Strange faces will come in and gaze upon you,
Irreverent and careless of each spot
That held in sacred keeping household treasures,
Ah, well, you need not mind,-it matters not.
They'll wonder why that nail was driven yonder
In reach of Freddy's hand, at Christmas time,
That he might hang, himself, his little stocking.
That notch marked Willie's height when he was nine.
These marks that I have not the heart to trouble,
Johnny put there before he went away,

Wishing, meanwhile, that he might make them double;
They meant the days he had at home to stay.
Dear child! it was that corner held his coffin
When trouble, toil and pain for him were done;
And in that corner, too, I have knelt daily,
Striving to find the way that he has won.

'Twas in that corner Margaret was married,
And that white spot upon the smoky wall

Is where her picture hung,-those three nails yonder Were driven to hold her sack, and scarf, and shawl. And so, old house, you have for every blemish

A strange, peculiar story of your own;

As our poor bodies do when we have left them,
And powerless alike to make it known.

Good bye, good bye, old house! the night is falling,
They'll think I've wandered from the path, I guess.
One more walk through the rooms, ah! how they echo!
How strange and lonely is their emptiness!

HIS LAST COURT.

Old Judge Grepson, a justice of the peace, was never known to smile. He came to Arkansas years ago, and year after year, by the will of the voters, he held his place as magistrate. The lawyers who practiced in his court never joked with him, because every one soon learned that the old man never engaged in levity. Every morning, no matter how bad the weather might be, the old man took his place behind the bar which,

with his own hands, he had made, and every evening, just at a certain time, he closed his books and went home. No one ever engaged him in private conversation, because he would talk to no one. No one ever went to his home, a little cottage among the trees in the city's outskirts, because he had never shown a disposition to make welcome the visits of those who even lived in the immediate vicinity. His office was not given him through the influence of "electioneering," because he never asked any man for his vote. He was first elected because, having been once summoned in a case of arbitration, he exhibited the executive side of such a legal mind that the people nominated and elected him. He soon gained the name of the "hard justice," and every lawyer in Arkansas referred to his decision. His rulings were never reversed by the higher courts. He showed no sentiment in decision. He stood upon the platform of a law which he made a study, and no one disputed him.

One day, a woman, charged with misdemeanor was arraigned before him. "The old man seems more than ever unsteady," remarked a lawyer as the magistrate took his seat. "I don't see how a man so old can stand the vexation of a court much longer."

"I am not well to-day," said the Judge, turning to the lawyers, "and any cases that you may have you will please dispatch them to the best, and let me add, quickest of your ability."

Every one saw that the old man was unusually feeble, and no one thought of a scheme to prolong a discussion, for all the lawyers had learned to reverence him.

"Is this the woman?" asked the Judge. "Who is defending her?"

"I have no defense, your Honor," the woman replied. "In fact, I do not think I need any, for I am here to confess my guilt. No man can defend me," and she looked at the magistrate with a curious gaze. "I have been arrested on a charge of disturbing the peace, and I

am willing to submit my case. I am dying of consump tion, Judge, and I know that any ruling made by the law can have but little effect on me;" and she coughed a hollow, hacking cough, and drew around her an old black shawl that she wore. The expression on the face. of the magistrate remained unchanged, but his eyelids dropped and he did not raise them when the woman continued: "As I say, no man can defend me. I am too near that awful separation of soul and body. Years ago I was a child of brightest promise. I lived with my parents in Kentucky. Wayward and light-hearted, I was admired by all the gay society known in the neighborhood. A man came and professed his love for me. I don't say this, Judge, to excite your sympathy. I have many and many a time been drawn before courts, but I never before spoke of my past life."

She coughed again and caught a flow of blood on a handkerchief which she pressed to her lips. "I speak of it now because I know that this is the last court on earth before which I will be arraigned. I was fifteen years old when I fell in love with the man. My father said he was bad, but I loved him. He came again and again, and when my father said that he should come no more I ran away and married him. My father said I should never come home again. I had always been his pride and had loved him dearly, but he said that I must never again come to his home,-my home, the home of my youth and happiness. How I longed to see him. How I yearned to put my head on his breast. My husband became addicted to drink. He abused me. I wrote to my father, asking him to let me come home, but the answer that came was 'I don't know you!' My husband died-yes, cursed God and died! Homeless and wretched, and with my little boy, I went out into the world. My child died, and I bowed down and wept over a pauper's grave. I wrote to my father again, but he answered: 'I know not those who disobey my com

mandments!' I turned away from that letter, hardened. I spurned my teachings. Now I am here."

Several lawyers rushed forward. A crimson stream flowed from her lips. They leaned her lifeless head back against the chair. The old magistrate had not raised his eyes; "Great God!" said a lawyer, "he is dead!" The woman was his daughter.

LAKE SARATOGA.-JoHN G. SAXE.

An Indian Legend.

A lady stands beside the silver lake.

66

What," said the Mohawk, "wouldst thou have me do?" “Across the water, sir, be pleased to take

Me and my children in thy bark canoe."

"Ah!" said the Chief, "thou knowest not, I think,
The legend of the lake,-hast ever heard

That in its wave the stoutest boat will sink,
If any passenger shall speak a word?”

“Full well we know the Indian's strange belief,"
The lady answered, with a civil smile;
"But take us o'er the water, mighty Chief;
In rigid silence we will sit the while.”

Thus they embarked, but ere the little boat
Was half across the lake, the woman gave
Her tongue its wonted play-but still they float,
And pass in safety o'er the utmost wave!

Safe on the shore, the warrior looked amazed,
Despite the stoic calmness of his race;
No word he spoke, but long the Indian gazed
In moody silence in the woman's face.
"What think you now?" the lady gayly said;

Safely to land your frail canoe is brought !
No harm, you see, has touched a single head!
So superstition ever comes to naught!"
Smiling, the Mohawk said, "Our safety shows
That God is merciful to old and young;
Thanks unto the Great Spirit!-well he knows

The pale-faced woman cannot hold her tongue!"

แ

THE CLOWN'S BABY.-MARGARET VANDEGRIFT.

It was on the Western frontier;

The miners, rugged and brown,
Were gathered around the posters;
The circus had come to town!
The great tent shone in the darkness
Like a wonderful palace of light,
And rough men crowded the entrance-
Shows didn't come every night!
Not a woman's face among them;
Many a face that was bad,
And some that were only vacant,
And some that were very sad.
And behind a canvas curtain,
In a corner of the place,

The clown, with chalk and vermilion,
Was "making up" his face.

A weary-looking woman,

With a smile that still was sweet,
Sewed on a little garment,

With a cradle at her feet.
Pantaloon stood ready and waiting;
It was time for the going on,
But the clown in vain searched wildly;
The "property-baby" was gone!

He murmured, impatiently hunting,
"It's strange I cannot find-
There! I've looked in every corner;
It must have been left behind!"
The miners were stamping and shouting,
They were not patient men.

The clown bends over the cradle-
"I must take you, little Ben!"

The mother started and shivered,
But trouble and want were near;

She lifted her baby gently;

"You'll be very careful, dear?"

Careful? You foolish darling,"

How tenderly it was said!

What a smile shone through the chalk and paint,—

"I love each hair of his head!"