Oh, Jesus Christ! Thou wilt give justice then!
A drop of blood shall seem a swelling sea,
More piercing than a cry the lowest moan.
Come down, ye mountains! in your gloom come down,
And bury deep the sinner's agony!
Master and slave have past; Time, thou art gone:
Eternity begins--Christ rules alone!
JULIA KAVANAGH.
THE SILENT CHIMES.
NOT HEARD.
That oft-quoted French saying, a mauvais-quart-d'heure, is a pregnant
one, and may apply to small as well as to great worries of life: most of
us know it to our cost. But, rely upon it, one of the very worst is that
when a bride or bridegroom has to make a disagreeable confession to the
other, which ought to have been made before going to church.
Philip Hamlyn was finding it so. Standing over the fire, in their
sitting-room at the Old Ship Hotel at Brighton, his elbow on the
mantelpiece, his hand shading his eyes, he looked down at his wife
sitting opposite him, and disclosed his tale: that when he married her
fifteen days ago he had not been a bachelor, but a widower. There was no
especial reason for his not having told her, save that he hated and
abhorred that earlier period of his life and instinctively shunned its
remembrance.
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