LOCHINVAR'S RIDE.

O young Lochinvar is come out of the West!
Through all the wide border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapons had none;
He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone.

So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar.

He staid not for brake, and he stopped not for stone;
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,

The bride had consented, -the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.

So boldly he entered the Netherby hall,

Among bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and al
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword,-
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word,-
"O come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar ?”

"I long wooed your daughter;-my suit you denied:
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide;
And now I am come, with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure,-drink one cup of wine.
There be maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar."

The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up;
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup;
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh,
With a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye;
ile took her soft hand ere her mother could bar;—
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.

So stately his form and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace;

While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bridemaidens whispered, "twere better, by far,
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar."

One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall door, where the charger stood near; So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,

So light to the saddle before her he sprung;

"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds tlrat follow!" quoth young Lochinvar

There was mounting 'mong Græmes of the Netherby clan;
Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see.
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war;
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
Sir Walter Scott.

BILLINGS ON "THE DISTRICT SCHOOLMASTER."

There is one man in this basement world, that I alwuz look upon with mixt feelings of pity and respect.

Pity and respect, az a general mixtur, don't mix well. You will find them both travelling around among folks, but not often growing on the same bush.

When they do hug each other they mean sumthing. Pity, without respect, hain't got much more oats in it than disgust haz.

I had rather a man would hit me on the side of the head than tew pity me.

But there is one man in this world to whom I alwuz take oph hat, and remain uncovered until he gets safely by, and that is the distrikt skoolmaster.

When I meet him I look upon him az a martyr just returned from the stake, or on his way there tew be cooked.

He leads a more lonesum and single life than an old bachelor, and a more anxious one than an old maid. ·

He is remarked just about as long and as affectionately az a gide board is by a travelling pack pedlar.

If he undertakes tew make his skollars luv him, the chances are he will neglekt their larning; and if he don't lick them now and then pretty often, they will soon lick him.

The distrikt skoolmaster hain't got a friend on the flat side of earth. The boys snow-ball him during recess; the girls put water in hiz hair die; and the skool committee makes him work for half the money a bartender

gets, and board him around the naberhood, where they give him rhy coffee, sweetened with molasses, tew drink, and kodfish bawls three times a day for vittles.

And with all this abuse, I never heard ov a distrikt skoolmaster swearing anything louder than condemn it. Don't talk to me about the pashunce ov anshunt Job. Job had pretty plenty ov biles all over him, no doubt, but they were all ov one breed.

Every young one in the distrikt skool is a bile of a different breed, and each one needs a different kind ov poultis to get a good head on them.

A distrikt skoolmaster, who duz a square job, and takes his codfish bawls reverently, iz a better man to-day, tew hav lieing around loose, than Solomon would be, arrayed in all ov hiz glory.

Solomon wuz better at writing proverbs and managing a large family than he would be tew navigate a distrikt skoolhous.

Enny man who has kept a distrikt skool for ten years, and boarded around the naberhood, ought to be made a mager gineral and have a penshun for the rest ov his natʼral days, and a hoss and waggin tew do his going around in.

But as a general consequence, a distrikt skoolmaster hain't got any more warm friends than an old blind ox haz.

He is just about as welkum as a tax-gatherer iz.

He is respekted a good deal az a man to whom we owe a debt ov 50 dollars to, and don't want tew pay.

He goes through life on a back road, az poor az a wood sled, and finally iz missed; but what ever bekums ov his remains I kan't tell.

Fortunately he is not often a sensitive man; if he was he couldn't enny more keep a distrikt skool than he could file a kross cut saw.

Why iz it that these men and women, who pashuntly and with crazed brain teach our remorseless brats the tejus meaning ov the alphabet, who take the fust welding heat on thir destiny, who have to lay the stepping stones and enkurrage them to mount upwards, who have done more hard work and mean jobs than enny klass on the footstool, who have prayed over the reprobats, strength

ened the timid, restrained the outragious, and flattered the imbecile; who have lived on kodfish and vile coffee, and hain't been heard to swear,-why is it that they are treated like a vagrant fiddler, danced to for a night, paid ɔph in the morning, and eagerly forgotten?

I had rather burn a coal-pit, or keep the flys out ov a butcher's shop in the month ov August, than meddle with the skool bizzness. H. G. Shaw.

SHIBBOLETH.

"Then said they unto him: 'Say now Shibboleth;' and he said Sibboleth. Then they took him, and slew him at the passages of Jordan: and there fell at What time, of the Ephraimites, forty and two thousand. Judges, xii. 6.

Down to the stream they flying go;
Right on the border stand the foe,-
Stand the foe, and this threat they make :
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.

Up to his desk the good man goes,
Down in the pews they sit, his foes,-
Sit his foes, and this threat they make:
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.
Say: Remember the Sabbath day,
In it ye neither shall work nor play;
Say it commences on Saturday night,
Just about early candle-light;

Or, to make it a little surer still,

When the sun goes down behind the hill;
And if the sun sets at half-past four;
Close the shutters, and bar the door;
Tell the strangers your gates within,
That to do otherwise is a sin;

And at half-past four on the following day,
Take out your knitting, and work or play;
For the Lord allows, in his law sublime,
Twenty-four hours for holy time;
Thus you must speak our Shibboleth.
Nothing daunted, the good man saith,
Ye must remember the Sabbath day,
In it ye neither shall work nor play,
Tell the strangers your gates within,
That to do otherwise is a sin;

But at twelve o'clock it begins, I'm sure,
Not on Saturday at half-past four,
And at twelve o'clock at night it ends;
This is the fourth command, my friends.

Down sits the parson in his seat,
Up rise his enemies from the pit;
Off with his head, they wrathful say,
How he abuses our Sabbath day!

Up comes another to take his place,
Heated and panting from the chase,
And again the foe their menace make,
Shibboleth say, or your head we'll take.
Say that the Lord made bond and free,
Slavery's an evil, not sin per se;

Slaves there have been, from the first man's fall,
And a righteous God upholds it all.

This is the pass-word, spead it plain;

And the good man answers back again,

I know that the Lord made bond and free
All of one blood, and cursed is he,

Saith a righteous God in his holy ire,
Who uset service and giveth no hire.

This man will never our Shibboleth say
Thus cry the foe, as they eager lay
Their violent hands on the clerical crown,
He is not one of us,-hew him down.
And again to the next in the sacred desk,

They look from below, and propound this text:
Say that we fell in Adam's fall,

And that in Adam we sinned all;

Say that in him we all are dead,

Else you'll oblige us to take your head.

A moment they wait to hear the word,
But shout as soon as his voice is heard,
Oh, hear ye now what this rebel saith?
Sibboleth only,-not Shibboleth.

Another cry in the stifled air,
Another head with its gory hair

By the rolling stream, and another threat
The dire assassins are making yet:

Shibboleth say, and the stream shall flow
Right and left, as you onward go;

Sibboleth say, and your head shall fall

Right in the pass, as fell they all.

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