THE MOATED HOUSE. By crumbling tower and broken wall, Dreaming, the sullen waters lie; The windows of the roofless hall

Are only portals of the sky; Dusk ivy creepeth over all,

And grass along the beach grows high

Unbroken, gray-green isles of sedge

Upon the moat's dark bosom sleep, Save when a swift, from edge to edge, Skims o'er them in his downward sweep, Or a stone from some tottering ledge,

Loosed, sullen plunges down the steep.

Lo, into shadow out of day,

Gleaming, two swans together glide, With slow, strong stroke the waters gray And yielding sedges push aside, Till tiny waves their noiseless way

Writhe, darkling, on their torpid tide. To weedy wall and rush-bound bank The ripples pass, with scarce a sound Of murmur 'mid the rushes rank,

Of plash against the walls around; By the portal in the turret's flank,

They shudder to the dank, dark ground.

The portal at the moat below

Glooms, and the moat at the portal bare; Springtide and Summer come and go,

Nor Spring nor Summer smileth there; Within, the sunbeams gleam and glow, And whiten all the broken stair.

Ah, for the little feet that fled

By the cruel portal in the wall! Ah, for the lying signal sped,

The cuckoo's twofold-stolen call, Ah, for the mystery that's deadAh, for the curse that touches all.

HISTORIC EMERALDS.

BY MARY A. PUGH.

THE emerald is one of the most interesting of the precious stones, not only for its beauty and grateful color, but for its associations-the legends and stories that cluster around it. It was known and very highly valued at an early period in the world's history. It can boast a more ancient prestige than the diamond, which is now considered so much more valuable. The emerald was one of the second row of precious stones set in the breastplate of "cunning work" worn by the Jewish high priest. It also was the garniture of the fourth foundation of the heavenly city, as it was seen in a vision by the beloved disciple in his lonely exile on the Isle of Patmos.

The prophet Ezekiel mentions the emerald as one of the commodities brought by the Syrians to the fairs of Tyre. This ancient Egyptian mine of emeralds afforded many fine stones, which were carried by traveling merchants into India, Greece and Rome.

It was the custom of ancient gem-engravers to consult what they considered the fitness of the stones to the subject which they proposed to engrave. The color of the emerald made it the appropriate stone for marine subjects. Some fanciful writers assert that the name of the emerald in Greek, Latin and Sanscrit languages identified it with the sea.

There are not many engraved emeralds found amongst the ancient glyptic remains. The learned tell us that the rarity of such gems was not owing to any unfitness of the emerald for engraving, but because it was con

sidered so beautiful and valuable that the engravers were not willing to cut it. Some engraved gems, however, are known and considered as valuable by connoisseurs, not only for their beauty as stones, but for the work of the artist they bear. The Emperor Hadrian is said to have greatly affected this stone, and several gems bearing his head and that of the empress are known to the student of glyptic art.

The emerald, according to old superstitions, was gifted with many strange and wonderful qualities, and was frequently worn as an amulet. The story of Polycrates and his ring is well known to readers of classic literature. This ring, on which the fate and fortune of Polycrates hung, had a beautiful emerald setting, and was very dear to its owner. The story tells us it was his most cherished possession.

When his friend heard of the unprecedented rise of the fortunes of Polycrates, he, according to the wisdom of his day, advised Polycrates to appease the gods by sacrificing his dearest possession. Then Polycrates, acting according to the advice of his friend, threw his beautiful emerald into the sea. The gods would not be appeased, and refused the peace-offering. The ring was found in a fish and returned to its owner (an omen of misfortune, said the soothsayer), and the destiny of Polycrates moved on to its unhappy ending.

We now know better than to trace any connection between the return of the fateful ring with the downfall of the fortunes of Polycrates, but the story well illustrates the belief of the times when he lived, and has often served to point a moral and teach a lesson on the uncertain tenure of riches.

