Now they heard the distant baying of house-dogs, now the doleful call of the chuck will's widow, and once Mary's blood turned for an instant to ice at the unearthly shriek of the hoot-owl just above their heads. At length they found themselves in a dim, narrow road, and the negro stopped.

"Dess keep dish yer road fo' 'bout half mile an' you strak 'pon de broad, main road. Tek de right, an' you go whar yo' fancy tak you. Good-bye, miss. Good-bye, boss; don't you fo'git you promise tek me thoo to de Yankee when you come back. I feered you gwine fo'git it, boss."

The spy said he would not, and they left him. The half mile was soon passed, though it turned out to be a mile and a half, and at length Mary's companion looked back as they rode single file with Mary in the rear, and said softly, "There's the road."

As they entered it and turned to the right, Mary, with Alice in her arms, moved somewhat ahead of her companion, her indifferent horsemanship having compelled him to drop back to avoid a prickly bush. His horse was just quickening his pace to regain the lost position when a man sprang up from the ground on the farther side of the highway, snatched a carbine from the earth and cried, "Halt!"

The dark, recumbent forms of six or eight others could be seen enveloped in their blankets lying about a few red coals. Mary turned a frightened look backward and met the eye of her companion.

"Move a little faster," said he, in a low, clear voice. As he did so, she heard him answer the challenge, as his horse trotted softly after hers.

"Don't stop us, my friend; we're taking a sick child to the doctor.

Halt, you hound!" the cry rang out; and as Mary glanced back three or four men were leaping into the road. But she saw also her companion, his face suffused with an earnestness that was almost an agony, rise in his stirrups with the stoop of his shoulders all gone, and wildly cry, Go!" She smote the horse, and flew.

66

Alice awoke and screamed.

The report of a carbine rang out and went rolling away in a thousand echoes through the wood. Two others followed in sharp succession, and there went close by Mary's ear the waspish whine of a minie-ball. At the same moment she recognized-once, twice, thrice-just at her back where the hoofs of her companion's horse were clattering, the tart rejoinder of his "navy six."

"Go! lay low! lay low! cover the child!" But his words were needless. With head bowed forward and form crouched over the crying child, with slackened rein and fluttering dress, and sun-bonnet and loosened hair blown back upon her shoulders, with lips compressed, and silent prayer, Mary was riding for life and liberty and her husband's bed side.

"Go on! go on! They're saddling up! Go! Go! We're going to make it! Go-0-0 !" And they made it!

GEORGE W. CABLE.

PERPLEXITY.

I SIT in my chamber, bewildered, and sigh.
If ever a maiden was troubled, it's I.
I've one lover rich, though he's awfully old;
His pockets are just running over with gold.
Another is handsome, and loves me, I know,
With all of the love that he doesn't bestow
On himself. The other is poor, plain, and true,
But carries a heart that is pure as the dew.

But there are my sisters. Now beautiful Lou
Has married a man who is rich as a Jew.
She sighs for a husband who is handsome and gay,
Whose face is not wrinkled, who's hair is not gray
Kate married a beauty, yet she has no joy;
She's head of the house,-he's more like a toy.
He don't know as much as a boy out of schoo;
Like all handsome men, he's a simpering fool.

Meg wedded for love, and that's worst of all,
For in a poor cottage that's terribly small

She lives like the "woman who lived in a shoe,"
And grumbles and grumbles; now what can I do?
There's Lou would give wealth if it beauty would bring;
And Kate, who wed beauty, would take anything;
And she who has love is the worst of the three-
Love, beauty, or riches, -O which shall it be?

I say to my sisters, I'll be an old maid
And be sure of sunshine, since they have the shade;
And all three declare, with hand held on high,
Than be an old maid, they'd much rather die
Or live as they are. Now, that's just the way!
I go to my mother, she's nothing to say.
The way out of trouble I ne'er can descry;
If ever a maid was perplexed, it is I.

LYDIA F. HINMAN.

A YACHTSMAN'S SPEECH.

[An amusing recitation.]

