He is sleeping; brown and silken
Lie the lashes, long and meek,
Like caressing, clinging shadows,
On his plump and peachy cheek;
And I bend above him, weeping
Thankful tears; O undefiled!
For a woman's crown of glory,
For the blessing of a child.

Annie C. Ketchum.

WHICH SHALL IT BE?

The following beautiful home-circle poem is founded upon an incident where a rich neighbor offered to make a poor family comfortable, and provide for the child, if one of the seven were given to him.

"Which shall it be? which shall it be?"
I looked at John,-John looked at me.
(Dear, patient John, who loves me yet
As well as though my locks were jet.)
And when I found that I must speak,
My voice seemed strangely low and weak;
"Tell me again what Robert said;"
And then I listening bent my head.
"This is his letter:"

"I will give

A house and land while you shall live,
If, in return, from out your seven,
One child to me for aye is given."

I looked at John's old garments worn,
I thought of all that John had borne
Of poverty, and work, and care,

Which I, though willing, could not share;
Of seven hungry mouths to feed,

Of seven little children's need,

And then of this.

"Come John," said I,

"We'll choose among them as they lie

Asleep;" so walking hand in hand,
Dear John and I surveyed our band.

First to the cradle lightly stepped,
Where Lilian, the baby slept;

19*

*S

Her damp curls lay, like gold alight,
A glory 'gainst the pillow white;
Softly her father stooped to lay
His rough hand down in loving way,
When dream or whisper made her stir,
And huskily he said, "Not her."

We stooped beside the trundle-bed,
And one long ray of lamp-light shed
Athwart the boyish faces there,
In sleep so pitiful and fair.

I saw on Jamie's rough red cheek
A tear undried; ere John could speak,
"He's but a baby too," said I,
And kissed him as we hurried by.
Pale, patient Robby's angel face
Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace;
"No, for a thousand crowns, not him,"
He whispered, while our eyes were dim.
Poor Dick! sad Dick! our wayward son,
Turbulent, reckless, idle one,—

Could he be spared? "Nay, he who gave
Bids us befriend him to the grave;
Only a mother's heart can be

Patient enough for such as he;

And so," said John, "I would not dare

To send him from her bedside prayer.”
Then stole we softly up above,

And knelt by Mary, child of love;
"Perhaps for her 'twould better be,"
I said to John. Quite silently

He lifted up a curl, that lay

Across her cheek in willful way,

And shook his head: "Nay, love, not thee;"

The while my heart beat audibly.

Only one more, our eldest lad,

Trusty and truthful, good and glad,—

So like his father: "No, John, no;
I cannot, will not, let him go!"

And so we wrote, in courteous way,
We could not give one child away;
And afterward toil lighter seemed,
Thinking of that of which we dreamed;
Happy, in truth, that not one face
We missed from its accustomed place;
Thankful to work for all the seren,
Trusting then to ONE in heaven.

LOCIINVAR'S RIDE.

O young Lochinvar is come out of the West!
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none;
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,

There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented,-the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and alı
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,-
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,—
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?"

"I long wooed your daughter;-my suit you denied:
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure,-drink one cup of wine.
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up;
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup;
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye;
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar;—
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bridemaidens whispered, "twere better, by far,
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall door, where the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung;

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow!” quoth young Lochinvar

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war;
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?

Sir Walter Scott.

BILLINGS ON "THE DISTRICT SCHOOLMASTER.”

There is one man in this basement world, that I alwuz look upon with mixt feelings of pity and respect.

Pity and respect, az a general mixtur, don't mix well. You will find them both travelling around among folks, but not often growing on the same bush.

When they do hug each other they mean sumthing. Pity, without respect, hain't got much more oats in it than disgust haz.

I had rather a man would hit me on the side of the head than tew pity me.

But there is one man in this world to whom I alwuz take oph hat, and remain uncovered until he gets safely by, and that is the distrikt skoolmaster.

When I meet him I look upon him az a martyr just returned from the stake, or on his way there tew be cooked.

He leads a more lonesum and single life than an old bachelor, and a more anxious one than an old maid.

He is remarked just about as long and as affectionately az a gide board is by a travelling pack pedlar.

If he undertakes tew make his skollars luv him, the chances are he will neglekt their larning; and if he don't lick them now and then pretty often, they will soon lick him.

The distrikt skoolmaster hain't got a friend on the flat side of earth. The boys snow-ball him during recess, the girls put water in hiz hair die; and the skool committee makes him work for half the money a bartender

gets, and board him around the naberhood, where they give him rhy coffee, sweetened with molasses, tew drink, and kodfish bawls three times a day for vittles.

And with all this abuse, I never heard ov a distrikt skoolmaster swearing anything louder than condemn it. Don't talk to me about the pashunce ov anshunt Job. Job had pretty plenty ov biles all over him, no doubt, but they were all ov one breed.

Every young one in the distrikt skool is a bile of a dif ferent breed, and each one needs a different kind ov poultis to get a good head on them.

A distrikt skoolmaster, who duz a square job, and takes his codfish bawls reverently, iz a better man to-day, tew hav lieing around loose, than Solomon would be, arrayed in all ov hiz glory.

Solomon wuz better at writing proverbs and managing a large family than he would be tew navigate a distrikt skoolhous.

Enny man who has kept a distrikt skool for ten years, and boarded around the naberhood, ought to be made a mager gineral and have a penshun for the rest ov his nat'ral days, and a hoss and waggin tew do his going around in.

But as a general consequence, a distrikt skoolmaster hain't got any more warm friends than an old blind ox

haz.

He is just about as welkum as a tax-gatherer iz.

He is respekted a good deal az a man to whom we owe a debt ov 50 dollars to, and don't want tew pay.

He goes through life on a back road, az poor az a wood sled, and finally iz missed; but what ever bekums ov his remains I kan't tell.

Fortunately he is not often a sensitive man; if he was he couldn't enny more keep a distrikt skool than he could file a kross cut saw.

Why iz it that these men and women, who pashuntly and with crazed brain teach our remorseless brats the tejus meaning ov the alphabet, who take the fust welding heat on thir destiny, who have to lay the stepping stones and enkurrage them to mount upwards, who have done more hard work and mean jobs than enny klass on the footstool, who have prayed over the reprobats, strength