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The old door tender stood, doffing his hat, And holding the door, but she would not stir, Though he said it was not for the “likes of him To ride in a kerridge with such as her.”

“Come, put out your lights,” she said to him,
“I’ve something important I wish to say,
And I can't stand here in the draught, you know,
I can tell you much better while on the way.”
So into the carriage the old man crept,
Thanking her gratefully o'er and o'er,
Till she bade him listen while she would tell
A story concerning that old stage-door.

“It was raining in torrents ten years ago
This very night, and a friendless child
Stood shivering there by that old stage-door,
Dreading her walk, in a night so wild,
She was only one of the ‘extra’ girls,
But you gave her a nickel to take the car,
And said, ‘Heaven bless ye, my little one,
Ye can pay me back if ye ever star.”

“So you cast your bread on the waters then,
And I pay you back as my heart demands.

And we're even now—no, not quite,” she said,
As she emptied her purse in his trembling

hands.

“And, if ever you're needy and want a friend,
You know where to come, for your little mite

Put hope in my heart and made me strive
To gain the success you have seen to-night.”

Then the carriage stopped at the old man's door,
And the gas-light shone on him standing there;
And he stepped to the curb as she rolled away,
While his thin lips murmured a fervent prayer.
He looked at the silver and bills and gold,
And he said: “She gives all this to me?
My bread has come back a thousand-fold,
God bless her! God bless all such as she.”

TIME.
ROBERT HERRICK.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
Old Time is still a flying:

And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he's a getting,

The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he's to setting.

The age is best which is the first, When youth and blood are warmer;

But being spent, the worse and worst Time still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time, And while ye may, go marry;

For having lost but once your prime, You may forever tarry.

THE PORT. O’ DREAM.S.

(In Army and Navy Journal.)

It is just beyond the sky-line

With its poppy-fields of rest Where day's storm-bewildered shallop

Drops its anchor in the west, Where a silent sea of Saffron

Stretches inland toward the streams That go glimmering down the valleys

Of the purple port o’ dreams.

In the far-off gloom behind it
Earth's dusky bound'ry lies,

And a step beyond its outpost
The hills of heaven rise;

So near that in the glory
Of their mystic haze it seems

That the dear dead walk beside us
In the peaceful port o' dreams.

Oh, strange and wondrous country,
Hiding close the goals of life,
Who wins to thee brings courage
For the long, dull march's strife,
And the prisoner of living
Hope's freedom pledge redeems
In thine endless, boundless radiance,
Oh, the blissful port o' dreams.

We have called thee Heart's Desire,
Or the Island of the Blest,
And the Land of Finished Stories,
Oh, dreamland in the west.
Yet every heart's the bound’ry
Of thy soul-reposing beams—
Art thou hope or love or heaven,
Oh, happy port o’ dreams?

Sail away, oh, weary-hearted,
To the bayous of release,

Leave the drums o' life behind you
At the harbor bar of peace.

Come to anchor off the headlands
Where the light of heaven gleams

In the haven where ye would be
Past the purple port o' dreams.

THE COUNTRY SCHOOLHOUSE.
EDWIN L, SABIN
(In Youth's Companion.)

The little country schoolhouse—you
Remember it; of course you do! -
Within the angle snugly set,
Where two long yellow highways met,
And saplings planted here and there
About the yard, and boxed with care
As if to typify, in turn,
The youngsters caught and caged, to learn.

Around, the rolling pastures spread,
With woodland patches garlanded,
From which the breezes gladly bore
Sly invitations to the door.
Across the sills the bees' soft hum
Was mingled with the muttered sum,
And from their covert in the vale
In plaintive pleading piped the quail.

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