"Will you go with me, little maid?" said Jemmy, with a bright, good-natured smile.

"If you please," said Allie, laying her little hand confidingly in his rough palm.

"Sit up closer," said Jemmy, as he put one arm around her to steady her fragile figure as they rattled over the stony pavements. "We shall soon be out of this smoky old city. Consarn it! I always feel as if I was poisoned every time I come into town. And then we'll see what sweet hay-fields, and new milk, and clover blossoms, and kind hearts will do for you, you poor little plucked chicken! Where did you come from when you came to live with that old Jezebel?"

"From my mother's grave!" said Allie.

"Poor thing! poor thing!" said Jemmy, wiping away a tear with his coat-sleeve. 'Well, never mind. I wish I hadn't asked you. I'm always running my head ag'in a beam. Do you like to feed chickens, hey? Did you ever milk a cow, or ride on top of a hay-cart, or go a-berrying? Do you love bouncing red apples, and peaches as big as your fist? It shall go hard if you don't have 'em all. What's come of your hair, child? Have you had your head shaved?" "Mrs. Fetherbee cut it off," said Allie.

"The old vixen! I wish I'd come in a little quicker. Was it your curls them young 'uns was playing with? Well, never mind," said he, looking admiringly at the sweet face before him, "you don't need 'em; and they might get you to looking in the glass oftener than was good for you.

"Well, here we are, I declare; and there stands my old woman in the door-way, shading her eyes from the sun. I guess she wonders where I raised you!

Look here, Betsey; do you see this child? The earth is fresh on her mother's grave! She has neither kith nor kin. I have brought her from that old skinflint of a Fetherbee's, and here she is. If you like her, it's well and good; and if you don't, she'll stay here just the same. But I know you will!" said he, coaxingly, as he passed his brawny arm round her capacious waist. "And now get her something that will bring the color to her checks; for, mind you, I'll have no white slaves on my farm!"

How sweetly Allie's little, tired limbs rested in the fra grant lavendered sheets! A tear lingered on her cheek, but its birth was not of sorrow. Jemmy pointed it out to his wife, as they stood looking at her before retiring to rest. "Never forget it, Betsey!" said he. "Harsh words ain't for the motherless. May God forget me, if she ever hears one from my lips!"

ROMEO AND JULIET (ALTERED).

It was in ancient Italy a deadly hatred grew
Between old Caleb Capulet and Moses Montague;
Now Moses had an only son, a little dapper beau,

The pet of all the pretty girls, by name young Romeo.
And Caleb owned a female girl, just home from boarding-
school;

Miss Juliet was her Christian name,-for short they called her Jule.

To bring the lady out, he gave a ball at his plantation,
And thither went young Romeo, without an invitation.
One Tybalt, kinsman to the host, began to growl and pout,
And watched an opportunity to put the fellow out;

But Caleb saw the game, and said: "Now, cousin, don't be

cross;

Behave yourself, or leave the room; are you or I the boss?"
When Juliet saw Romeo, his beauty did enchant her;
And Romeo he fell in love with Juliet instanter.

Now, lest their dads should spoil the fun, but little time they tarried,

Away to 'Squire Lawrence sped, and secretly were married.
Oh, cruel fate! that day the groom met Tybalt in the square,
And Tybalt being very drunk, at Romeo did swear.
Then Romeo his weapon drew, a knife of seven blades,
And made a gap in Tibby's ribs, that sent him to the shades.
The watchman came; he took to flight, down alley, street,

and square;

The Charlies ran, o'ertook their man, and took him 'fore the Mayor.

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Then spoke the worthy magistrate: (and savagely did frown,) Young man, you'll have to lose your head, or else vamose the town;'

He chose the last, and left his bride in solitude to pine; “Ah me!" said he, “our honeymoon is nothing but moonshine;"

And then, to make the matter worse, her father did embarrass

By saying she must give her hand to noble County Paris.

"This suitor is a goodly youth; to-day he comes to woo; If you refuse the gentleman, I'll soundly wollop you." She went to 'Squire Lawrence's cell, to know what must be done;

The 'Squire bade her go to bed and take some laudanum. ""Twill make you sleep, and seem as dead; thus canst thou dodge this blow;

A humbugged man your pa will be,-a blest one Romeo." She drank, she slept, grew wan and cold; they buried her next day;

That she'd piped out her lord got word, far off in Mantua; Quoth he, "Of life I've had enough; I'll hire Bluffkin's mule,

Lay in a pint of baldface rum, and go to-night to Jule!" Then rode he to the sepulchre, 'mong dead folks, bats, and creepers;

And swallowed down the burning dose-when Juliet oped her peepers.

"Are you alive? Or is't your ghost? Speak quick, before

I go."

