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THE RUINED COTTAGE.-MRS. MACLEAN.

None will dwell in that cottage, for they say oppression reft it from an honest man, and that a curse clings to it; hence the vine trails its green weight of leaves upon the ground; hence weeds are in that garden; hence the hedge, once sweet with honeysuckle, is half dead; and hence the gray moss on the apple-tree. One once dwelt there who had been in his youth a soldier, and when many years had passed, he sought his native village, and sat down to end his days in peace. He had one child-a little, laughing thing, whose large, dark eyes, he said, were like the mother's he had left buried in strangers' land. And time went on in comfort and content-and that fair girl had grown far taller than the red rose tree her father planted on her first English birthday; and he had trained it up against an ash till it became his pride; it was so rich in blossom and in beauty, it was called the tree of Isabel. "Twas an appeal to all the better feelings of the heart, to mark their quiet happiness, their home-in truth a home of love,-and more than all, to see them on the Sabbath, when they came among the first to church, and Isabel, with her bright color and her clear, glad eyes, bowed down so meekly in the house of prayer, and in the hymn her sweet voice audible; her father looked so fond of her, and then from her looked up so thankfully to heaven! And their small cottage was so very neat; their garden filled with fruits and herbs and flowers; and in the winter there was no fireside so cheerful as their own.

But other days and other fortunes came-an evil power! They bore against it cheerfully, and hoped for better times, but ruin came at last; and the old soldier left his own dear home, and left it for a prison! 'Twas in June-one of June's brightest days; the bee, the bird, the butterfly, were on their lightest wing; the fruits had their first tinge of summer light; the sunny sky, the very leaves seemed glad; and the old man looked back upon his cot and wept aloud. They hurried him away from the dear child that would not leave his side. They led him from the sight of the blue heaven and the green trees into a low, dark cell, the windows shutting cut the blessed sun with iron grating; and for the first time

he threw him on his bed, and could not hear his Isabel's good night! But the next morn she was the earliest at the prison gate, the last on whom it closed; and her sweet voice and sweeter smile made him forget to pine.

She brought him every morning fresh wild flowers; but every morning he could mark her cheek grow paler and more pale, and her low tones get fainter and more faint, and a cold dew was on the hand he held. One day he saw the sunshine through the grating of his cell-yet Isabel came not; at every sound his heart-beat took away his breath-yet still she came not near him! But one sad day he marked the dud street through the iron bars that shut him from the world; at length he saw a coffin carried carelessly along, and he grew desperate-he forced the bars, and he stood on the street free and alone! He had no aim, no wish for liberty; he only felt one want-to see the corpse that had no mourners. When they set it down, ere it was lowered into the new-dug grave, a rush of passion came upon his soul, and he tore off the lid-he saw the face of Isabel, and knew he had no child! He lay down by the coffin quietly-his heart was broken!

THE FIRST CLIENT.-IRWIN RUSSELL.

A legal ditty, to be sung without chorus to the air of "The King's Old Courtier "
John Smith, a young attorney, just admitted to the bar,
Was solemn and sagacious as-as young attorneys are;
And a frown of deep abstraction held the seizin of his face-
The result of contemplation of the rule in Shelley's case.

One day in term-time Mr. Smith was sitting in the court, When some good men and true of the body of the county did on their oath report,

That heretofore, to wit: upon the second day of May, A. D. 1877, about the hour of noon, in the county and State aforesaid, one Joseph Scroggs, late of said county, did then and there feloniously take, steal and carry away

One bay horse, of the value of fifty dollars, more or less
(The same then and there being of the property, goods and
chattels of one Hezekiah Hess),

Contrary to the statute in such case expressly made
And provided; and against the peace and dignity of the
State wherein the venue had been laid.

The prisoner, Joseph Scroggs, was then arraigned upon this charge,

And plead not guilty, and of this he threw himself upon the country at large;

And said Joseph being poor, the court did graciously appoint Mr. Smith to defend him-much on the same principle that obtains in every charity hospital, where a young medical student is often set to rectify a serious injury to an organ or a joint.

The witnesses seemed prejudiced against poor Mr. Scroggs; And the District Attorney made a thrilling speech, in which he told the jury that if they didn't find for the State he reckoned he'd have to "walk their logs;"

Then Mr. Smith arose and made his speech for the defense, Wherein he quoted Shakspeare, Blackstone, Chitty, Archibold, Joaquin Miller, Story, Kent, Tupper, Smedes and Marshall, and many other writers, and everybody said they "never heerd sich a bust of eloquence."

And he said "On this hypothesis my client must go free;" And: "Again on this hypothesis, it's morally impossible that he could be guilty, don't you see?"

