"The boys said fur me ter tell yer they wus all dretful sorry fur yer. We buried him jist whar we found him. He'd a ben dead nigh on to a couple of weeks, I reckon. Don't yer look so, lady. Poor Jim! he warn't never happy, even when he was drunk. He's better off up thar. We flung a few stones together to mark the place, and I'll guide you and Mrs. Sharpe thar any time." Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, he added tenderly, "And I tuk the ring offen his finger. He couldn't fight fur it now; an I thought as mebby you'd like it." He took it from the corner of his handkerchief; she held up her finger for it, and he slipped it on. Then he saw that the letters spelled "Faith." "Thet Punks!" he thought to himself contemptuously. She looked up into his face with a stony smile--no tears now. "Thank you," she said. Four weeks afterward the Doctor lifted Marian into the stage. She was strong enough for her journey now, she said. Two days before she had visited the lonely cairn. It was a tiresome horseback ride too. She seemed to be getting well very fast. The Doctor told her so. "People never die when they wish to," she answered sadly. Circus Jack came to the stage-door to bid her "Good-by." "What can I do for you to thank you?" she asked earnestly. Jack hesitated. "Ef you wouldn't mind, ma'am," he said, "I'd like--to--kiss your hand. I've got a dear old mother home--ef you wouldn't mind!" Without a blush or a change of countenance she put her arm around his neck and kissed his lips. "Good-by, dear old fellow," she said. Then Scotty cracked his whip, the crowd on the piazza raised their hats--even the poor, chagrined Doctor--a subdued cheer was given, and the lumbering stage disappeared in a cloud of dust, the nodding mariposas on the hillside looking curiously at it as it went by. CLARA G. DOLLIVER. THE PUNISHED. Not they who know the awful gibbet's anguish, Not they who, while sad years go by them, in The sunless cells of lonely prisons languish, Do suffer fullest penalty for sin. 'Tis they who walk the highways unsuspected, Yet with grim fear for ever at their side, Who clasp the corpse of some sin undetected, A corpse no grave or coffin lid can hide. 'Tis they who are in their own chambers haunted By thoughts that like unwelcome guests intrude, And sit down uninvited and unwanted, And make a nightmare of the solitude. ELLA WHEELER. ALFRED DE MUSSET.