"I AM an old salt, called upon to speak for that saline institution without any-without any-any-(takes from his breast pocket a paper, which he unfolds, glancing nervously at the writing upon it) preparation; I find my stomach-my stomach-no-(takes the paper from his pocket and glances at it) my heart-I find my heart too full for utterance. I am not the first old salt to whom the attention of the people has been directed. There was another old salt, sir, first in war, first in-first in-in(consulting the paper) peace-first in peace, and first in the arts of seamanship and navigation. Proudly I point to that first old salt in the history of the history of-of (the paper) the United States. You know him well, Mr. Commodore. His name was George-George-his name was George-George (the paper) Washington-George

Washington. He stood at the helm of the ship of-the ship of-of-(the paper) state; the ship of state, Mr. Commodore. In other words, sir, he took his trick at the wheel. He navigated that ship as no other man could navigate her, sir. He knew when to take a reef in the skysail-boom! He knew when to top up the flukes of the main-royal mudhook! He knew just how much the foreto'-bobbin-stay would bear, and he didn't burst it! He sailed that ship of state with the jib-stay fast to the bowline-hitch, with the jib-tack swelling in the breeze, and the sky-scrapers hauled taut on the weatherstaysail sheets! He kept her head southeast by no'th, and the grand old craft bowled long like a white cloud through the azure of the canopy below- Below? (the paper) above him; the canopy above him, Mr. Commodore; or like the ship of the desert over the burning sands of the straits of Magellan !

"I was speaking of the ship of state, that gallant old craft, lifting her foreto'-gallant cutwater to the breezes with her main royal hatchway braced sharp up, and the bilge water flying like corn in a parcher. I was speaking of the skipper of that craft; of that old salt GeorgeGeorge-George-I mentioned the name-George-(the paper)-Washington; George Washington. He saved the ship! With his little hatchet he cut away the booms, bobstays, bowsprits, beckets, bo's'ns, and buntlines, and brought the old craft safe into Portland-Portland ?— into-into (the paper) port; into port. But, Mr. Commodore, I was about to allude to other distinguished old salts, who have honored the profession to which I belong. "There was one down in Tennessee, who navigated that same old ship of state. He was a tough specimen of the old salt. He kept his backstay braced sharp into the eye of the wind. He was tough as the foreto'mainmast of a man-of-war! Sometimes they called him Old-Old Hickups-Hickups? (the paper) Old Hickory! They called him so, Mr. Commodore, because he was fond of peanuts! His name was Andrew-AndrewAndrew Andrew Johnson! His name was Andrew Johnson, Mr. Commodore. Johnson-Johnson? It seems to me that was not the name. (The paper) Jack

up

son, Mr. Commodore! His name was Andrew Jackson ! He was the captain of his ship, sir. When he was sick, he knew enough to heave to, sir. When South Carolina

wanted to nullify, he knew enough to lie to, sir. In this respect, sir, he was different from George-George (the paper) Washington; George Washington, sir. History solemnly records that G. W. couldn't tell a-a-tell a— a—a (the paper) a lie; but he could lie under an imputation, and he did; and Andrew Jackson could lie to, and pour his booming guns into the nullifiers, like a brave old salt as he was. But, Mr. Commodore, time would fail me, and your patience give out, before I could allude to all the old salts to whose honored profession I belong; and I can only mention General Phil-PhilGeneral Phil-Phil-(the paper) Sheridan; Phil Sheridan, who rode at anchor at Winchester down to the battle-field, and made a good run of it."

"OLIVER OPTIC."

From Ocean Born.

THE SAILING OF KING OLAF.

"Norroway hills are grand to see,
Norroway vales are broad and fair:
Any monarch on earth might be
Contented to find his kingdom there!"

So spake Harold Haardrade, bold,
To Olaf, his brother, with beard red-gold.

*A bargain!" cried Olaf: "Beside the strand Our ships rock idle. Come, sail away! Who first shall win to our native land,

He shall be king of old Norroway."

Quoth Harold, the stern: "My vessel for thine,
I will not trust to this laggard of mine."