quantity of shining dark hair, all curling natural about her. It is quite astonishing to me now that I didn't go tearing mad, when I used to see her run from her mother before the cart, and her mother catch her by her hair and pull her down by it and beat her.

Such a brave child I said she was! ah! with reason. "Don't you mind next time, father dear," she would whisper to me with her little face still flushed and her bright eyes still wet; "if I don't cry out, you may know I'm not much hurt. And even if I do cry out, it will only be to get mother to let go and leave off."

Yet in other respects her mother took great care of her. Her clothes were always neat and clean, and her mother was never tired of working at them. Such is the inconsistency of things. Our being down in the marsh country in unhealthy weather, I consider the cause of little Sophy's taking bad low fever; however, she took it, and once she got it she turned away from her mother forever more. Whenever her mother came near her, she would shiver and say, “No, no, no,” and would hide her face on my shoulder, and hold me tighter round the neck.

The Cheap Jack business had been worse than ever I had known it, and I was run dry of money, for which reason, one night at that period of little Sophy's being so bad, either we must have come to a dead-lock for victuals and drink, or I must have pitched the cart, as I did.

I could not get the dear child to lie down or leave go of me for one moment, and indeed I hadn't the heart to try, so I stepped out on the foot-board with her holding round my neck. They all set up a laugh when they see us, and one chuckle head —that I hated for it-made the bidding, "tuppence for her!"

"Now, you country boobies," says I-feeling as if my heart would break-"I give you fair warning that I'm a going to charm the money right out of your pockets. And why? Because I sell my goods

for seventy-five per cent less than I give for 'em Now, let's know what you want to-night and you. shall have it. But first of all, shall I tell you why I have got this little girl around my neck? You don't want to know? Then you shall. She belongs to the fairies. She's a fortune-teller. She can tell me all about you in a whisper, and can put me up to whether you're going to buy a lot or leave it. Now, do you want a saw? No, she says you don't; because you're too clumsy to use one.

Else here's a saw that would be a lifelong blessing to a man, at four shillings-four shillings-at three anu sixgoing at three and six--at three-at two and sixtwo and six-two and six. But none of you shall have it at any price, on account of your well-known awkwardness, which would make it manslaughter. Now I'm a going to ask her what you do want. Then I whispered, "Your head burns so that I am afraid it hurts you bad, my pet," and she answered without opening her heavy eyes, "just a little, father."

"Oh! this little fortune-teller says its a memorandum book you want. Then why didn't you mention it? Here it is. Look at it. Two hundred superfine, hot-pressed, wire-wove pages-if you don't believe me count 'em-ready ruled for your expenses-an everlastingly pointed pencil to put 'em down with, a double bladed pen-knife to scratch 'em out with, a book of printed tables to calculate your income with, and a camp-stool to sit down upon while you give your mind to it! Stop! and an umbrella to keep the moon off when you give your mind to it on a pitch-dark night. Now I won't ask you how much for the lot, but how little. How little are you thinking of? Don't be ashamed to mention it because my fortune-teller knows already."

Then making believe to whisper, I kissed her and she kissed me.

66

Why, she says, you're thinking of as little as three and threepence. With an income of forty thousand a year-you grudge three and sixpence.

Well, then, I'll tell you my opinion. I so despise the threepence, that I'd sooner take three shillings. Three shillings-three shillings-going-going at three shillings. There! Hand'em over to the lucky

man."

Just then I touched little Sophy's face and asked her if she felt faint or giddy. "Not very, father. It I will all be over soon."

Then turning from the pretty patient eyes, which were opened now, I went on again in my Cheap Jack style. "Where's the butcher?" (my sorrowful eye had just caught sight of a fat young butcher on the outside of the crowd). "She says the good luck is the butcher's. Where is he?" Everybody handed on the blushing butcher to the front, and there was a roar, and the butcher felt obliged to put his hand in his pocket and take the lot.

Then we had another lot, the counter part of that one, and sold it sixpence cheaper, which was very much enjoyed. Then we had the ladies' lot-tea-pot, tea-caddy, half a dozen spoons, and a silver cup-and all the time I was making similar excuses to give a look and say a word or two to my poor child. It was while the second ladies' lot was holding 'em enchained, that I felt her lift herself on my shoulder to look across the dark street.

"What troubles you darling?"

66

Nothing troubles me, father. I'm not at all troubled. But don't I see a pretty churchyard over there?"

"Yes, dear."

"Kiss me, father. Kiss me twice, dear father, and lay me down to rest upon that churchyard grass, so soft and green."

I staggered back into the cart with her head dropped on my shoulder, and I says to her mother, Quick! Shut the door! Don't let those laughing people see."

66

66

66

What is the matter?" she cries.

‘Oh, woman, woman," I tells her, "you'll never

catch my little Sophy by the hair again, for she has flown away from you!"-Charles Dickens.

THE MARCH OF TIME.

Upon the golden span of to-day's bright shore we stand,

And looking back through retrospection's vale, Visions, sad and beautiful, woven in life's fitful dream, before us rise.

'Tis spring, and o'er the earth the queen of beauty walks ;

Boyish footprints on the hill-side and in the vale we

see,

As though but yesterday they had been made.

Fancies of youthful mirth flit before us
With the same freshness, once so real,
Ere from our sight they were hurried
By the remorseless flight of time.

A low-roofed cottage with a creeping vine peers forth,
And down the beaten path a mother leads her boy;
And autumn with its "sere and yellow leaf,"
Has tinged the forest trees, and given place

To winter stern, who holds all earth in fetters grim.

Gone are the bright visions, leaving in their stead
A lonely grave, and on the damp, decaying mould
An aged form is kneeling, within whose eye
We recognize the boy of long years ago;
And as the moaning winds go by,

We catch the trembling cadence of his voice
As he sobs out the name of-mother!

In one swift glance, we see how life begins
And where the pilgrimage will end;

A myth, a dream, a vision, that a breath may e'en dissolve.

Nations by that invisible power spring up
And people the broad universe,

Are born and do live to droop and die;
And generations, perchance, yet unborn,
In future ages upon their graves may

look.

The mighty warriors that guarded once the gates of Thebes

Or lined the banks of the Euphrates,

Had for their light the same sun and moon

And beaming stars that we do now behold;

And they perchance ofttimes looked back to the footprints,

And

upon the resting places of their kindred dust.

Still onward sweeps the tide of years,
Sceptres, before whose imperial sway,
Nations paled, lie broken, empires,

Proud cities, massive gates, and mighty walls into decay

Before the resistless march of time have crumbled.
A thousand fleets to-day ride high o'er ocean's waves,
To-morrow a thousand ghostly wrecks bestrew the
shore.

Yet the chariot wheels of time roll on,

And we still backward look o'er the desolating track
To that which was, or let our thoughts go onward,
Trying to peer into the unfathomable mysteries
Of the Great Beyond, to catch

A glimpse of that which is yet to be.

But Time, the great leveler of all things earthly
Strides on, his footsteps never lag;

Suns rise and set, and through the realms of space
Glides the pale moon, bathing in her silvery light,
Mountains, rivers, and plains that reflected
Her glances when first the world began.
Seasons come and go, nor heed the fate of
But thank God, a hope, gathering strength
From that golden promise, within our hearts
Shines forth, whispering of a fairer land than this

man,