mo' chance, jes' one mo' chance. Take de ole niggah if you's got to hab somebody.—Good Lord, good deah Lord, we don't know whah you's a gwine to, we don't know who you's got yo' eye on, but we knows by de way you's a comin', we knows by de way you's a tiltin' along in yo' charyot o' fiah dat some po' sinner's a gwyne to ketch it. But good Lord, dese chil'en don't b'long heah, dey's f'm Obedstown whah dey don't know nuffin, an' you knows, yo' own sef, dat dey aint 'sponsible. An' deah Lord, good Lord, it aint like yo' mercy, it aint like yo' pity, it aint like yo' long-sufferin' lovin'-kindness for to take dis kind o' 'vantage o' sich little chil'en as dese is when dey's so many ornery grown folks chuck full o' cussedness dat wants roastin' down dah. O Lord, spah de little chil'en, don't tar de little chil'en away f'm dey frens; jes' let 'em off jes' dis once, and take it out'n de ole niggah. HEAH I IS, LORD, HEAH I IS! De ole niggah's ready, Lord, de ole

The flaming and churning steamer was right abreast the party, and not twenty steps away. The awful thunder of a mud-valve suddenly burst forth, drowning the prayer, and as suddenly Uncle Dan'l snatched a child under each arm and scoured into the woods with the rest of the pack at his heels. And then, ashamed of himself, he halted in the deep darkness and shouted, (but rather feebly :)

"Heah I is, Lord, heah I is!"

There was a moment of throbbing suspense, and then, to the surprise and comfort of the party, it was plain that the august presence had gone by, for its dreadful noises were receding. Uncle Dan'l headed a cautious reconnoissance in the direction of the log. Sure enough "the Lord" was just turning a point a short distance up the river, and while they looked, the lights winked out and the coughing diminished by degrees and presently ceased altogether.

"I'wsh! Well now dey's some folks says dey aint no 'ficiency in prah. Dis chile would like to know whah we'd a ben now if it warn't fo' dat prah? Dat's it. Dat's it!" "Uncle Dan'l, do you reckon it was the prayer that saved us?" said Clay.

"Does I reckon? Don't I know it!

Whah was yo' eyes?

Warn't de Lord jes' a comin' chow chow! CHOW! an' a goin'

on turrible-an' do de Lord carry on dat way 'dout dey's sumfin don't suit him? An' warn't he a lookin' right at dis gang heah, an' warn't he jes' a reachin' for 'em? An' d'you spec' he gwyne to let 'em off 'dout somebody ast him to do it? No indeedy!"

"Do you

reckon he saw us, Uncie Dan'l?”

“De law sakes, chile, didn't I see him a lookin at us?"

“Did you feel scared, Uncle Dan’l?”

"No sah! When a man is 'gaged in prah, he aint 'fraid o' nuffin-dey can't nuffin tetch him."

"Well what did you run for?"

“Well, I—I—Mars Clay, when a man is under de influence ob de sperit, he do-no what he's 'bout-no sah; dat man do-no what he's 'bout. You mout take an' tah de head off'n dat man an' he wouldn't scasely fine it out. Dah's de Hebrew chil'en dat went frough de fiah; dey was burnt considable— ob coase dey was; but dey didn't know nuffin 'bout it-heal right up agin; if dey'd ben gals dey'd missed dey long haah, (hair,) maybe, but dey wouldn't felt de burn."

"I don't know but what they were girls. I think they were." Now Mars Clay, you knows better'n dat. Sometimes a body can't tell whedder you's a sayin' what you means or whedder you's a sayin' what you don't mean, 'case you says 'em bofe de same way."