The most celebrated ring of the ancients was the signet ring of Alexander the Great. It was an engraved emerald, which, when he was dying, he gave to his favorite general, Perdiccas, and thus signified his wish that Perdiccas should be his successor. It is not known with certainty what became of this famous ring, but it is supposed that Augustus Caesar became its possessor, as his imperial seal was an emerald engraved with the head of Alexander the Great.

The emerald was likewise supposed to possess the power of reflecting surrounding objects. A story is told of the emerald ring that Nero wore. His guilty conscience made him constantly dread the avenging dagger of an assassin, so that he never, for a moment, sleeping or waking, parted with his emerald ring, which he thought would reflect the assassin's dagger in time for him to avert the blow.

Another story to the same effect is told. This is the story of the famous ring of the Emperor Maxmilian II. A cup of gold coins was presented to the Emperor during one of his visits to Ratisbon, which Maximilian directed a servant to put on a side table of the hall. While seated in the council - room, just after the presentation of the coins, the Emperor raised the hand on which he wore his telltale ring. As it flashed before his eyes he saw a strange scene reflected in the emerald. The emerald showed him one of his most favored and trusted followers in the act of purloining a handful of the gold coins from the cup. Of course the money was soon returned, and the emerald grew in favor.

Some of the emerald intagli found amongst the treasures of Etruria were engraved with the figure of the beatle; the owner of one of these scarabæi could have counted himself certain of kingly smiles and favors. The legend says: Charlemagne possessed a precious talisman, presented to him by the Empress Irene. It was a piece of the true cross, covered by an emerald; it was

attached to a gold chain. This, the favorite treasure of the great Charles, was buried with him, according to the general custom of the age in which he lived. When his tomb was broken into and the buried wealth scattered, this famous jewel was carried to Aix-la-Chapelle, and afterward presented by the council of that city to Napoleon. He afterward gave it to his stepdaughter, Hortense, who valued it highly, not only for its venerable associations, but because of the affection she had for Napoleon, who loved her like a father, and likewise as a souvenir of Austerlitz and Wagram, Napoleon having worn the talisman on those two battle-fields. Hortense always wore it until her death.

An emerald intaglio bearing the heads of Peter, Paul and Pope Benedict II. is known in the history of gems, and was considered a gem of great merit by connois

seurs.

When Constantinople fell into the hands of the Turks, the ruthless "Infidels " took possession of a vast storehouse of wealth that had been gathered, through long years, into the Byzantine treasury-gold and silver, diamonds, rubies and a quantity of emeralds. Tradition does not tell us whether the famous ring of Ahmed, which formed part of the spoils, was a diamond or emerald; the general supposition is that it was an emerald ring with which Ahmed bought the honor of a grave.

A learned antiquary has assigned a different reason for the name "Emerald Isle," as applied to Ireland, from the poetical one that has so long been popular. It is not, says this old-new version, the beautiful green shores of Ireland, which set it like an emerald in the sea, that has given it the name of "the Emerald Isle," but an emerald ring, sent by Pope Adrian to Henry II. as a token of Henry's investiture of the title to Ireland. I think many readers, like myself, would prefer to cling to the poetical reason for calling Ireland "the Emerald Isle."

The conquest of Mexico and Peru inaugurated a new epoch in the history of emeralds, so many fine ones were brought into Europe. The treasury of the Montezumas and the temples of the Mexican idols were rich in emeralds, of which the conquerors were not slow to possess themselves. Cortez became the owner of some rare and beautiful emeralds, which he declined to part with, even at the request of his royal master. Amongst the royal fifths set aside for the King of Spain, was the famous pyramid of emerald whose base was as large as the palm of a man's hand. Later mineralogists have pronounced this a false emerald; probably a pyramid of glass, as ornaments made of glass were more highly valued by the people of Mexico and Peru than gold and silver, which, according to Prescott, were the only things that could not be called wealth in some of their cities.

