held it to her heart, and thus her last ray of hope expired. She sat still by her dead till the man's former companions came to prepare the body for burial. As it was borne to the lonely grave upon the hillside she walked beside the rough coffin. And when the grave was reached she dropped upon her knees beside it, and poured forth in a clear voice a fervent petition to the Most High to receive, for the sake of the dear Saviour who died for all the world, the soul of this poor sinner. They had said that she might bear up till the funeral was over, but that then she would break down. She did not. The next morning she set her face to the East, and began again, for the fourth time, that awful journey across the Plains. We need not follow her throughout its length. She reached her home worn and sick, but nevertheless at once took up her old school and went on with it a few weeks. And then the end came. LOUIS A. ROBERTS. * * * * * FRANCESCA'S WORSHIP. In the deep afternoon, when westering calms Brooded above the streets of Rome, and hushed Their noisier clamor, at her orisons, In San Domenico, Francesca knelt. All day her charities had overflowed For others. Husband, children, friends had claimed Service ungrudged; the poor had gotten their dole, Doubled by reason of her soothing hands; Sick eyes had lifted at her coming, as lifts The parcht Campagna grass at the cool kisses Of winds that have been dallying with the snows Of Alban mountain-tops. And now, released From outward ministries, and free to turn Inward, and up the solemn aisle of thought Conduct her soul, she bowed with open page Before the altar: "_Tenuisti manum Dexteram meam_." On her lips she held The words caressingly, as she would taste Each syllable and drain its separate sweetness, When, breaking on her still seclusion, came A messenger: "Sweet mistress, grace I pray! But unaware our lord hath come again, Bringing his gossips; and he bade me fetch My lady, if only for a one half hour, Saying the wine was flavorless without Her hand to pour it." At the word she rose, And unreluctant followed. No undertow Of hidden regret disturbed the azure calm Of those clear eyes that still reflected heaven. Then, when they all had drunk and been refreshed, And forth had ridden, Francesca sought her place, And pored again above the Psalter's leaf: "_In voluntate tua deduxisti_," Conning it over with a tender joy, As if she verily felt her human hand Close claspt in God's, and heard Him guiding her With audible counsel; when there fell a touch Upon her arm: "The Sister Barbara Comes seeking wherewithal to dress some wounds Got in a brawl upon the Esquiline."