The rope is not secured below!"
Said Rachel, "Climb, the end to throw
Across the top, and I will go

And tie that end around my waist."
"Well, every woman to her taste;
You always would be tightly laced.
Rachel, when you became my bride,
I thought the knot securely tied ;
But lest the bond should break in twain,
I'll have it fastened once again."

Below the arm-pits tied around,
She takes her station on the ground,
While on the roof, beyond the ridge,
He shovels clear the lower edge.
But, sad mischance! the loosened snow
Comes sliding down, to plunge below.
And as he tumbles with the slide,
Up Rachel goes on t'other side.
Just half-way down the Justice hung;
Just half-way up the woman swung.
"Good land o' Goshen !" shouted she;
"Why, do you see it?" answered he.

The couple, dangling in the breeze,
Like turkeys hung outside to freeze.
At their rope's end and wit's end, too,
Shout back and forth what best to do.
Cried Stephen, "Take it coolly, wife;
All have their ups and downs in life.'
Quoth Rachel, "What a pity 'tis
To joke at such a time as this!
A man whose wife is being hung
Should know enough to hold his tongue."
"Now, Rachel, as I look below,

I see a tempting heap of snow.
Suppose, my dear, I take my knife,
And cut the rope to save my life."

She shouted, "Don't! 'twould be my death-
I see some pointed stones beneath.

A better way would be to call

With all our might, for Phebe Hall." "Agreed!" he roared. First he, then she Gave tongue: "O Phebe! Phebe! Phe-ebe Hall !" in tones both fine and coarse, Enough to make a drover hoarse.

Now Phebe, over at the farm,
Was sitting, sewing, snug and warm;
But hearing, as she thought, her name,
Sprang up, and to the rescue came,

Beheld the scene, and thus she thought:
"If now a kitchen chair were brought,
And I could reach the lady's foot,
I'd draw her downward by the boot,
Then cut the rope, and let him go;
He cannot miss the pile of show."
He sees her moving towards his wife,
Armed with a chair and carving-knife,
And, ere he is aware, perceives
His head ascending to the eaves;
And, guessing what the two are at,

Screams from beneath the roof, "Stop that!
You make me fall too far, by half!"
But Phebe answers, with a laugh,
"Please tell a body by what right

You've brought your wife to such a plight !"
And then, with well-directed blows,
She cuts the rope and down he goes.

The wife untied, they walk around,
When lo! no Stephen can be found.
They call in vain, run to and fro;
They look around, above, below;
No trace or token can they see,
And deeper grows the mystery.
Then Rachel's heart within her sank;
But, glancing at the snowy bank,
She caught a little gleam of hope,-
A gentle movement of the rope.
They scrape away a little snow;
What's this? A hat! Ah! he's below.
Then upward heaves the snowy pile,
And forth he stalks in tragic style,
Unhurt, and with a roguish smile;
And Rachel sees, with glad surprise,
The missing found, the fallen rise.

BILL MASON'S BRIDE.-F. BRET HARTE.

HALF an hour till train time, sir,

An' a fearful dark time, too;

Take a look at the switch lights, Tom,
Fetch in a stick when you're through.

"On time?" well, yes, I guess so-
Left the last station all right-

She'll come round the curve a flyin';
Bill Mason comes up to-night.

You know Bill? No! He's engineer,

Been on the road all his life

I'll never forget the mornin'

He married his chuck of a wife.

'Twas the summer the mill hands struckJust off work, every one;

They kicked up a row in the village

And killed old Donevan's son.

Bill hadn't been married mor'n an hour,
Up comes a message from Kress,
Orderin' Bill to go up there,

And bring down the night express.
He left his gal in a hurry,

And went up on number one,
Thinking of nothing but Mary,
And the train he had to run.

And Mary sat down by the window
To wait for the night express;
And, sir, if she had't a' done so,
She'd been a widow, I guess.
For it must a' been nigh midnight
When the mill hands left the Ridge-

They come down-the drunken devils!
Tore up a rail from the bridge.

But Mary beard'em a workin'

And guessed there was somethin' wrongAnd in less than fifteen minutes,

Bill's train it would be along!

She couldn't come here to tell us.
A mile-it wouldn't a' done---
So she jest grabbed up a lantern,

And made for the bridge alone.
Then down came the night express, sir,
And Bill was makin' her climb!
But Mary held the lantern,
A-swingin' it all the time.

Well! by Jove! Bill saw the signal,
And he stopped the night express,

And he found his Mary cryin'.

On the track. in her weddin' dress; Cryin' an, laughin' for joy, siv,

An' holdin' on to the light

Hello! here's the train-good-bye, sir
Bill Mason's on time to-night.

INCONSTANT.

INCONSTANT! O, my God!

Inconstant! When a single thought of thee
Sends all my shivering blood,

Back on my heart, in thrills of ecstacy!

Inconstant! When to sleep

And dream, that thou art near me, is to learn
So much of heaven, I weep

Because the earth and morning must return.

Inconstant! Ah! too true!

Turned from the rightful shelter of thy breast,
My tired heart flutters through
The changeful world—a bird without a nest.

Inconstant to the crowd

Through which I pass, as, to the skies above,
The fickle summer cloud,

But not to thee, O, not to thee, dear love!

I may be false to all

On earth beside, and every tender tie,
Which seems to hold in thrall
This weary life of mine, may be a lie;

But true as God's own truth,

My steadfast heart turns backward evermore,
To that sweet time of youth

Whose golden tide beats such a barren shore !

Inconstant! Not my own

The hand which builds this wall between our lives;
On its cold shadow, grown
To perfect shape, the flower of love survives.

God knows that I would give
All other joys, the sweetest and the best,
For one short hour to live

Close to thy heart, its comfort and its rest.

But life is not all dark;

The sunlight gladdens many a hidden slope,
The dove shall find its ark

Of peaceful refuge and of patient hope.

I yet shall be possessed

Of woman's meed-my small world set apart!
Home, love, protection, rest,

And children's voices singing through my heart.

By God's help, I will be

A faithful mother and a tender wife;

Perhaps even more, that He

Has chastened the best glory from my life.

But sacred to this loss,

One white sweet chamber of my heart shall be;
No foot shall ever cross

The silent portal sealed to love and thee.

And sometimes when my lips

Are to my first-born's clinging, close and long,
Draining with bee-like sips

As its sweet lily-heart, will it be wrong,

If, for an instant, wild

With precious pain, I put the truth aside,
And dream it is thy child

That I am fondling with such tender pride?

And when another's head

Sleeps on thy heart, if it should ever seem
To be my own, instead,

O, darling, hold it closer for the dream!

God will forgive the sin,

If sin it is, our lives are swept so dry,
So cold, so passion-clear,—

Thank Him death comes at last-and so good-bye.

THE ELEVENTH HOUR.-ANNA L. RUTH.

Whist, sir! Would ye plaze to speak aisy,
And sit ye down there by the dure?
She sleeps, sir, so light and so restless,

She hears every step on the flure.

What ails her? God knows! She's been weakly

For months, and the heat drives her wild;

The summer has wasted and worn her

Till she's only the ghost of a child.