With fear impressed, does now retreat "What brought you here?" With quick reply, Out jumps the gardener in a fright, MAD.-WILLIAM LITTLEJOHN. 'Twas many years since I had left my home I sought the cherished haunts and friends of yore. "They call me mad; and hour by hour I'm watched By lurking keepers, who, with looks askance, Would search my thoughts, and deem themselves unseen; For when I would return their gaze, they droop Their eyes, and with a heedless air pass by. They call me mad, and so deny my right To liberty enjoyed by other men. They call me mad! but know they what they mean? "Yea, if vividly to recall the past, And linger with emotions deep and fond On all that yielded life a moment's joy, And now lies garnered in sweet mem'ry's store, If this betokens madness, I am mad. Or if to know with what dear promise youth Was robed-how cherished were the constant thoughts Of happiness to come in future years And feel how treacherous was the fate that crushed Those thoughts, and bade me dare to seek revenge,If this may madness prove, then I am mad. And this is why, forsooth, they deem me so! 46 Even now the recollections of the past, In varied visions, float before mine eyes "The glad years speed along. Those children twain To him of impulse strong and keen-sensed soul, And each is happy in the other's love. "And this glad pair in childhood and in youtb Was cousin Ruth and I. Oh! it was joy To loiter arm in arm on summer eves By hedge-rows, or through fields of long-grown grass, To tread the hard, crisp roads; and watch the stars, "Ah! death assumed most unsuspected guise,- You know the rest. My friend became my foe I grasped his throat and dashed him to the ground, From those who held me I sprang forth, then rushed But when I found her, my poor girl was dead. I clasped her hand and gazed into her eyes, Whose steadfast stare seems now to pierce me through, And placed my lips against her clay-cold cheek Till presently they bore her from my sight. "Night came; the wandering wind was wailing wild, And dreary rains were lashing all the land; I felt them not, I only felt the fire That raged within my soul, and wandered on With pale and haggard features, glaring, blood-shot eyes, Dishevelled hair, clenched fists, and boiling blood! Amid the chaos of my brain one thought Usurped despotic sway and led me on And on, with purpose fixed and fierce-to kill, To murder him who slew my only love! "Ere long I found the thing I sought-alone! I heard the sound of voices, heard them say 'Good night,' 'Good night.' One voice I knew; 'twas his! I cowered low, till, with quick step, he passed, Then, silent as a tiger, followed swift. When he had gained the meadow he must cross, And, seeing me, he screamed, and would have fled, Upon the grass in dark despair I fell! My throat was parched, a mist came o'er my eyes, "When I awoke, as 'twere from a long dream Within these walls, and knew they called me mad.” THE PAUPER'S CHILD.*-AUGUSTA MOORE A LEGEND OF JEWANKEE MOUNTAIN. Bleak were the hills and the cold wind was sweeping His father and mother were sleeping together The birches and beeches their bare limbs were swinging The drear winds of winter sad anthems were singing; The sweet-scented cedars and dark pines before him The tall hemlock sighed as its branches waved o'er him His blood stained the mosses, his tears gemmed the heather; His brown hair streamed out on the winter wind wild, But low in their pauper's grave, sleeping together, His father and mother dreamed not of their child. The darkness of night settled down on the mountain; The frost was enchaining both river and fountain, The little one stumbled; his sore feet were weary, THE OLD FISHERMAN. He was old and weather-beaten, and his clothes were the same, but there was an expression of supreme content upon his tanned face as he sat on the edge of the wharf yesterday afternoon and let his legs dangle down. In his mouth was a pipe that had been new and sweet in the dear, dead long ago, and in his right hand he held one end of a fishline. The other end was held down upon the bottom of the river, a long distance from the shore. "Any luck, captain?" asked a young man who was strolling by. It is considered the proper thing to call every man along the river who is old and weather-beaten "captain." "Nope-they an't a-bitin' much to-day." 66 "They don't bite much anyway these days, do they ?" Nope-not like they useter. "Tuseter be so't I could come down here an' catch a basketful in mebbe an hour or so." That was quite long ago, wasn't it?" "Yep, quite a spell ago. I'member one time-hello!" The old man had given his line a vicious jerk and was now all excitement. |