* * * * * [Illustration: VIEW OF BURLINGTON VERMONT. FROM AN ORIGINAL DRAWING] * * * * * MYRRAH OF TANGIERS.[1] A TRAGEDY. BY CAROLINE C——. A luxury of summer green Is on the southern plain, And water-flags, with dewy screen, Protect the ripening grain. Upon the sky is not a cloud To mar the golden glow, Only the palm-tree is allowed To fling its shade below. And silvery, ’mid its fertile banks, The winding river glides, And every ray in heaven makes Its mirror of its tides. And yet it is a place of scath— A place of sacrifice; Heavy with woman’s parting breath, Weary with mourner’s cries. Proud, beautiful, one boweth down Beneath a deep despair; Youth lingers on her lovely cheek— It _only_ lingers there. She will command herself, and brave The doom by fate assigned; In natures high as hers, the heart Is mastered by the mind. L. E. L. CHAPTER I. “IT is near sunrise, father,” said a gay young voice, and a fair hand tapped lightly on the door of the apartment where the old man slept. Her call was answered in a moment by the venerable Jew, who came forth, prepared for the customary morning walk to the holy synagogue. “Thou lookest not well, my father! thy face is pale. I fear these early walks are too much for thee.” “Nay, child, our duty should never fatigue or weary us in its performance—it is time for us to depart when that happens. But, in truth, I had a heavy night, dreaming of thy dead mother. It was sad to waken and find, as, alas! so many other mornings I have, that she cannot return again.” “We shall meet her hereafter,” said Myrrah, striving to speak cheerfully; “you should think of that this beautiful morning. The very air seems full of hope. Even I, who have proved such a dull companion these many days, feel as though there were new life in me to-day—as though some joyful thing were about to happen.” “Were thy dreams of Othniel, then, my child?”