until Mary Anne's cousin deserted into our coal-hole and was brought out, to our great amazement, by a picket of his companions in arms, who took him away handcuffed in a procession that covered our front garden with disgrace.

“I am very sorry for all this, Doady. Will you call me a name I want you to call me?"

“What is it, my dear?” “It's a stupid name,

Child-wife. When you are going to be angry with me, say to yourself, 'It's only my Child-wife.'

'When I am very disappointing, say, 'I knew a long time ago, that she would make but a Child-wife.' When you miss what you would like me to be, and what I think I never can be, say, ‘Still my foolish Child-wife loves me.' For indeed I do.”

I invoke the innocent figure that I dearly loved to come out of the mists and shadows of the past, and to turn its gentle head toward me once again, and to bear witness that it was made happy by what I answered.

COUNT GISMOND

ROBERT BROWNING

Christ God, who savest man, save most

Of men Count Gismond who saved me!
Count Gauthier, when he chose his post,

Chose time and place and company
To suit it; when he struck at length
My honor, 'twas with all his strength.

And doubtlessly ere he could draw

All points to one, he must have schemed!
That miserable morning saw

Few half so happy as I seemed,
While being dressed in queen's array
To give our tourney prize away.

I thought they loved me, did me grace

To please themselves; 'twas all their deed; God makes, or fair or foul, our face;

If showing mine so caused to bleed My cousins' hearts, they should have dropped A word, and straight the play had stopped.

They, too, so beauteous! Each a queen

By virtue of her brow and breast;
Not needing to be crowned, I mean,

As I do. E'en when I was dressed,
Had either of them spoke, instead
Of glancing sideways with still head !

But no: they let me laugh and sing

My birthday song quite through, adjust The last rose in my garland, fling

A last look on the mirror, trust My arms to each an arm of theirs, And so descend the castle-stairs

And come out on the morning-troop

Of merry friends who kissed my cheek, And called me queen, and made me stoop Under the canopy

(a streak That pierced it, of the outside sun, Powdered with gold its gloom's soft dun) —

And they could let me take my state

And foolish throne amid applause Of all come there to celebrate

My queen’s-day - Oh I think the cause Of much was, they forgot no crowd Makes up for parents in their shroud!

Howe'er that be, all eyes were bent

Upon me, when my cousins cast
Theirs down; 'twas time I should present

The victor's crown, but . . . there, 'twill last
No long time ... the old mist again
Blinds me as it did then. How vain !

See! Gismond's at the gate, in talk

With his two boys: I can proceed.
Well, at that moment, who should stalk

Forth boldly — to my face, indeed
But Gauthier, and he thundered, "Stay!"
And all stayed. "Bring no crowns, I say !

"Bring torches ! Wind the penance-sheet

About her! Let her cleave to right,
Or lay herself before our feet!

Shall she who sinned so bold at night
Unblushing, queen it in the day?
For honor's sake, no crowns, I say !”

I? What I answered ? As I live,

I never fancied such a thing
As answer possible to give.

What says the body when they spring
Some monstrous torture-engine's whole
Strength on it? No more says the soul.

Till out strode Gismond; then I knew

That I was saved. I never met
His face before, but, at first view,

I felt quite sure that God had set
Himself to Satan; who would spend
A minute's mistrust on the end ?

He strode to Gauthier, in his throat

Gave him the lie, then struck his mouth With one back-handed blow that wrote

In blood men's verdict there. North, South, East, West, I looked. The lie was dead, And damned, and truth stood up instead.

This glads me most, that I enjoyed

The heart of the joy, with my content
In watching Gismond unalloyed

By any doubt of the event:
God took that on him -I was bid
Watch Gismond for my part: I did.

Did I not watch him while he let

His armorer just brace his greaves,
Rivet his hauberk, on the fret
The while! His foot .

my memory leaves No least stamp out, nor how anon He pulled his ringing gauntlets on.

And e'en before the trumpet's sound

Was finished, prone lay the false knight, Prone as his lie, upon the ground:

Gismond flew at him, used no sleight O'the sword, but open-breasted droye, Cleaving till out the truth he clove.

Which done, he dragged him to my feet

And said, "Here die, but end thy breath In full confession, lest thou fleet

From my first, to God's second death! Say, hast thou lied ?” And, “I have lied To God and her,” he said, and died.

Then Gismond, kneeling to me, asked

What safe my heart holds, though no word
Could I repeat now, if I tasked

My powers forever, to a third
Dear even as you are.

Pass the rest
Until I sank upon his breast.

Over my head his arm he flung

Against the world; and scarce I felt
His sword (that dripped by me and swung)

A little shifted in its belt;
For he began to say the while
How South our home lay many a mile.

So ʼmid the shouting multitude

We two walked forth to never more
Return. My cousins have pursued

Their life, untroubled as before
I vexed them. Gauthier's dwelling-place
God lighten! May his soul find grace!

Our elder boy has got the clear

Great brow; though when his brother's black
Full eye shows scorn, it . . . Gismond here?

And have you brought your tercel back?
I just was telling Adela
How many birds it struck since May.

THE DEATH OF ARBACES 1

EDWARD BULWER LYTTON

In the eventful year of the eruption of Vesuvius, there lived in Pompeii a young Greek by the name of Glaucus. Heaven had given him every blessing but one; it had denied him the

1 An adaptation by R. I. Fulton from the “Last Days of Pompeii.”