Peru was more emphatically the home of the emerald than Mexico. Green was the favorite color of the Aztec nation. This may account for their great fondness for the emerald. Emeralda was one of their lesser beneficent spirits, and was supposed to dwell in the emerald. The emerald mines were on the border of the Emerald River. In these mines the ancient Peruvians found many beautiful emeralds. Until long after the Conquest, the natives had a superstitious dread of approaching the place where the emeralds had been known to abound. They supposed that the mines were the abode of evil spirits and were guarded by dragons, who sent forth fire and smoke from their nostrils.

The famous emerald that tradition represents as the size of a pigeon's egg was found in these mines. This fell to Pizarro's share, with many other valuable jewels

and much gold and silver, but he did not get possession of it until it had been subjected to a foolish experiment to test its purity. Some bystander, at the division of the spoils of victory, suggested that if it was a true emerald it could not be broken. Thereupon some of Pizarro's followers set about finding out if it was an emerald or a large glass bead; and one of them picked up a heavy hammer and struck the beautiful stone such heavy blows that it was broken into small pieces. History does not relate how Pizarro took this spoiling of his emerald. We can well imagine, from his reputed fiery temper, that the over-zealous follower would not have been likely to repeat his disastrous experiment.

THE GUNNER'S SHOT.

THE story is told, in a French newspaper, of Pierro Barlat, a poor laborer, who lived at Sèvres, near Paris, with his wife Jeanne and their three children. Industrious, frugal, knowing nothing of the way to the wineshop, Pierre saved his spare money, working harder and harder, and at last bought the tiny cottage in which he and his wife lived. It was a tiny cottage, indeed; built of stones, however, with tiled roof, standing amid shrubs, and covered with clematis. It always attracted the eye of the traveler, on the left, as he crossed the Sèvres bridge.

Pierre and Jeanne scrimped and saved until the little cottage was paid for, and made a feast, when it was all done, to celebrate their ownership. A landed proprietor, to be sure, does not mind an occasional expenditure t▲ entertain his friends.

All this Pierre and Jeanne had accomplished just before the war of 1870 with Germany broke out. The conscription fell upon Pierre, who, moreover, was an old soldier, and belonged to the reserves. A gunner he had been, famous for his skill in hitting a mark with a shell.

Sèvres had fallen into the hands of the Germans, but the French guns were pounding away at them from the fort on Mount Valérian. Pierre Barlat was a gunner at that fort, and was standing, one wintry day, by this gun, when General Noel, the commander, came up, and leveled his field-glass at the Sèvres bridge.

"Gunner!" said he, sharply, without looking at Pierre. "General !" said Pierre, respectfully, saluting. "Do you see the Sèvres bridge over there ?" "I see it very well, sir."

"And that little cottage there, in a thicket of shrubs at the left?"

"I see it, sir," said Pierre, turning pale.

"It's a nest of Prussians. Try it with a shell, my man."

Pierre turned paler still, and, in spite of the cold wind that made the officers shiver in their 'great-coats, one might have seen big drops of sweat standing out on his forehead; but nobody noticed the gunner's emotion. He sighted his piece deliberately, carefully-then fired. The officers, with their glasses, marked the effect of the shot after the smoke had cleared away.

"Well hit, my man! well hit!" exclaimed the general, looking at Pierre, with a smile. "The cottage couldn't have been very solid. It is completely smashed now."

He was surprised to see a great tear running down each of the gunner's cheeks.

"What's the matter, man?" the general asked, rather roughly.

"Pardon me, general," said Pierre, recovering himself. "It was my house; everything I had in the world."

"Do you see any likeness to Larry in this picture, Lucy?" demanded her aunt, tapping the card with a sharp finger-nail.

"Why, yes, auntie- that is, of course, allowing for growing up and all sorts of things," replied Lucy, vaguely. "Mamma says it looks as poor papa did when she first saw him."

"That look like John Phillpot !" exclaimed Miss Hepey Barton, indignantly; "about as much as I look like King Calico! John was a very handsome man!"

"And I'm sure this is a very handsome man," cried Mrs. Phillpot, also waxing indignant, and snatching the picture out of her sister's hand.

