To the judge's terraced orchard,
Mary I spied, the judge's daughter!
In a frame of sunny boughs on the bank!
Smiling down on horse and boy;

Smiling down so sweet and coy,

That I thrilled with bashful joy, as she said,
"Would you like to have some cherries?
There are nice ones on this terrace,

These are white-hearts, on this tree overhead."
Was it Robin, more than I

That pleased her girlish eye?
Half I fear!

Off she ran; but not a great way;

Black-hearts, white-hearts, sweet-hearts straightway!

Horse and boy were soon familiar

With that hospitable gateway,

And a happy fool was I for a year.

Lord forgive an only child!

All the blessings on me piled

Only helped to make me wild and perverse.

Racing, idling, betting, tippling,

Wasted soon my last resources.

Father, happy in his grave,
Praying mother could not save.
Often Mary urged and pleaded,
And the good judge interceded,

Counseled, blamed, insisted, threatened.

Tears and threats were all unheeded

And I answered them in wrath!

It was done! to old Robin's back I sprung
And away! no repentance, no compassion,
On I plunged in headlong fashion,
In a fierce, despairing passion,
Through the blind and raging gusts,
Mad as they.

From bad to worse was now my game.
My poor mother tried to shield me,
To reclaim me. Did her best.

Creditors began to clamor,

I could only lie and stammer.
All we had was pledged for payment,
All was sold beneath the hammer,
Old Robin there along with the rest,
Laughing, jeering, I stood

Watching those who came to buy,
I looked on, but did not falter,
Till the last man had departed
Leading Robin by the halter.
Then to a lonely wood I fled
Hating heaven and all its mercies,
For my follies and reverses.
There I plunged in self-abasement,
There took refuge in self-curses.

As I wandered home that night,
Something far off caught my sight

In the lane, coming to the bars to meet me.
Some illusion sent to cheat me?

No. 'Twas Robin! My old Robin,
Dancing, whinnying to greet me,

With a small white paper tied to his mane.
The small missive I unstrung,

To old Robin's neck I clung

There I cried, and there I hung,

While I read, in a hand I knew was Mary's,

"One whose friendship never varies,

Sends this gift."

No name was signed,

But a painted bunch of cherries,

On the dainty note smiled instead.

There he lies now, gaunt, and stiff of limb,

But to her and me, the same dear old Robin. Never, steed, I think was fairer !

Still I see him the proud bearer

Of my pardon and salvation.

And he yet shall be a sharer in my joy.

It is strange, that by the time,
I a man, and in my prime,

He should be guilty of the crime of old age.
But he shall have his rack and pasture,
And some years of comfort yet, I'll engage.
See that merry little lass tripping to and fro,
To pick up little hands full of

grass
Which he chews? And that small urchin
Trying to climb up? and ride him, lying?
And as hard hearted as you, Dan.

What? Crying are you? Well you see
An old horse has some use, after all.

AUNTY DOLEFUL'S VISIT TO HER SICK FRIEND.

How do you do, Cornelia? I heard you were sick and I thought I'd jest step in and cheer you up a little. My friends often say, "I'm so glad to see you, Aunty Doleful-you have such a flow of conversation-and then you're so lively." "Besides," I said to myself as I come up them steps, "perhaps it's the last time I shall ever see Cornelia Jane alive."

You don't mean to die yet, eh? Well, now, how do you know? You think you're a getting better? Yes, but there was poor Mrs. Jones a sitting up and everybody a saying how smart she was, when all of a sudden she was seized with a pain in her heart and went off like a flash.

But you must be very quiet and not get anxious or excited about anything. Of course things can't go on jest the same as if you was downstairs, and I wondered to myself as I come along if you knew that your little Sammy was a sailing around in a tub on the mill-pond, and that your little Tommy was a letting your little Jimmie down from the veranda. roof in a clothes basket? Why, what is the matter, Cornelia? Oh, don't worry about the children; I guess Providence will take care of 'em. You thought

Bridget was a watching 'em? Well, no, she isn't. I saw her out at the back gate, as I come along, a talking to a man. He looked to me like a burglar. I've no doubt but she'll let him take the impression of the door key in wax and then he'll get in and murder you all, Cornelia. There was a whole family murdered down to Kobble Hill last week for fifty dollars.

Don't fidget so, Cornelia. It'll be bad for the baby. Poor little dear-come to Aunty Doleful. Poor little dear! How strange it is, to be sure, that you can't ever tell at this age, whether a child is going to be deaf and dumb or a cripple. It might be all, and you'd never know it. But them as have got their senses don't make good use of 'em, that ought to be your comfort, Cornelia, if it does turn out to have anything dredful the matter with it. The wost thing I see about the child, Cornelia, is its red head, for of course now it'll have an awful temper and may get hung some day. Poor little dear!

Well I reckon I'd better be a going now, Cornelia, I have another sick friend and I shan't feel that my duty's done till I call and cheer her up a little. What? Do stay a little while longer? Well yes, if it's any comfort to you, Cornelia.

Oh, yes! I was about to forget to ask about your husband's health. Well, but finds it pretty warm in the city, heh? Well, I'd suppose he would. Why, do you know that they are jest a drappin' down there every day by the hundreds with sunstroke? You must be prepared to have him brought home to you any day. Anyway, a trav'lin' back and forth as he does on them railway trains is jest a triflin' with danger. Dear me, what dreadful things is forever hanging over us.

Scarlet fever's broken out in the village, Cornelia. Little Isaac Potter has it, and I saw your little Sammy a playing with him last Saturday. Well, really, I must be a going now. Why, what is the matter, Cornelia? You don't look as well as you did

when I first come in. I don't believe you have a good doctor. Do send him away and get somebody else. Good-bye, Cornelia, if anything happens just send for me immediately. If I can't do anything else, I can help lay you out.-Dallas.

A LEGEND OF MARTHA'S VINEYARD.

Once rambling through the quaint old town,
I found some records musty,
And traced a half-forgotten tale
On pages dim and dusty.

The simple story touched my heart,
Its loyal pulses swelling,

And lingered in my thoughts until
I felt it worth the telling.

'Twas in those dark and troubled days
When future good discerning,
Our fathers bore the rebel brand,

A servile safety spurning.

The people of this little isle,

Were staunch as they were steady,
Theirs was the patriot's fearless trust,
And courage always ready.

But times as yet were sad and dark,
A night uncheered by morning,
And British strength its triumphs won,
Their best endeavors scorning.
One wintry day an English ship
By stress of tempest driven,
Sought shelter there, a sorry sight,
Her towering mainmast riven.

Shoreward the captain turned his gaze,
Perplexed-well-nigh despairing-
And saw a flag-staff on the green
The stars and stripes upbearing.