"Alive!" she cried, “and kicking too; art thou my Romeo?" "It is your Romeo, my faded little blossom;

O Juliet! is it possible that you were acting possum ?"

"I was indeed; now let's go home; pa's spite will have abated;

What ails you, love, you stagger so; are you intoxicated?" "No, no, my duck; I took some stuff that caused a little fit;" He struggled hard to tell her all, but couldn't, so he quit. In shorter time than't takes a lamb to wag his tail, or jump, Poor Romeo was stiff and pale as any whitewashed pump. Then Juliet seized that awful knife, and in her bossom stuck it,

Let out a most terrific yell, fell down, and kicked the bucket.

THE REGIMENT'S RETURN.—E. J. CUTLER.

He is coming, he is coming, my true-love comes home to-day! All the city throngs to meet him as he lingers by the way. He is coming from the battle with his knapsack and his

gun

He, a hundred times my darling, for the dangers he hath run!

Twice they said that he was dead, but I would not believe the lie;

While my faithful heart kept loving him I knew he could not die.

All in white will I array me, with a rosebud in my hair, And his ring upon my finger-he shall see it shining therei

He will kiss me, he will kiss me with the kiss of long ago; He will fold his arms around me close, and I shall cry, I know.

Oh the years that I have waited-rather lives they seemed to be

For the dawning of the happy day that brings him back to me!

But the worthy cause has triumphed. Oh, joy! the war is over!

He is coming, he is coming, my gallant soldier lover!

Men are shouting all around me, women weep and laugh for joy,

Wives behold again their husbands, and the mother clasps her boy;

All the city throbs with passion; 'tis a day of jubilee;

But the happiness of thousands brings not happiness to me; I remember, I remember, when the soldiers went away, There was one among the noblest who has not returned to-day.

Oh, I loved him, how I loved him! and I never can forget That he kissed me as we parted, for the kiss is burning yet! Tis his picture in my bosom, where his head will never lie; "Tis his ring upon my finger-I will wear it till I die.

Oh, his comrades say that, dying, he looked up and breathed

my name;

They have come to those that loved them, but my darling

never came.

Oh, they say he died a hero-but I knew how that would be; And they say the cause has triumphed-will that bring him back to me?

THE SPIRIT'S BIRTH.

It was a calm, still Sabbath eve;
The balmy winds slept in their soft aerial
Couches, and the breast of nature lay so
Still and pulseless that the slumbering

Flowers moved not from the embrace of their
Bright foliage. Night's mists were gathering

Round the mountain's brow, and darkness slept in

Quiet on the lake's smooth bosom.

Great waves of purple clouds, fringed with the
Golden beams from heaven's vast luminary,
Were folded up as but one Hand could fold;
Then floated between the gazing eye and the
Blue sea of sky which hid from mortal view
The throne of God.

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One by one the stars came out, and with their
Angel eyes looked on the slumbering world-
It seemed with pitying gaze-and the warm dews,
From the pure azure, wept o'er the erring
Souls of frail, immortal men.

Within a bower enshadowed by the drooping
Plumes of the green sighing elm, and sheltered
By the myrtle's clinging tendrils, knelt a
Maiden. She was young, in the first blush of
Girlhood, and beautiful,-almost too fair
For earth to look upon.

Her golden hair fell in bright clouds of
Radiance round her face, on which distress
Had set his ashen seal with heaviness.
But yesterday she was the gayest, wildest,
Loveliest belle in her fair city; but

Now her flush of joy had fled,-her cheeks were
White and cold. Her ghastly eyes were fixed with
Intense interest on the book of God,

Which lay with open page before her. Her
Little hands were clasped as if in prayer, but
Words fell not from her pale, quivering lips.
No tears were in her eyes of" heaven's own blue;"
Her fearful agony could not flow forth in tears!
The morn of this fair eve was to have seen.
Her wedded to the chosen one of her
Young heart, but Death arose from his pale,
Shadowy couch and bore the tender lover
To the silent halls where sleep the fair and
Young with those who peacefully went down the
"Vale of years" and laid them in the grave to
Rest from labors here.

With force as when the tornado uproots
The forest oak and bends the stately pine
Like osier-wood before its blast, this blow,
So dreadful, crushed the buoyant spirit of
The maiden to the dust! With weak and
Tottering steps she sought the trysting bower
To do what she had never done since a
Bright, smiling infant on her angel mother's
Knee,-uplift her heart and voice in prayer
To God. Humbly and feebly she unclosed
The flood-gates of her soul to Him, her long
Neglected, merciful Creator.

Hours sped on. The silver moon quenched her
Dim glory in the western wave, and the pale,
Silent stars grew weary of their watchings,

And hid themselves away in their empyrean robes,
And in the dim old forest faintly lisped

The feathered songsters' morning hymns of praise.