“_I am Peter, the reigning czar_,” said the Russian, composedly. “I could trust no one but myself to carry out a plan I had formed for supplying the chief defect of Russia,—an efficient navy. Accordingly, I have entered myself here as a common workman. I have gained what I sought; I have made myself familiar with the construction of vessels; and I shall, after a brief visit to England, return to my kingdom, and take measures to build a fleet. I have thought of you as one competent to superintend their building. You shall have a handsome salary, and I will confer upon you an order of nobility.” “Then I can marry the Fraulein superintendent after all!” And Heinrich leaped to his feet in exultation. “But how shall I thank your ex⸺ I mean your majesty, for such a load of favors?” “By fidelity to my interests,” said Peter. “But I am tired, and must go in. Whatever arrangements you make must be completed within three days. Good night.” The next morning, Heinrich paid another visit to the superintendent. When he left, at the end of half an hour, the superintendent accompanied him to the door in the excess of his affability. No more opposition was made to his suit. Heinrich Dort, the workman, was quite a different person from Heinrich Dort, general superintendent of the Russian navy. The events which followed are known to history. Peter, with the assistance of his superintendent, laid the foundation of a flourishing marine; and the latter, through all the mutations of the Russian dynasty, succeeded in retaining the confidence of the government until Death gathered him to his fathers at a ripe old age. OUR GABRIELLE. When the harsh days of the winter Softened into early spring, And the birds—gay, feathered songsters— First commenced their carolling, Kindling in our hearts o’erflowing More of love than tongue can tell, Sweeter than the breath of morning Came our star-eyed Gabrielle. And our earth-worn hearts were gladdened As we gazed into her eyes,— Liquid mirrors, freshly tinted With the hues of paradise. Through the long days of the summer, Bound as with a magic spell, Warm and warmer in our bosoms Grew the love of Gabrielle. But, alas! the summer faded, And the autumn leaves grew sear, And our cherished household blossom Faded with the fading year. In the quiet grave we laid her; There, we trust, she sleepeth well; And we hope, when life is over, We shall meet our Gabrielle. THE VEILED MIRROR. The old year was fast drawing to a close. But a few hours, and the advent of its successor would be hailed by merry shouts and joyful gratulations, mingling with the merry chime of bells ringing out a noisy welcome from church-towers and steeples.