standing among them Ausonius Mycon, the prætor. "Stay, disciples of Christ!" he cried, and his sword he uplifted. "Fear me no more, for, alas! the strength of my arm, it is broken. Here is my sword," and he flung the blade at the feet of the bishop. "Wreak your vengeance upon me, for swordless stand I among you; Red are my hands with the innocent blood of your fathers and daughters."

Half-reassured, yet fearful, the brethren paused in the doorways, While at the altar immovable stood the reverent bishop.

Grave and serene and pale at his feet lay the maiden Calpurnia. "Priest," the prætor resumed, "I know not the God whom thou servest;

Yet have I seen the strength he has given this pale little maiden;
And by the deeds of this night I am utterly broken and conquered.
Late in the watches nocturnal I rose, and the light mists of slumber
Rubbed from mine eyes, and tracked this child through devious
pathways

Unto the Flavian arena, but she vanquished her valiant pursuer!
Now he is fain to fall at her feet, and beg her to lead him
Unto that fountain of life whence spring such trust and devotion,
Courage so high and serene in the face of death and of danger,
Valor in frailty clad, and strength thus wedded to weakness.
Therefore, the God whom Calpurnia serves, O priest, I will wor-
ship."

Silently burned in halos of mist the delicate tapers,

Fell their pale sheen on faces upturned in prayerful rapture,
Fell on the reverent priest as he on the brow of the maiden

Placed his hands and blessed her, and spake in a tremulous whisper: