That night, with her arms around him, the poor mad woman died,

And here in our village church-yard we buried 'em side by side.

'Twas the shock, they said, as killed her, the shock o' seein' him dead.

The story got in the papers, and far and near it spread; And some only half believed it-I know what you'd say, sir; wait

Wait till you hear the finish o' this story o' Crazy Kate.

It was all explained one mornin' as clear as the light o' day, And, when we knowed, we were happy to think as she'd passed away,

As she died with her arms around him, her lips on the lips o' the dead

Believin' the face she looked on was the face o' the man she'd wed.

But the man she'd wed was a villain, and that she never knew

He hadn't been drowned in the tempest; he only of all the

crew

Was saved by a French ship cruising, and carried ashore, and there

Was nursed to life by a woman,-a French girl, young and fair.

He fell in love with the woman-this dare-devil, heartless Ned,

And married her, thinkin' the other had given him up for dead.

He was never the man-and we'd said so--for a lovin' lass

like Kate;

But he mightn't ha' done what he did, sir, if he'd known of her cruel fate.

'Twas his son by the foreign woman, his image in build and face,

Whose lugger the storm had driven to his father's native place;

'Twas his son who had come like a phantom out of the long

ago;

On the spot where Kate had suffered, God's hand struck Ned the blow.

We learned it all from the parson when Ned came over the

waves

In search of the son he worshipped-and he found two

fresh-made graves.

Dang! what was that? Sit steady! Rowed right into you, mate?

I forgot where I was for a moment-I was tellin' the gent about Kate.

THE QUEEN OF PRUSSIA'S RIDE.-A. L. A. SMITH. At the battle of Jena, when the Prussian army was routed, the Queen, mounted on a superb charger, remained on the field attended by three or four of her A band of hussars seeing her, rushed forward at full gallop, and with drawn swords dispersed the little group, and pursued her all the way to WeiHad not the horse which her Majesty rode possessed the fleetness of a stag, the fair Queen would infallibly have been captured.

escort.

mar.

Fair Queen, away! To thy charger speak-
A band of hussars thy capture seek.

Oh, haste! escape! they are riding this way.
Speak-speak to thy charger without delay;
They're nigh.

Behold! They come at a break-neck pace,
A smile triumphant illumes each face.
Queen of the Prussians, now for a race,
To Weimar for safety-fly!

She turned, and her steed with a furious dash--
Over the field like the lightning's flash-

Fled.

Away, like an arrow from steel cross-bow,
Over hill and dale in the sun's fierce glow,
The Queen and her enemies thundering go,
On toward Weimar they sped.

The royal courser is swift and brave,
And his royal rider he strives to save-
But no!

"Vive l'empereur!" rings sharp and clear;
She turns and is startled to see them so near,
Then softly speaks in her charger's ear

And away he bounds like a roe.

He speeds as though on the wings of the wind.
The Queen's pursuers are left behind.

No more

She fears, though each trooper grasps his reins,
Stands up in his stirrups, strikes spurs and strains,
For ride as they may, her steed still gains

And Weimar is just before.

Safe! The clatter now fainter grows;
She sees in the distance her laboring foes,
The gates of the fortress stand open wide
To welcome the German nation's bride

So dear.

With gallop and dash, into Weimar she goes,
And the gates at once on her enemies close.
Give thanks, give thanks! She is safe with those
Who hail her with cheer on cheer!

--St. Nicholas.

THOU CANST NOT FORGET.

The following poem was written by a young lady in Virginia and was addressed to her lover whose affection for her had

grown cold.

Thou canst not forget me, for memory will fling

Her light o'er oblivion's dark sea;

And wherever thou roamest a something will cling
To thy bosom that whispers of me.

Though the chords of thy spirit I never may sweep,
Of my touch they'll retain a soft thrill,
Like the low undertone of the murmuring deep
When the wind that has stirred it is still.

