And thou! If thou would'st truly feast thy soul Upon the things invisible of Him Who made the visible, fear not to tread The awful heights of Thought! not to thyself Sole trusting, lest thou perish in thy pride; But following where Faith enlightened leads, Thou shalt not miss or fall. The way is rough, But never toil did win reward so rich As that she findeth here. At every step New prospects open, and new wonders shine! Mount higher still, and whatsoe'er thy pains, Thou'lt envy not the sleeper at thy feet! Visions of truth and beauty shall arise So multiplied, so glorified, so vast, That thy enraptured soul amazed shall cry, "No longer Earth, but the new Heavens I see Lighted forever by the throne of God." II. FABLE. A widow, feeble, old and lonely, Whose flock once numbered many a score, Had now remaining to her only One little lamb, and nothing more. And every morning forced to send it To scanty pastures far away, With prayers and tears did she commend it To the good saint that named the day. Nor so in vain; each kindly patron, George, Agnes, Nicolas, Genevieve, Still mindful of the helpless matron, Brought home her lambkin safe at eve. All-Saints' day dawned; with faith yet stronger, On the whole hallowed choir the dame Doth call--to one she prays no longer,-- That day the wolf devoured the lamb! A STORY OF VENICE. BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS. I. When I was in Venice I knew the Marchesa Negropontini. Many strangers knew her twenty and thirty years ago. In my time she was old and somewhat withdrawn from society; but as I had been a fellow-student and friend of her grand-nephew in Vienna, I was admitted into her house familiarly, until the old lady felt as kindly toward me, as if I, too, had been a nephew. Italian life and character are different enough from ours. They are traditionally romantic. But we are apt to disbelieve in the romance which we hear from those concerned. I cannot disbelieve, since I knew this sad, stern Italian woman. Can you disbelieve, who have seen Titian's, and Tintoretto's, and Paolo Veronese's portraits of Venetian women? You, who have floated about the canals of Venice? I was an American boy; and my very utter strangeness probably made it easier for the Marchesa Negropontini to tell me the story, which I now relate. She told it to me as we sat one evening in the balcony of her house, the palazzo Orfeo, on the Grand Canal. II. The Marchesa sat for a long time silent, and we watched the phantom life of the city around us. Presently she sighed deeply and said: