Her merry black eye beamed her bonnet beneath,
And the Quaker he grinned, for he'd very good teeth;
And he asked, "Art thou going to ride on the heath?

"I hope you'll protect me, kind sir," said the maid,
"As to ride this heath over I am sadly afraid;
For robbers, they say, here in numbers abound,
And I wouldn't for anything I should be found:
For between you and me I have five hundred pound."

"If that is thine own, dear," the Quaker said,
"I ne'er saw a maiden I sooner would wed;
And I have another five hundred just now,
In the padding that's under my saddle-bow:
And I'll settle it all upon thee, I vow!"

The maiden she smiled, and the rein she drew, "Your offer I'll take, though I'll not take you!" A pistol she held to the Quaker's head

66

Now give me your gold, or I'll give you my lead: "Tis under the saddle, I think you said."

And the damsel ripped up the saddle-bow,
And the Quaker was ne'er a quaker till now;
And he saw by the fair one he wished for a bride,
His purse drawn away with a swaggering stride,
And the eye that looked tender now only defied.

"The spirit doth move me, friend Broadbrim," quoth she,
"To take all this filthy temptation from thee;
For mammon deceives, and beauty is fleeting.
Accept from thy maiden a right loving greeting,
For much doth she profit by this happy meeting.

"And hark, jolly Quaker, so rosy and sly,
Have righteousness more than a lass in your eye;
Don't go again peeping girls' bonnets beneath,
Remember the one you met on the heath:
Her name's Jimmy Barlow-I tell to your teeth."

"Friend James," quoth the Quaker, "pray listen to me,
For thou canst confer a great favor, d'ye see?
The gold thou hast taken is not mine, my friend,
But my master's-and truly on thee I depend
To make it appear I my trust did defend.

"So fire a few shots through my coat here and there,
To make it appear 'twas a desperate affair."

So Jim he popped first through the skirts of his coat, And then through his collar, quite close to his throat; "Now once through my broadbrim," quoth Ephraim, “I vote."

"I have but a brace," said bold Jim, " and they're spent, And I won't load again for a make-believe rent."

66

Then," said Ephraim, producing his pistols, "just give My five hundred pounds back, or, as sure as you live, I'll make of your body a riddle or sieve."

Jim Barlow was diddled-and though he was game,

He saw Ephraim's pistol, so deadly in aim,

That he gave up the gold, and he took to his scrapers;

And when the whole story got into the papers,

They said that the thieves were no match for the Quakers.

RABBONI.-M. J. PRESTON,

Of all the nights of most mysterious dread

This elded earth hath known, none matched in gloom, That crucifixion night when Christ lay dead,— Sealed up in Joseph's tomb!

No faith that rose sublime above the pain,
Remembered in its anguish what He said:
"After three days and I shall rise again,"--
Their hopeless hearts were dead.

Throughout the ghastly "Preparation Day,"
How had that stricken mother dragged her breath!
Like all of Adam born, her "God-given " lay
Beneath the doom of death.

The prophecy she nursed through pondering years
Of apprehension, now had found its whole
Fulfillment, infinite beyond her fears,—
The sword had pierced her soul!

The vehement tears of Peter well might flow,
Mixed with the wormwood of repentant shame;
Now would he yield his life thrice told, if so
He might confess the name

He had denied with curses.

Fruitless were

The keen remorses now, the gnawing smart;
A heavier stone than sealed the sepulchre
Was rolled above his heart.

Surprise and grief and baffled hopes sufficed

To rush as seas their souls and God between; Yet none of all had mourned the buried Christ, As Mary Magdalene.

When all condemned, He bade her live again,-
When all were hard, His pity moved above
Her penitent spirit, healed it, cleansed its stain,
And made it pure with love.

And she had broken all her costliest store

O'er him whose tenderness, so new, so rare, Stood, like a strong, white angel, evermore "Twixt her and mad despair.

And He was dead!-Her peace had died with Him!
The demons who had fled at His control,
With sevenfold chains within their dungeons dim,
Would henceforth bind her soul.