The love that is kept in the beauty of trust,

Cannot pass like the foam from the seas,
Or a mark that the finger hath made in the dust,
When 'tis swept by the breath of the breeze.
They tell me my love thou wilt calmly resign,
Yet I ever, while listening to them,

Will sigh for the heart that was linked unto mine
As a rosebud is linked to its stem.

Thou canst not forget me! Too long hast thou flung
Thy spirit's soft pinions o'er mine;

Too deep was the promise that round my lips clung,
As they softly responded to thine.

In the dusk of the twilight, beneath the blue sky,
My presence will mantle thy soul,

And a feeling of sadness will rush to thine eye,
Too deep for thy manhood's control.

Thou mayst go to the island of beauty and fame,
Far, far from the “Land of the Free;"

Yet each wind that floats round thee will whisper a name
That is softer than music to thee.

Aird when round thee darkly misfortunes shall crowd,
Thou'lt think, like the beautiful form

Of the rainbow that arches the thick tempest cloud,
My love would have lightened the storm.

Thou canst not forget me! The passion that dwelt
In thy bosom will slumbering lie,

In the memory of all thou hast murmured and felt
The thought of me never can die.

Thou mayst turn to another, and wish to forget,
But the wish will not bring thee repose;
For, oh! thou wilt find that the thorns of regret
Were but hid by the leaves of the rose.

A HORSE-CAR INCIDENT.-B. P. SHILLABER.

No matter what horse-car, but it happened that I had to go a mile or two, and held up my cane to attract the attention of the driver or the conductor of one of them, which I did after some difficulty. I got in.

There were the usual passengers in the car,—the respectable people going out of town, who were reading the 1st editions of the papers, the women who had been shopping, the servant girls who had been in to visit their friends, feeling no interest in one another, and all absorbed in their own reflections, as I was. I was thinking seriously, when-my eye was attracted by some glittering object on the floor, beneath the opposite scat.

Of course everybody is attracted by glitter. A piece of glass in the moonlight may be a diamond, and show is far ahead of substance in influencing men, from the illusion which affects short-sighted vision. Thus this glittering object. What was it?-a diamond pin dropped by a former passenger? No, it could not be this, because it appeared to be round, and bigger than a pin stone could be. Could it be a bracelet? No, for it was too small. I directed my gaze more earnestly towards it in my doubt, and saw that it was a QUARTER, bright and sparkling with the freshness of new mint about it, so it scomed.

This I determined to make mine at the first chance, for a woman was sitting very near it, and I dreaded any confusion I might cause by a sudden plunge, through the motion of the cars; so, whistling at a low breath, as ii indifferent, but keeping my eye upon the prize, I awaited the opportunity that should insure me the coveted treasure. It soon came: the bell rang, and the lady opposite, with her arms full of bundles, walked out, leaving the object of my ardent regard more distinctly in view. It seemed to me that every one in the car had an eye on that quarter, which I felt was mine by right of discovery, and which I was determined to have.

As the coach started I rose and fairly tumbled over into the just-vacated seat, taking care to drop in such a way as to screen the glittering bait. I looked at my fellow passengers, and found that all were staring at me, as though they were reading my secret. The conductor had come inside the door, and was looking at me, and a heavy gentleman on the same seat with me leaned far out on his cane, so that he could take in my whole person with his glance, as though I were a piece of property on which he had to estimate. I felt my face burn, and a general discomfort seized me, as a man sometimes feels when he has done a wrong or a foolish act; though I couldn't think the act I was about to perform was wrong, and no one could say it was foolish in one to try to possess himself of a quarter of a dollar. At length I stooped down as if to adjust something about my boot, and slipped the object of my solicitude into my hand, unseen, as I believed.

"What is it?" asked the conductor.

"What's what?" said I, with affected smartness. "What you just found," he persisted.

"I was pulling my pants down over my boot," I pre

varicated.

"That's all humbug," said he; "you found something in the car, and it belongs to the company."