The change is rather sudden from the study of character in the first part to the demand in the last that if you have tears you must prepare to shed them now. The brightness is quenched in gloom and despair. Of a verity, frivolity may be fatal, and death may follow a liking for private theatricals and the other empty amusements of fashion; but is it worth while to break a butterfly on the wheel and to put a humming-bird to the question? To say what fate shall be meted out to the woman taken in adultery is always a hard task for the dramatist. Here the erring and erratic heroine comes home to be forgiven and to die, and so after the fresh and unforced painting of modern Parisian life we have a finish full of conventional pathos. Well, death redeems all, and, as Pascal says, "the last act is always tragedy, whatever fine comedy there may have been in the rest of life. We must all die alone." J. BRANDER MATTHEWS. THE KING'S GIFTS. Cyrus the king in royal mood Portioned his gifts as seemed him good: To Artabasus, proud to hold The priceless boon, a cup of gold-- A rare-wrought thing: its jewelled brim Haloed a nectar sweet to him. No flavor fine it seemed to miss; But when the king stooped down, a kiss To leave upon Chrysantas' lips, The jewels paled in dull eclipse To Artabasus: hard and cold And empty grew the cup of gold. "Better, O Sire, than mine," cried he, "I deem Chrysantas' gift to be." Yet the wise king his courtiers knew, And unto each had given his due. To all who watch and all who wait The king will come, or soon or late. Choose well: thy secret wish is known, And thou shalt surely have thine own-- A golden cup thy poor wealth's sign, Or on thy lips Love's seal divine. EMILY A. BRADDOCK. BAUBIE WISHART. "I have taken you at your word, you see, Miss Mackenzie. You told me not to give alms in the street, and to bring the begging children to you. So here is one now." Thus introduced, the begging child was pushed forward into the room by the speaker, a lady who was holding her by one shoulder. She was a stunted, slim creature, that might have been any age from nine to fourteen, barefooted and bareheaded, and wearing a Rob Roy tartan frock. She entered in a sidelong way that was at once timid and confidently independent, and stared all round her with a pair of large brown eyes. She did not seem to be in the least frightened, and when released by her guardian stood at ease comfortably on one foot, tucking the other away out of sight among the not too voluminous folds of her frock.