save fur, naught else except a solitary tail. That tail was Norval's by a ring I knew it. The ear was

we'll let the matter rest.

But

The tail will do without the ear.

THE OLD KNIGHT'S TREASURE.

SIR JOHN was old, and grim, and gray;
The cares of sixty years he bore;
The charm of youth had withered away
From his iron features long before.
In his dull old house of blackened stone,
With servants quaint, and tried, and few,

For many a year he had lived alone,

As the harsh, and the cold, and the heartless do.

There was plate on his sideboard - plate of price;
His pouch had ruddy gold at need;
And twenty men might well suffice

The lands he held by dower and deed.
He had lived, the world said, much too long;
sold his heart for wealth and power;

An.

les, they thought, of bygone wrong Would be wailed, too late, at his dying hour.

Beside the bed of grim Sir John

The quaint old faded bed of state,

Where, in the centuries dead and gone,

Had slept gray heads with a diadem's weight —

Beside his bed and near at hand

To his easy-chair of oaken wood,
Fastened and strapped with bar and band,
A huge black casket ever stood.

No friend of his they were far and few -
Had ever seen the open lid;

Not even the tongue of a servant knew

What thing of wealth the casket hid. 'Twas rumored that at dead of night,

When shut and barred were window and door,

It opened to the old man's sight;

But that was rumor, nothing more.

Eyes glanced upon it, quick and keen,
And minds with doubt impatient swelled;
What could these years of mystery mean?
What could be the wealth the casket held?
'Twas wonderful wealth, so much knew all;
For these bold words the covering crossed:
Remember, all, if harm befall,

Save this, whatever else is lost!"

Perhaps the red gold nestled there,

Loving and close as in the mine;
Or diamonds lit the sunless air,

Or rubies blushed like bridal wine.
Some giant gem, like that which bought
The half of a realm in Timour's day,
Might here, beyond temptation's thought,
Be hidden in safety; who could say?
Sir John was dead. The needy heirs
Followed close and thick behind his bier,
Blending disgust at the tedious prayers,
With a proper sob and a decorous tear.
And scarce the sound of feet had died,
Closing the vault for his mouldering rest,
When rung the chisel, opening wide

That strange old guarded treasure-chest.
What found they? Faces darkened and frowned,
And curses smothered under the breath,
As the heavy lid was at last unbound,
And the heirs expectant looked beneath.
Not an acre, not a banquet more,

Would all the wealth of the casket buy! No wonder their faces this anger wore, That curled the lip and flashed the eye.

What found they? Top, and whip, and ball,
And knife, and cord, each veriest toy
That makes, through years of childhood, all
The merrier life of the bright-eyed boy!

For thirty years that lonely man

Had held, oh, dearer than honors won, Than the wealth that into his coffers ran, The toys of his buried baby son!

O human love! O human grief!
Ye make your places wide and far!
Ye rustle in every withered leaf,

Ye are heard, perhaps, where the angels are!
In the coldest life may rise some wail,

O'er broken hopes and memories fond:
God help us, when we set the pale
That leaves one human heart beyond.

HENRY MORFORD.

THE DISCONTENTED PENDULUM.

AN old clock, that had stood for fifty years in a farmer's kitchen, without giving its owner any cause of complaint, early one summer's morning, before the family was stirring, suddenly stopped. Upon this, the dial-plate (if we may credit the fable) changed countenance with alarm; the hands made a vain effort to continue their course; the wheels remained motionless with surprise; the weights hung speechless; each member felt disposed to lay the blame on the others. At length the dial instituted a formal inquiry as to the cause of the stagnation, when hands, wheels, weights, with one voice protested their innocence.

But now a faint tick was heard below from the pendulum, who thus spoke: "I confess myself to be the sole cause of the present stoppage; and I am willing, for the general satisfaction, to assign my reasons. The truth is, that I am tired of ticking." Upon hearing this, the old clock became so enraged that it was on the very point of striking.