Lucy, who had learned to know the signs of the times like an old sailor, saw a storm brewing, and rapidly emptied some oil upon the waves.

you're so much better-looking and stronger and all, our style is not so different-blue eyes, fair hair, straight noses. I might have looked like you if—”

If you hadn't looked more like yourself," laughed Philip Potter, whom the wags in the commission-house where both young men were employed commonly called Phil Pott. No. 2, in distinction to Larry Phillpot, his intimate friend and companion, the two having become acquainted during the voyage from New York to Calcutta, which Larry had undertaken for his health, and Phil was sent out to earn his living in the house of his father's correspondents in Calcutta. Arrived at that port, Larry found himself so contented and so benefited that he was delighted to accept a position similar to Phil's, and to begin to take the responsibility of his own living from the shoulders of his widowed and invalid

"In India, of course?"

"Oh, yes; they never send him out of India."

As the years went on, Potter, the stronger both by nature and physique, gradually took the ascendency of bis feeble companion, and Larry, clinging by nature, and never robust in health, came to depend upon Phil as an elder brother.

"Well, old man, send it just for the joke, if you like," said Phil, throwing down the photographs and stretching his arms above his head in a vigorous shake. "I've got to go to work."

"Well, I'll take it down to the office and write a letter

It is that delightful hour in India just before sunrise, when the cool and damp night air still lingers and clings to the loving verdure which drinks it greedily in, and when birds, beasts and humanity, refreshed from the torrid heats of the day before, hasten to enjoy their songs, their gambols, or their exercise before the tyrannous sun shall again drive them to the refuge of darkness and inaction. Two young fellows, fresh from the bath succeeding their morning ride, are lounging in pajahmas beside a table with coffee and rusks upon it, set in the cool and airy veranda outside their bedroom-windows. On the table lie some photographs, and the smaller and fairer of the two young men camping there, critically remarks: "I say, Phil, you are a better-looking fellow than I, any day."

You're out of condition, Larry, since your fever, and haven't got back all your charms, you know."

And Phil laughed contentedly as he, in turn, examined the two photographs.

"Well, I'm afraid the dear old mater will take it to heart, seeing me so seedy-looking. She's awfully given to worrying, and getting all upset about Lu and me. That's why I made you write to her last time, and not let on that I was ill."

"A sort of forgery, I'm afraid; for I copied your clumsy old fist so that you couldn't tell for yourself which was real and which was Brummagem."

"I know it; but it's all right," replied Larry, meditatively.

"Well, boy, we may as well get into our clothes and go to the office. Redman will be looking for those accounts."

also rose to his feet.

And maybe you won't object to Lu's making much of your old phiz for a while, since you like her picture so well."

"No, I wouldn't mind that a bit," replied Phil, gayly. "You know some day I'm going home with you to get acquainted with Miss Lucy."

"Yes; and marry her, if she's the sensible girl I take her for," laughed Larry; and so this is the way that the photograph which to Miss Philpott's mind looked so like her dear, dead husband, happened to be sent.

Two years more passed by, and again we find the friends talking together in the cool morning hour before breakfast; but now Larry is lying upon a bamboo couch in the veranda, and a Hindoostanee servant stands at his head fanning him. The more satisfactory picture has never been taken, for poor Larry has never been well or strong, and the years which have added solidity and dignity to Philip Potter's manly beauty have forced away the outlines and blanched the coloring of poor Larry's figure and face until he scarcely looks worse, stretched upon his sick - bed, than he has done for months while keeping at his work.

"No better, Phil," he is saying, in a voice exhausted by coughing. "And I sha'n't be. It's no use. I never shall see home again."

"You ought to have gone six months ago. I wish I had pushed you off, willy nilly."

And Phil knit his brows, and bit the end of his blonde mustache.

"And now Lucy writes that mamma is in such a poor way, and so very nervous," murmured Larry, glancing at a letter under his hand. "Read it, Phil, and see." "H'm-yes-yes. I see; that's too bad. And Miss Lucy seems so distressed. It would scarcely be right to tell them that you're not well, just now."