How slowly crept the Sabbath's endless week!
What aching vigils watched the lingering day,
When she might stagger through the dark and seek
The garden where He lay!

And when she thrid her way to meet the dawn,

And found the gates unbarred,- -a grieving moan

Broke from her lips-" Who" (for her strength was gone,) Will roll away the stone?"

She held no other thought, no hope but this:

To look-to touch the sacred flesh once more,Handle the spices with adoring kiss

And help to wind him o'er

With the fair linen Joseph had prepared,—
Lift reverently the wounded hands and feet,
And gaze, one blinded, on the features bared,
And drink the last, most sweet

Divine illusion of his presence there,

And then, the embalming done, with one low cry Of utmost, unappeasable despair,

Seek out her home and die.

Lo, the black square that showed the opened tomb!
She sprang-she entered unafraid-and swept
Her arms outstretching, groping through the gloom,
To touch Him where he slept.

Her trembling fingers grasped the raiment cold,
Pungent with aloes, lying where He lay:
She smoothed her hands above it, fold by fold,-
Her Lord was stolen away!

And others came anon, who wept him sore,—
Simon and John, the women pale and spent
With fearful watchings; wondering more and more
They questioned, gazed,—and went.

Nor thus did Mary. Though the lingering gloom
Parted into brightness, and city's stir
Came floating upward to the golden tomb,
There was no dawn for her;-

No room for faintest hopes, nor utmost fears:
For when she sobbing stooped, and saw the twain
White-clothen angels, through her falling tears,
Sit where her Lord had lain,

And ask, "Why weepest thou?”— there brake no cry,
But she with deadened calm her answer made:
"Because they have taken away my Lord, and I
Know not where He is laid."

Was it a step upon the dewy grass?

Was it a garment rustled by the wind?

Did some hushed breathing o'er her senses pass,
And draw her looks behind?

She turned and saw-the very Lord she sought-
Jesus the newly-risen!--but no surprise

Held her astound and rooted to the spot;
Her filmed and holden eyes

Had only vision for the swathéd form;

Nor from her mantle lifted she her face,

Nor marveled that the gardener's voice should warm
With pity at her case;—

Till sprang the sudden thought, "If he should know:”—
And then she turned full quickly: "Sir, I pray

Tell me where thou hast borne Him, that I may go
And take Him thence away."

The resurrection-morning's broadening blaze
Shot up behind, and clear before her sight,

Centred on Jesus its transfiguring rays,
And hallowed him with light.

"Mary!"-The measureless pathos was the same
As when her Lord had said, "Thou art forgiven;"
Had He, for comfort, named her by her name
Out from the height of heaven?

She looked aloft-she listened, turned and gazed;
A revelation flashed across her brow;

One moment,-and she prostrate fell, amazed,—
"Rabboni!-It is Thou!"

A NAME.-W. F. Fox.

Oh! give me a name that shall live forever,
Like the leaf of the immortelle ;

And weave me a chain where no link may sever,
Nor lost, nor yet broken its spell:

For nearer the heart and e'en dearer by far

Than the love for aught else beside,

Is a name that shall shine like evening's bright star
When action and thought shall have died.

The laurel and cypress may wither and die,
The myrtle and olive grow pale,

The beauty may fade, that now beams in the eye,
And rust coat the armor and mail.

The leaves and the flowers may mingle with earth,
And sigh for the days that have flown;

And hearts now so free and so joyous with mirth,
May mourn for life's pleasures when gone;

The voice of the maiden may sober in tone,
And music may lose its soft thrill,

The proud soul may learn to yet struggle alone,
And drink of the cup she must fill;

The objects we cherish may yield to decay,
And all that is lovely may fade,

And life may grow dim like the twilight of day,
And rest 'neath the rock and the shade;

But yet if there live 'mid the shadows that fall,
A name-that has lived in the past,-
Whose light shall reflect upon Time's faded wall
The lustre its virtues have cast:

It will gladden the soul when life shall go down
To find, traced in letters of gold,

A name, that is richer by far than a crown
In thoughts and in deeds that were bold.