"But I might talk till pitch-dark night, And then have something left to say; But, Mary, am I wrong or right,

Or do I throw my words away?

"Leave me, or take me and my horse;
I've told thee truth, and all I know:
Truth should breed truth, that comes of course;
If I sow wheat, why wheat will grow."

"Yes, Abner, but thus soon to yield

Neighbors would fleer and look behind 'em; Though, with a husband in the field,

Perhaps, indeed, I should not mind 'em.

"I've known your generous nature well;
My first denial cost me dear;

How this may end we cannot tell-
But, as for Bayard, bring him here."

"Bless thee for that!" the ploughman cried,
At once both starting from the seat,
He stood a guardian by her side,

But talked of home,-'twas growing late.

Then step for step within his arm

She cheered him down the dewy way;

And no two birds upon the farm

Ere prated with more joy than they.

What news at home? The smile he wore
One little sentence turned to sorrow;

An order met him at the door,

"Take Bayard to the dogs to-morrow." "Yes, yes," thought he, and heaved a sigh; "Die when he will, he's not your debtor. I must obey, and he must die

That's if I can't contrive it better."

Next day rose fair; with team a-field,

He watched the farmer's cheerful brow;

And in a lucky hour revealed

His secret at his post, the plough.

And there without a whine began:
"Master, you'll give me your advice;

I'm going to marry-if I can—

And want old Bayard; what's his price?

"For Mary Jones last night agreed,

Or near upon 't, to be my wife:
The horse's value I don't heed,
I only want to save his life."

"Buy him, hey! Abner, trust me I
Have not the thought of gain in view;
Bayard's best days we've seen go by;
He shall be cheap enough to you."

The wages paid, the horse brought out,
The hour of separation come,

The farmer turned his chair about,

"Good fellow, take him, take him home.

"You're welcome, Abner, to the beast,
For you've a faithful servant been;
They'll thrive, I doubt not in the least,
Who know what work and service mean."

The maids at parting, one and all,

From different windows different tones, Bade him farewell with many a bawl,

And sent their love to Mary Jones.

He waved his hat, and turned away,
When loud the cry of children rose;

"Abner, good-bye!" They stopped their play; "There goes poor Bayard, there he goes!"

Half choked with joy, with love and pride,
He now with dainty clover fed him,

Now took a short triumphant ride,

And then again got down and led him.

And, hobbling onward up the hill,
The widow's house was full in sight;

He pulled the bridle harder still,

"Come on, we sha'n't be there to-night."
She met them with a smile so sweet;
The stable-door was open thrown;
The blind horse lifted high his feet,
And loudly snorting, laid him down.

O Victory! from that stock of laurels
You keep so snug for camps and thrones,
Spare us one twig from all their quarrels
For Abner and the Widow Jones.

NAE STAR WAS GLINTIN.-ELIZA COOK.

Nae star was glintin out aboon,

The cluds were dark and hid the moon;
The whistling gale was in my teeth,

And round me was the deep, snaw wreath;
But on I went the dreary mile,

And sung right cantie a' the while,

I gae my plaid a closer fauld;

My hand was warm, my heart was bauld,
I didna heed the storm and cauld,

While ganging to my Katie.

But when I trod the same way back,
It seemed a sad and waefu' track;
The brae and glen were lone and lang;
I didna sing my cantie sang;

I felt how sharp the sleet did fa',
And couldna face the wind at a',
Oh! sic a change! how could it be?
I ken fu' well, and sae may ye-
The sunshine had been gloom to me

While ganging frae my Katie.

TOMMY'S PRAYER.-JOHN F. NICHOLLS.

In a dark and dismal alley where the sunshine never came, Dwelt a little lad named Tommy, sickly, delicate, and lame; He had never yet been healthy, but had lain since he was born

Dragging out his weak existence well nigh hopeless and forlorn.

He was six, was little Tommy, 'twas just five years ago Since his drunken mother dropped him, and the babe was crippled so.

He had never known the comfort of a mother's tender care, But her cruel blows and curses made his pain still worse to

bear.

There he lay within the cellar, from the morning till the night,

Starved, neglected, cursed, ill-treated, nought to make his dull life bright;

Not a single friend to love him, not a living thing to loveFor he knew not of a Saviour, or a heaven up above.

"Twas a quiet, summer evening, and the alley, too, was still; Tommy's little heart was sinking, and he felt so lonely, till, Floating up the quiet alley, wafted inwards from the street, Came the sound of some one singing, sounding, oh! so clear and sweet.

Eagerly did Tommy listen as the singing nearer came— Oh! that he could see the singer! How he wished he wasn't lame.

Then he called and shouted loudly, till the singer heard the sound,

And on noting whence it issued, soon the little cripple found.

'Twas a maiden rough and rugged, hair unkempt, and naked feet,

All her garments torn and ragged, her appearance far from neat;

"So yer called me," said the maiden, "wonder wot yer wants

o' me;

Most folks call me Singing Jessie; wot may your name chance to be?"

"My name's Tommy; I'm a cripple, and I want to hear you

sing,

For it makes me feel so happy-sing me something, any

thing."

Jessie laughed, and answered smiling "I can't stay here

very long,

But I'll sing a hymn to please you, wot I calls the 'Glory

Song.""

Then she sang to him of heaven, pearly gates, and streets

of gold,

Where the happy angel children are not starved or nipped with cold;

But where happiness and gladness never can decrease or end, And where kind and loving Jesus is their Sovereign and their Friend.

Oh! how Tommy's eyes did glisten as he drank in every word

As it fell from "Singing Jessie"-was it true, what he had heard?

And so anxiously he asked her; "Is there really such a place?"

And a tear began to trickle down his pallid little face.

*Tommy, you're a little heathen; Why, it's up beyond the

sky,

And if yer will love the Saviour, yer shall go there when yer die."

"Then," said Tommy; "tell me, Jessie, how can I the Saviour love,

When I'm down in this 'ere cellar, and He's up in heaven above?"

So the little ragged maiden who had heard at Sunday School All about the way to heaven, and the Christian's golden

rule,

Taught the little cripple Tommy how to love, and how to

pray,

Then she sang a "Song of Jesus," kissed his cheek and went

away.

Tommy lay within the cellar which had grown so dark and cold,

Thinking all about the children in the streets of shining

gold;

And he heeded not the darkness of that damp and chilly

room,

For the joy in Tommy's bosom could disperse the deepest gloom.

"Oh! if I could only see it," thought the cripple, as he lay, Jessie said that Jesus listens and I think I'll try and pray; So he put his hands together, and he closed his little eyes, And in accents weak, yet earnest, sent this message to the skies:

"Gentle Jesus, please forgive me as I didn't know afore, That yer cared for little cripples who is weak and very poor, And I never heard of heaven till that Jessie came to-day And told me all about it, so I wants to try and pray.

"Yer can see me, can't yer, Jesus? Jessie told me that yer could,

And I somehow must believe it, for it seems so prime and good;

And she told me if I loved you, I should see yer when I die, In the bright and happy heaven that is up beyond the sky.

"Lord, I'm only just a cripple, and I'm no use here below, For I heard my mother whisper, she'd be glad if I could go; And I'm cold and hungry sometimes; and I feel so lonely, too,

Can't yer take me, gentle Jesus, up to heaven along o' you?