The hopeful declaration of Mrs. Lyon proved indeed true. There was soon light, and fire, and food again in that cheerless dwelling; and the last days of Ralph and his family have proved to be their best days. He has never since tasted the tempting cup, and finds that it is a very easy matter to save one or two dollars a week, and yet live very comfortably. The scene in the ale-house is never alluded to by either the husband or wife. They take no pleasure in looking back—preferring, rather, to look forward with hope. When it is thought of by either, it is something as a man who has endured a painful operation to save his life, thinks of the intense sufferings he then endured. ----- [7] This story is founded upon a brief narrative which met the author’s eye in an English newspaper. * * * * * SONNET. TO A YOUNG INVALID ABROAD. Health unto thee! ’Twill come, though coy and slow: Thou canst not die, before I cease to live. Are we not one? Ay, brother, boughs that give Their verdure from one trunk, and cannot know A life-drop but from thence? The topmost bough Still withers first: whilst mine is green on high, I feel—and fear not—that thou canst not die! Would that my life’s blood, warm and healthful now, Were welling in thy veins—and I like thee! ’Twere joy to suffer for thee, could I hear Thy light laugh, as of old, ring in my ear: So thou wert happy what aught else to me? An angel-ward our mother’s prayers have set Around thee. Courage then! Thou’lt kiss her pale cheek yet! C. _Philadelphia, April 1847._ * * * * * [Illustration: _Painted by Fanny Corbourn_ _Engraved by A. L. Dick_ MIRIAM. _Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine._] * * * * * MIRIAM. BY E. M. SIDNEY. She opens her lattice, And looks on the lake; O’er its slumbering surface, No murmurs awake. Afar, o’er the mountain, The moon has long set: The morning breeze freshens,— Why tarries he yet? A sound in the distance, A low plashing oar: See! yonder a shadow; It touches the shore. ’Tis he—safe returning— Joy leaps to her eyes: And clasped to his bosom, “My husband!” she sighs. * * * * * THE ISLETS OF THE GULF; OR, ROSE BUDD. Ay, now I am in Arden; the more fool I; when I was at home I was in a better place; but Travelers must be content. As You Like It.