THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS. 9 And the moon and the stars that looked over H. G. THOUGHTS ON THE COMMANDMENTS. "Love your neighbor as yourself " So the parson preaches; That's one half the decalogue So the prayer-book teaches. Half my duty I can do, With but little labor; For with all my heart and soul Mighty little credit, that, Not to love her, though, might be Why, the rosy light that peeps So, to make my merit more, Love my neighbor as myself? And I've preached the word, I know, To convert the stubborn heart Of the little beauty. Once again success has crowned Missionary labor; For her sweet eyes own that she Also loves her neighbor. GEORGE A. BAKER, JR. RELICS. The violets that you gave are dead, It loved you, and its love was true. Only the ashes bide with me, The ashes of the ruined flowers RELICS. Types of a rapture not to be, Sad relics of bewildering hours, He grandly loves who loves in vain! Far off the purple banners flare, Beneath the golden morning spread; For since I saw that glorious face, That used to make my heart rejoice: WILLIAM WINTER. 11 GETTING THE PONY SHOD, AND WHAT CAME OF IT. I went to the smith's one sultry day For shoes for my favorite pony, And I stood in the door of the shop the while, Then I watched the sparks from the flaming forge, When down by the well, through the garden gate, I brushed the coal-dust from my face, and went To ask for a drink of water. The bucket was heavy, the chain was long- 'Twas down in the well, and my arm was strong, So I offered, of course, to draw it. She thanked me. We leaned on the cool, wet curb, The soft shadows over us gliding, As she filled the pail, remarking, the while, ""Tis a very warm day for riding." "Yes," I answered, and took from her small, brown hand A bright dipper, brimming over, GETTING THE PONY SHOD. 13 And thought, while I drained it in sight of her smile, "How happy must be her lover!" I stepped slowly across the flagstones wet, So I carried the pail to the kitchen door, Where lay sleeping my old friend Tony; She talked to me while I was resting, and said, With the rest, she "wished she had a pony." "You may ride mine," I said; and so the next day I sent it by Cyrus, her brother; But the pony had life, and, alone, wasn't safe, So I went, just to make up the other. Well, Susan liked riding, and I liked it too; Till at last the short days of the autumn grew Then to Susan I said, "Since we cannot ride If you think you would like it as well, my dear, |