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He thought she had stolen something,

And brought it away to sell,
He had followed her home and caught her

And then he'd a tale to tell.
He told bow he watched her waving

The wand by her mother's bed,
O'er a face where the faint gray shadows

Of the last long sleep had spread.
She's still at the school, is Sally,

And she's heard of the realms of light;
So she clings to the childish fancy

That entered her head that night.
She says that her poor sick mother

By her wand was charmed away
From earth to the Home of blisses

In the land of eternal day.

THE BEAUTY OF THE SEA. “ The sea is His, and He made it.” Its beauty is of God. It possesses it in richness of its own; it borrows it from earth, and air, and heaven. The clouds lend it the various dyes of their wardrobe, and throw down upon it the broad masses of their shadows, as they go sailing and sweeping by.

The rainbow laves in it its many colored feet. The sun loves to visit it, and the moon, and the glittering brotherhood of planets and stars, for they delight themselves in its beauty. The sunbeams return from it in showers of diamonds and glances of fire; the moonbeams find in it a pathway of silver, where they dance to and fro, with the breeze and the waves, through the livelong night.

It has a light, too, of its own, a soft and sparkling light, rivaling the stars; and often does the ship which cuts its surface, leave streaming behind a milky-way of dim and uncertain lustre, like that which is shining above. It harmonizes in its forms and sound both with the night and the day. It cheerfully reflects the light, and it unites solemnly with the darkness. It imparts sweetness to the music of men, and grandeur to the thunder of heaven.

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He hadn't been there for fifteen years.
Grandmother she expressed her fears.
“What you 'fraid of, marm?” laughed he,
“What'll happen a man like me,
That knows the world and can't be done
By anybody under the sun.
Me be cheated! Ho, ho, ho,
You're too skeery, marm, ho, ho!
My name is Green, but my natur's not
No, not a tittle nor a jot.”
So, in spite of all that they could say,
He went one day.
A man outside the depot took
Him by his sleeve.
“Look,” he said to grandfather, "look-
Look at this ring of Guinea gold !
It never oughtn't to be sold;
It's my wife's wedding-ring, but-but
We're starving—" "Tut!”
Said grandfather. “Here's a five-dollar bill.
Don't grieve,
Give me the ring, I'll keep it for
A month-or, you can have it before-
Only, don't sell it. Come to me
At Buttercup Farm
If it's more money you want. No harm
In asking me, no, sirree-
I pity you.” Alas!
The ring was brass.

And that was the first thing came to pass

When grandfather went to town.
Then another man gave him a look.
“How are you, Squire Brown?”
He said. “Come to town
To-day?” And took his hand and shook
It as if 'twas his twin-brother's he'd not seen
For a year or two.
“Excuse me," grandfather said with a smile,

“ I'm Mr. Green,
*Written expressly for this Collection.

Not Mr. Brown.” “Why, how do you do?"
The man cried. “Well,
It is a spell
Since I was down your way. And how
Is Mrs. Green and all the little
Greens?” “I allow,"
Smiled grandfather, “not a jot or tittle
Do I remember of you, sir.”
“Well,” said the man, "we sometimes err.
Good day!” And off he went, and then,
Grandfather looking at the sun,
Said, “It's half-past ten.”
And felt for his watch, but his watch was gone.

And that's the next thing came to pass

When grandfather went to town. And then he saw a crowd in the street. They said a parade would come that way, Sometime to-day. And a spruce, neat Little man had two thimbles on a stand, And a little dried pea in his hand. He put the pea under a thimble, “Whoever tells me where is that pea," Said be, "I'll give him a dime." Grandfather then, The most honest of men, Began to tremble. “You're cheating,” said he, “I saw the pea Go under that left-hand thimble, there. I can't tell the time, For I've lost my watch, But I can tell a cheat, However neat He maneuvres.” The man began to swed: “I'll bet you,” said he, “That little pea Is not where you say it is, I'll bet You a dollar." “Don't you fret," Said grandfather, all of a glow. “Go slow, Young man.

Bet you two dollars I know where it is."
"I'll go you three," said the man. At this,
Grandfather, mad as any March hare,
Knowing where
The pea was, cried, “I'll go you five-
All thieves sha'n't thrive."
“ Done!” said the man, and put up the money,
As grandfather did, as sweet as honey,
Lifted the left-hand thimble and
The one at the right hand,
And dear old grandfather had to declare
The pea wasn't anywhere.
So grandfather, with only a ring of brass,
His watch gone and all his money, alas!
Turned round without another word,
Walked through the city streets, and spurred
Shank's mare, and walked, and walked, and walked,
And famished, and spent, at midnight stalked
In at the door at Buttercup Farm.
“Now, marm,"
He said to grandmother, “don't you speak-
My temper's riz, and it might leak.
I'm Green by name and natur too,

But you

Must never, never, never say
A single word about the day
When grandfather went to town."

THE IDIOT LAD.-ROBERT OVERTOI, The vesper hymn had died away,

And the benison had been said,
But one remained in church to pray,

With a bowed and reverent head.
He could not frame in words the prayer

Which reached the Throne of Grace,
But the love and pity present there,

Saw the pleading of his face.
In many curls hung his hair of gold

Round a brow of pearly white;
His face was cast in a graceful mould

And his eyes were strangely bright

Gentle his white band's touch, his smile

Was tender and sweet and sad :
Nought knew his heart of fraud and guile-

Of poor Dick, the idiot lad.
“My boy," I said, “the tired sun

Sinks low on the west sea's breast;
The shades which fall when the day is done

Woo the weary earth to rest.
In the vesper zephyr's gentle stir

The sleepy tree-tops nod-
Wby wait you here?” And he said, “Oh, sir,

I would see the face of God!
“ If the sun is so fair in his noon-day pride,

And the moon in the silver night;
If the stars which by angels at eventide

Are lighted can shine so bright!
If wood and dell, each flower and tree,

And each grass of the graveyard sod,
Are so full of beauty, oh, what must it be

To look on the face of God!
“I have sought for the vision wide and near,

And once, sir, I traveled far,
To a mighty city long leagues from here,

Where men of the great world are.
But the faces I saw were false and mean,

And cruel, and hard, and bad ;
And none like the face the saints have seen

Saw poor Dick, the idiot lad.
“ In the night, sir, I wander away from home;

Down the lanes and the fields I go-
Through the silent and lonely woods I roam,

Patient, and praying, and slow.
In the early morn on the hills I stand,

Ere yet the mists have past;
And I eagerly look o'er sea and land

For the wonderful vision at last. “When the lightnings flash and the thunders roar,

And the ships fly in from the gale ; When the waves beat high on the shrinking shore

And the fishing boats dare not sail; I seek it still, in the storm and snow,

Lest it may happen to be

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