And: "Then, on this hypothesis, you really can't convict;"— And so on, with forty-six more hypotheses, upon none of which, Mr. Smith ably demonstrated, could Scroggs be derelict.

But the jury, never stirring from the box wherein they sat, Returned a verdict of "guilty;" and his Honor straightway sentenced Scroggs to a three years term in the penitentiary, and a heavy fine, and the costs on top of that; And the prisoner, in wild delight, got up and danced and

sung;

And when they asked him the reason of this strange behavior, he said: "It's because I got off so easy-for if there'd ha' been a few more of them darned hypothesises, I should certainly have been hung!"

-Scribner's Monthly.

LAW.-JAMES BEATTIE.

Laws, as we read in ancient sages,
Have been like cobwebs in all ages.
Cobwebs for little flies are spread,
And laws for little folks are made;
But if an insect of renown,
Hornet or beetle, wasp or drone,
Be caught in quest of sport or plunder,
The flimsy fetter flies in sunder.

NELL. ROBERT BUCHANAN.

You're a kind woman, Nan! ay, kind and true!
God will be good to faithful folk like you!
You knew my Ned!

A better, kinder lad never drew breath.

We loved each other true, and we were wed

In church, like some who took him to his death;

A lad as gentle as a lamb, but lost

His senses when he took a drop too much.

Drink did it all-drink made him mad when crossed

He was a poor man, and they're hard on such.
O Nan! that night! that night!

When I was sitting in this very chair,
Watching and waiting in the candlelight,
And heard his foot come creaking up the stair,
And turned, and saw him standing yonder, white
And wild, with staring eyes and rumpled hair!
And when I caught his arm and called, in fright,
He pushed me, swore, and to the door he passed
To lock and bar it fast.

Then down he drops just like a lump of lead,
Holding his brow, shaking, and growing whiter,
And-Nan!-just then the light seemed growing brighter,
And I could see the hands that held his head,

All red! all bloody red!

What could I do but scream? He groaned to hear,
Jumped to his feet, and gripped me by the wrist;
"Be still, or I shall kill thee, Nell!" he hissed.
And I was still, for fear.

"They're after me-I've knifed a man !" he said.
"Be still!-the drink-drink did it!-he is dead!"

Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn't weep;
All I could do was cling to Ned and hark,
And Ned was cold, cold, cold, as if asleep,
But breathing hard and deep.

The candle flickered out-the room grew dark-
And-Nan!—although my heart was true and tried—
When all grew cold and dim,

I shuddered-not for fear of them outside,

But just afraid to be alone with him.

"Ned! Ned!" I whispered--and he moaned and shook, But did not heed or look!

"Ned! Ned! speak, lad! tell me it is not true!"
At that he raised his head and looked so wild;
Then, with a stare that froze my blood, he threw
His arms around me, crying like a child,

And held me close-and not a word was spoken,

While I clung tighter to his heart, and pressed him,
And did not fear him, though my heart was broken,
But kissed his poor stained hands, and cried, and blessed him.
Then, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming cold

With sound o' falling rain

When I could see his face, and it looked old,
Like the pinched face of one that dies in pain;
Well, though we heard folk stirring in the sun,
We never thought to hide away or run,

Until we heard those voices in the street,
That hurrying of feet,

And Ned leaped up, and knew that they had come.

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Run, Ned!" I cried, but he was deaf and dumb!

"Hide, Ned!" I screamed, and held him; "hide thee, man!"

He stared with bloodshot eyes, and hearkened, Nan!
And all the rest is like a dream-the sound

Of knocking at the door

A rush of men-a struggle on the ground

A mist-a tramp—a roar;

For when I got my senses back again,

The room was empty-and my head went round!

God help him? God will help him! Ay, no fear!
It was the drink, not Ned-he meant no wrong;
So kind! so good!—and I am useless here,
Now he is lost that loved me true and long.
That night before he died,

I didn't cry-my heart was hard and dried;
But when the clocks went "one," I took my shawl
To cover up my face, and stole away,

And walked along the silent streets, where all
Looked cold and still and gray,

And on I went, and stood in Leicester Square,
But just as "three" was sounded close at hand

I started and turned east, before I knew,

Then down Saint Martin's Lane, along the Strand,
And through the toll-gate on to Waterloo.

Some men and lads went by,

And turning round, I gazed, and watched 'em go,
Then felt that they were going to see him die,
And drew my shawl more tight, and followed slow.
More people passed me, a country cart with hay
Stopped close beside me, and two or three
Talked about it! I moaned and crept away!

Next came a hollow sound I knew full well,

For something gripped me round the heart!—and then
There came the solemn tolling of a beli!

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