ous farmer and bearing an enormous valise. He sauntered leisurely into the waiting-room and soon found himself in front of the neat little lady. Their eyes met at the same instant and there was a simultaneous exclamation:

The farmer dropped his valise and held out his hand with a smile of unbounded delight, but the little lady sprang to her feet and ignoring the proffered hand and the curious gaze of the bystanders, twined her arms about the neck of the man she had addressed as Sam, and planted a kiss upon his forehead with such a resounding smack that a nervous old lady sitting near was almost startled into dropping her spectacles.

"Never was so surprised in my life," declared the farmer, as soon as he could disengage himself." "I'm awful glad to see you, Sam. Where have you been all these years? How are you, anyway?"

"I'm toler❜ble, thank ye. How do you git along? And how's Henry and the children?"

"Henry who-what children? I don't understand." "Come, now, Mary, ye haint forgot yer own husband, I hope."

"My husband! Why, for land's sakes, Sam, I never was married."

"Haw, haw haw! That's purty good. But what makes ye call me Sam all the time?"

Why, aint you my brother, Sam Potter, that left home in Peoria twelve years ago, and that I haven't seen since?"

"Never was in Peory in my born days. But aint you my sister, Mary Williams ?"

Merciful heavens, no!" gasped the little lady, sinking back among her parcels and preparing to faint.

And the prosperous-looking farmer went out and stood on the curb for five minutes before he recovered his equanimity sufficiently to breathe freely.

LADY MAUD'S OATH.-RE. HENRY.
Lord Malcolm of Ruthven mounts his steed
To join his comrades in hour of need.
No stouter heart than the one he bore,
No trustier sword than that he wore.
Pity such gallantry, courage, and pride
Should cast in their lot with the losing side.
But never a thought of doubt or gloom
O'ershadows his face as he doffs his plume

To the Lady Maud, his bride of a year.

Courage, sweetheart, and away with fear,

We'll hurl the usurper down from his throne,

And Monmouth, our leader, shall come to his own." Gallant and gay he rides away,

Ready and eager to join the fray.

But the loyalest heart and the readiest hand
The chances of battle can ne'er command.
Gallant and gay he went forth that day;

But the morrow's sun his broad beams shed
On a battlefield of crimson red,

Whence the rebel prince and his men had fled.
And Malcolm, weak with loss of blood,
Had dragged his weary limbs afar

To where an empty cottage stood,

Whose owner took flight at sound of war;
And there in pain and weakness tossed,

More wretched through all that their cause was lost.

Alone through the dreary night he lay,
But with the earliest streak of day

The Lady Maud is at his side.

Some hurried news, half heard, half guessed,

The vague disquiet in her breast

To sudden terror moves.

And she has dared a midnight ride,

And laid all timid fears aside,

As women will who love.

Above his rugged couch she bends,
With all the skill that love supplies,
And gentlest touch, his wounds she tends,
And seeks to close the watchful eyes.
But heedless of her earnest prayer,
His eyes are fixed in wide hot stare
Lest sleep should seize him unaware.

"I must not sleep, perchance the foe
Is hunting for me far and near,
Without the chance to strike one blow
Will seize me sleeping idly here,—
A prize for those bloodthirsty men.
I know the way the villains work,
A form of trial by Jeffreys then-
And slaughtered by that butcher Kirke.
My eyeballs burn, my brain doth ache;
Wilt thou, sweet wife, a vigil keep,
And guard me, for I e'en must sleep.
Should they pursue me e'er I wake,
Why plunge yon dagger in my breast.
Give me thy word and let me rest."
She answers not-her lips are dumb.
"Oh, let me not in vain beseech.

At least then should the foeman come,
Thou'lt place the knife within my reach;
Let them not seize me as I lie,

A traitor's shameful death to die."

Sore grieved is Lady Maud; she sees
The throbbing eyes and aching brain
Can ill endure the constant strain-
What can she do to bring him ease?
Then summoning her failing strength,
"I swear, by Heaven," she cries at length.
He heard the vow and smiled.

"By Heaven and our pledged love, by both Thou wilt not break the double oath."

Then like a tired child

He stretches out each aching limb,
And longed-for sleep steals over him.
Yet once he stirs "Be true to me,
Remember all my trust's in thee."
She sits and watches by his side,
Until at last a peaceful tide

Of happy thoughts steals o'er her heart,
And all her wretched fears depart;
Her husband-lover, her heart's lord,
Will be to health and strength restored,
And war and bloodshed soon will cease,
And long sweet years of love and peace
Will make amends for all this woe.
What flattering pictures hope can show!

A sudden sound-her pulses thrill,

A group of soldiers on the hill;

She hears the martial tread;

And hitherward their steps they bend-
Great Heaven! is it foe or friend?

One moment-hope is fled!

"The soldiers of the King,-the foe!
And I have sworn-no, Malcolm, no,
I will not keep my vow.

Oh, God! why is this vengeance sent?
For what great crime this punishment
Is falling on me now?

Myself will die," she seized the knife.
"Coward that I am, false-hearted wife,
Unworthy I to bear his name,

Who'd doom him to a death of shame.
He trusted me, he trusted me,
And I have sworn to set him free.
And I will do it! Could I bear
To meet his look of wild despair,
And know myself forsworn?

To hear him say with latest breath,
Through me he died a traitor's death,
Mid howls of wrath and scorn?

They come, they come, and I have vowed;-
Wake, Malcolm, wake," she calls aloud.

He answers to her cry.

She takes the dagger from its place,

But dares not look upon his face
Knowing that he must die.

Backward she moves with faltering tread,
And stands once more beside the bed;
The knife, held loosely in her grasp,
From out her hand to his has passed;
She feels one kiss, one tender clasp,
And knows it is the last.

Ah-h- a shuddering sigh, a groan,
And Lady Maud seems turned to stone,
For she stands within that room alone.
Two souls were here, and one has fled;
She feels as if her hand were red.
The martial footsteps gain the door,
And Lady Maud steps o'er the floor
And flings the portal wide.

"Nay, let them come, no boon I claim;
I've saved him from a death of shame,
My love, my joy, my pride!

Nay, let them come to wreak their hate,
Speed as they may, they come too late,
He's safe! though I am desolate."

A soldier on the threshold stands,
He thrusts a paper in her hands,
"Lady, forgive unseemly haste,
Such errand brooks no time to waste.
Unto Lord Malcolm do we bring
Message of pardon from the King."

"Pardon!" She glances toward the bed;
"You bring your pardon to the dead!
And all my crime and all my pain,
Have been in vain-in vain-in vain!
Go back—your message comes too late!
And I-I have not long to wait,
One grave will hold us both.

And when heaven's gate I enter in,
And seek God's clemency to win
For many a dark and heavy sin,
I'll say I kept my oath."

WHICH ROAD?

If you could go back to the forks of the road,—
Back the long miles you have carried the load;
Back to the place where you had to decide
By this way or that through your life to abide;
Back of the sorrow and back of the care;
Back to the place where the future was fair,—
If you were there now, a decision to make,
Oh, pilgrim of sorrow, which road would you take?

Then, after you'd trodden the other long track,
Suppose that again to the forks you went back,
After you found that its promises fair

Were but a delusion that led to a snare;

That the road you first traveled with sighs and unrest, Though dreary and rough was most graciously blest With balm for each bruise and a charm for each acheOh, pilgrim of sorrow, which road would you take?