"Lazy wire!" exclaimed the dial-plate, holding up its hands. "Very good!" replied the pendulum, "it is vastly easy for you, Mistress Dial, who have always, as everybody knows, set yourself up above me - it is vastly easy for you, I say, to accuse other people of laziness!-you, who have had nothing to do all the days of your life, but to stare people in the face, and to amuse yourself with watching all that goes on in the kitchen! Think, I beseech you, how you would like to be shut up for life in this dark closet, and to wag backwards and forwards, year after year, as I do."

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As to that," said the dial, is there not a window in your house on purpose for you to look through?" For all that," resumed the pendulum, "it is very dark here; and

although there is a window, I dare not stop, even for an instant, to look out at it. Besides, I am really tired of my way of life; and if you wish, I'll tell you how I took this disgust at my employment. I happened this morning to be calculating how many times I should have to tick in the course of only the next twenty-four hours; perhaps some of you, above there, can give me the exact sum."

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The minute-hand, being quick at figures, presently replied, "Eighty-six thousand four hundred times." 'Exactly so," replied the pendulum; "well, I appeal to you all, if the very thought of this was not enough to fatigue one; and when I began to multiply the strokes of one day by those of months and years, really it is no wonder if I felt discouraged at the prospect; so, after a great deal of reasoning and hesitation, thinks I to myself I'll stop."

The dial could scarcely keep its countenance during this harangue; but resuming its gravity, thus replied: "Dear Mr. Pendulum, I am really astonished that such a useful, industrious person as yourself should have been overcome by this sudden action. It is true you have done a great deal of work in your time; so have we all, and are likely to do; which, although it may fatigue us to think of, the question is, whether it will fatigue us to do. Would you now do me the favor to give about half a dozen strokes to illustrate my argument?'

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The pendulum complied, and ticked six times in its usual pace. Now," resumed the dial, "may I be allowed to inquire if that exertion was at all fatiguing or disagreeable to you?" "Not in the least," replied the pendulum, “it is not of six strokes that I complain, nor of sixty, but of millions." "Very good," replied the dial; "but recollect, that though you may think of a million strokes in an instant, you are required to execute but one; and that, however often you may hereafter have to swing, a moment will always be given you to swing in." "That consideration staggers me, I confess,' said the pendulum. “Then I hope," resumed the dial-plate, we shall all immediately return to our duty; for the maids will lie in bed if we stand idling thus."

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Upon this, the weights, who had never been accused of light conduct, used all their influence in urging him to proceed; when, as with one consent, the wheels began to turn, the hands began to move, the pendulum began to swing,

and to its credit, ticked as loud as ever; while a red beam of the rising sun that streamed through a hole in the kitchen, shining full upon the dial-plate, it brightened up, as if nothing had been the matter.

When the farmer came down to breakfast that morning, upon looking at the clock, he declared that his watch had gained half an hour in the night.

JANE TAYLOR.

THE NEW CHURCH DOCTRINE.

THERE's come a sing'lar doctrine, Sue,
Into our church to-day;

These cur'us words are what the new
Young preacher had to say:

That literal, everlastin' fire
Was mostly in our eye;

That sinners dead, if they desire,
Can get another try;

He doubted if a warmer clime

Than this world could be proved;
The little snip - I fear some time
He'll get his doubts removed.

I've watched my duty, straight an' true,
An' tried to do it well;

Part of the time kept heaven in view,
An' part steered clear o' hell;
An' now half of this work is naught,
If I must list to him,

An' this 'ere devil I have fought

Was only just a whim;

Vain are the dangers I have braved,

The sacrifice they cost;

For what fun is it to be saved,

If no one else is lost?

Just think!-Suppose, when once I view

The heaven I've toiled to win,

A lot of unsaved sinners, too,

Comes walkin' grandly in!

An' acts to home, same as if they
Had read their titles clear,