A score of fine crabs

"All alive" he had bought her :

Half-a-catty of shrimps

Just fresh from the water.

These he carefully took in his hands; but the restA large water-melon-he tucked in his breast.

He was just going out of the door

When he tripped, and down he came sprawling;

He sat up, and there on the floor

Were the shrimps and crabs, skipping and crawling!

The powder all scattered!

Flowers crumpled and battered!

Off crawled the crabs overjoyed to be free!

Away hopped the shrimps in the height of their glee!
Flop the large water-melon he had was all smashed,
And now closely resembled a poultice well mashed ;
And, sad to relate, the young man roundly swore
"Ai-ya! I won't go to make love any more!"

SNOW IN SUMMER.1

HER eyes flashed fire, her bosom heaved and swelled;

The hot red blood face, neck, and brow suffused,

As she with scorn indignantly repelled

The awful charge of which she stood accused.

""Tis a base lie,-a plot,-a vile conspiracy!
I'm but a girl,—some say my face is fair ;
Look,—you, my judges! tell me can you see
Aught that betokens murder written there?

"Think you these hands could wield a murderer's knife? (Are they not baby-like? so soft and small?)

Could they give poison,—take away a life?

A mother's too! oh! that were worse than all !

1 Tou-o was a girl who had been falsely accused of poisoning her mother-in-law. She was sentenced to death, conveyed to the execution ground, and awaiting the blow of the headsman, when Heaven interposed in her behalf; for, it being then the height of mid-summer, a heavy fall of snow came on. This was looked upon as a sign of her innocence and she was at once released.

"You that have daughters, pause ere you condemn ;

Fancy them torn from home,—from all held dear! Young, beautiful-oh! try to picture them,

Guiltless of crime, but-like me standing here.

"I'm innocent! your sentence is unjust !
'Tis legal murder, and my death will lie
At each one's door !-But no, in One I trust;
Heaven will not let a guiltless woman die !"

Pale and resigned she knelt upon the ground,
Her tearless eyes in prayer to heaven upraised;
Her ruthless butchers eagerly thronged round,
On her fair form with admiration gazed.

With bended head beneath that glaring sun
She calmly waited for the fatal blow;

The sword is raised-when, strange phenomenon!
Mid-summer's heat is changed to winter's snow.

Judge, guards, and executioner stood aghast,

While every head in reverence was bent

Before the girl,—the snow flakes falling fast

Mutely proclaiming she was innocent.

CHANG-LIANG'S FLUTE, OR HOME

SICKNESS.

'Twas night-the tired soldiers were peacefully sleeping, The low hum of voices was hushed in repose;

The sentries in silence a strict watch were keeping, 'Gainst surprise, or a sudden attack of their foes.

When a low mellow note on the night air came stealing,
So soothingly over the senses it fell

So touchingly sweet-so soft and appealing,
Like the musical tones of an aërial bell.1

Now rising, now falling-now fuller and clearer-
Now liquidly soft-now a low wailing cry-
Now the cadences seem floating nearer and nearer—

Now dying away in a whispering sigh.

Fêng-ling, wind bells, or more commonly called Tich-ma, iron horses, though in reality there is a great difference between the two, Feng-ling being bell-shaped, while the Tieh-ma are flat and of various shapes, but always having a piece cut out from the centre, without which they would not sound. These bells are suspended from the eaves at the corners of pagodas or temples, and when the wind blows produce a very sweet but melancholy sound.

Then a burst of sweet music so plaintively thrilling,
Was caught up by the echoes1 who sang the refrains,
In their many-toned voices—the atmosphere filling
With a chorus of dulcet mysterious strains.

The sleepers arouse and with beating hearts listen,

In their dreams they had heard that weird music before; It touches each heart-with tears their eyes glisten,

For it tells them of those they may never see more.

In fancy those notes to their childhood's days brought them,
To those far-away scenes they had not seen for years;
To those who had loved them, had reared them and taught

them,

And the eyes of those stern men became wet with tears.

Bright visions of home through their mem'ries came throng

ing,

Panorama-like passing in front of their view;

They were home-sick, no power could withstand that strange longing,

The longer they listened, the more home-sick they grew.

1 Ying-shêng. The responding sound, or oftener perhaps huihsiang.