THE BORDER LAND.-MARIE L. MOFFATT.

DEDICATED TO A FRIEND RECOVERING FROM SEVERE ILLNESS.

Long weeks you have stood in the yielding sand
Of the perilous so-called "Border Land;"
That terminal belt--like a fringe of sedge,
Low-lying and dank at the water's edge,

Where the hills of health with their fragrant breath,
Slope down to the river that men call Death.

Down through the vale, either rapid or slow,
You followed the path till it dipped so low
That the waves, in their ceaseless, onward sweep,
Thrice toyed with the sand at your very feet;
And beyond, in the dim and dreamy light,
The heights of Infinity loomed in sight.

We watched for the ferryman's spectral form,
Should it come at meridian, eve, or morn;
Still praying-O God! may it be thy will
To give to thy servants that measure of skill
Which shall serve to avert the impending doom,
And save, for the nonce, from the waiting tomb.

You waited, calmly, not eager to go,

But "ready," should Heaven have willed it so.
But no!

Not so:

It is said in the "word"

That the prayer of faith shall be answering heard.
So your feet were turned in the weary track,
And an unseen hand is leading you back;
Back to the hills with their healthful breath,
Back from the valley and shadow of death!

"Tis human to think of the Border Land
As a dreary waste of but sedge and sand;
Yet many a lesson, divinely sweet,

Has been taught and learned in this weird retreat.

As with the child, long withdrawn from the school,
Less ardor, less zeal, is the sequence and rule,

So we, long in sunshine, are prone to forget
That life has a duty with penalty set

If we fail to perform; which duty we find,
Adversity oftenest brings to mind.

While down in the valley, alone with thought,
The world and its pleasures seem less than naught;
To rearward, the mountains are bathed in blue,
Beneath, is the river with barge and crew;
And yonder where new, strange headlands gleam
The shores of Eternity skirt the stream.

But we have a friend in this "

weary land,"
The "Rock!" in whose shade we may trusting stand:
And whenever ordered to cross the flood,
"Whoever will," may go, saved through his blood.
No tide-wave of Lethe our barque can o'erwhelm,
If "Jesus of Nazareth" stands at the helm,
He calmeth the waves and the soul at will,
With a royal, imperative, "Peace: Be still."

SAVED BY A RATTLESNAKE.

A MINER'S STORY.

Game there was none. We could not break camp now with our weak men upon our hands, and it only remained for some one to attempt the desperate journey across the San Juan range, by way of the Devil's Pass, to Animas, and return with food or a rescuing party. Failing of that, spring-time would find our cabin inhab ited by corpses.

We drew lots among ourselves, therefore, we well men, to decide who should undertake this perilous trip, and the risk fell upon me. It was best, perhaps, that it should have been so, for of all the party I best knew the trail. Without waste of words or time, I prepared myself for the journey, and thoroughly armed, early one morning, before the pale moon had fallen behind the western mountains, I bade good-by to my comrades and started.

Turning my back upon the camp, I settled my course by a star, and at a brisk pace steered southward. All day I continued on the trail, ever with a watchful eye for Indian signs-for I believed our old enemies still in the vicinity-but all day unmolested, and at last, weary

and worn, as the chill shadows began to creep across the great white plain behind me, I saw looming up in front the San Juan range, gashed with a narrow gorge -the Devil's Pass. Once through that horrible grave, for it was little else, and the road to Animas would be comparatively easy. My spirits rose hopefully.

As darkness came fairly down, I found myself just at the mouth of the canyon which led up to the pass, and deeming it a most sheltered place for a camping spot, I soon gathered a heap of dead limbs beneath an overhanging rock where the snow had not yet come, built a roaring fire, which warmed and cheered me, and prepared for the night. I felt little fear, for the narrow, frowning canyon would hide the light of my fire from all the plain country. The only disturbance which I might look for would be the howling of the wolves, who threatened, but dared not attack me; and I cared not for them.

With these comforting reflections, therefore, I ate a hearty supper, drank a little melted snow-water, lit my pipe, and, rolling myself in my blanket, crowded close to the rock wall behind me, now well warmed by my fire. And so, in the flickering light, protected on all sides, I gave myself unhesitatingly up to slumber.

How long I slept I cannot say. It was deep in the night when I woke with a sudden chill. It was as if some one had touched me with a cold and clammy hand, but even before I was well awake my frontiersman's caution returned, and I opened my eyes slowly and didn't move.

The fire was all but out and the ghostly light from its dying embers touched the snow and rocks and trees about with a strange color like thick blood. The air was growing chill and still, too, except for the cry of a coyote far up the canyon wall opposite, who whined and barked incessantly.

There was something almost oppressive about the silence to me, when suddenly, from just beyond my

smouldering fire the sound of a step startled me, and before I had time even to move there was bending over me a hideous, painted face,—the face of a savage, and in his hand, already creeping toward my heart, was his heavy scalping-knife!

To describe my sensations is impossible. Some terrible spell seemed to bind me. Not only was I facing a danger which meant nstant death, but I was unable to move even in the attempt to save myself. It was as if 1 were fascinated.

I tried to reason with myself. This was but a single enemy-if I should spring upon him I might kill him and so be free; but although the reasoning was right, the action I was unable to bring about, and all the time the terrible knife drew nearer. The redskin knew that I was awake, and that I saw him, but he gloated over my helplessness and delayed his fatal blow.

At last, however, I saw the gleam of his eye, the tightening of his muscles, and knew that in an instant more all would be over, when a sudden harsh, metallic rattle sounded, as if it were in my very bosom. I felt something glide from my side—a long, scaly, snaky body shot out to meet the dusky on-coming arm. There was a blow then a cry of horror, and as the knife fell ringing to the earth a rattlesnake crawled slowly away, and the Uncompahgre, with his now nerveless hand outstretched and the blood dripping down from his parted fingers, with a long, wild death shriek turned and disappeared in the darkness. The rattler which my fire had drawn from his winter quarters had saved my life and the lives of my companions.

A week later, with a party of thirty good fellows I recrossed the San Juan range and rescued my party from starvation and the Indians; and it is because of what that snake did for me in Devil's Pass nigh on twenty years ago, that I let the critters live to-day.

SHACOB'S LAMENT.

Oxcoose me if I shed some tears,
Und wipe my nose avay;
Und if a lump vos in my troat,
It comes up dere to shtay.

My sadness I shall now unfoldt,
Und if dot tale of woe

Don'd do some Dutchmans any good,

Den I don't pelief I know.

You see, I fall myself in love,
Und effery night I goes
Across to Brooklyn by dot pridge,
All dressed in Sunday clothes.

A vidder vomans vos der brize,
Her husband he vos dead;
Und all alone in this colt vorldt,
Dot vidder vos, she said.

Her heart for love vos on der pine,
Und dot I like to see;

Und all der time I hoped dot heart
Vos on der pine for me.

I keeps a butcher shop, you know,
Und in a stocking stout,

I put avay my gold and bills,
Und no one gets him oudt.

If in der night some bank cashier
Goes skipping off mit cash,
I shleep so sound as nefer vos,
Vhile rich folks go to shmash.

I court dot vidder sixteen months,
Dot vidder she courts me,

Und vhen I says: "Vill you be mine?"
She says: "You bet I'll be!"

Ve vos engaged-oh! blessed fact!
I squeeze dot dimpled hand;
Her head upon my shoulder lays,
Shust like a bag of sand.

"Before der vedding day vos set,"
She vispers in mine ear,