"But how should I know whether they were boys or girls?" "Goodness sakes, Mars Clay, don't de good book say? 'Sides, don't it call 'em de He-brew chil'en? If dey was gals wouldn't dey be de she-brew chil'en? Some people dat kin read don't 'pear to take no notice when dey do read." "Well, Uncle Dan'l, I think that

My! here comes another one up the river! There can't be two!" "We gone dis time-we done gone dis time, sho'! Dey aint two, Mars Clay-dat's de same one. De Lord kin 'pear eberywhah in a second. Goodness, how de fiah an' de smoke do belch up! Dat mean business, honey. He comin' now like he fo'got sumfin. Come 'long, chil'en, time you's gwyne to roos'. Go 'long wid you-ole Uncle Dan'l gwyne out in de woods to rastle in prah-de ole niggah gwyne to do what he kin to sabe you agin."

He did go to the woods and pray; but he went so far that he doubted, himself, if the Lord heard him when He went by.

WHEN MARY WAS A LASSIE.

The maple trees are tinged with red,
The birch with golden yellow;
And high above the orchard wall
Hang apples, rich and mellow;
And that's the way through yonder lane
That looks so still and grassy,—

The way I took one Sunday eve,
When Mary was a lassie.

You'd hardly think that patient face,
That looks so thin and faded,

Was once the very sweetest one

That ever bonnet shaded;

But when I went through yonder lane,

That looks so still and grassy,

Those eyes were bright, those cheeks were fair,When Mary was a lassie.

But many a tender sorrow since,

And many a patient care,

Have made those furrows on the face

That used to be so fair.

Four times to yonder churchyard,

Through the lane so still and grassy

We've born and laid away our dead,-
Since Mary was a lassie.

And so you see I've grown to love
The wrinkles more than roses;
Earth's winter flowers are sweeter far
Than all spring's dewy posies:
They'll carry us through yonder lane
That looks so still and grassy,—

Adown the lane I used to go

When Mary was a lassie.

THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM.-FRANCIS S. SMITH.

The drunkard lay on his bed of straw

In a poverty-stricken room,

And near him his wife and children three

Sat shivering in their misery

And weeping amid the gloom.

And as he slept, the drunkard dreamed
Of happy days gone by,

When he wooed and won a maiden fair,
With rosy cheeks and golden hair,
And heavenly, soft-blue eye.

Again he wandered near the spot
Where Mary used to dwell,
And heard the warbling of the birds
His darling loved so well,

And caught the fragrance of the flowers
That blossomed in the dell.

Again he at the altar stood

And kissed his blushing bride,
And gazing on her beauty, felt
His bosom swell with pride;

And thought no prince could rival him,
With Mary at his side.

The drunkard's wife is brooding o'er
The happy long ago-

In mute despair she sighs and rocks

Her body to and fro.

He dreams-she thinks-yet both their thoughts In the same channel flow.

But now upon the drunkard's brow

A look of horror dwells,

And of his fearful agony

Each feature plainly tells,

Some hideous scene which wakes despair,

His dream of bliss dispels!

Upon him glares a monster now

With visage full of ire,

And yelling fiends with ribald songs

Replace the feathered choir,

And the pure water of the spring

Is turned to liquid fire.

And as the red flames leap and roar
Around the brooklet's brink,
The fiends a flaming goblet raise
And urge the wretch to drink,
While overhead the stars fade out
And all is black as ink.

"Drink, comrade, drink!" the demons cry.
"Come to our banquet-come!

This is the fitting draught for those

Who sell their souls for rum!"

No word the drunkard speaks, but stares
As he were stricken dumb.

163

And now they point him to the brook,
And cry, "See, drunkard, see!
Amid you flames are struggling
Your wife and children three,
And in their terror and despair,
They call for help on thee!"

He rushed to aid them, but at once
The demons blocked his way,
And then he sank upon his knees
In agony, to pray;

But palsied was his tongue, and he
Could no petition say.

The drunkard writhed, and from his brow
Cold perspiration broke,

As round the forms of those he loved

Curled up the flame and smoke,

And shrieking in his agony,

The wretched man awoke.

He glared around with frenzied eyes,

His wife and children three

Sat shivering in their tattered rags
In abject misery,

And wept outright to look upon
His waking agony.

A pause-a sigh-and reason's light
Again did on him beam,

And springing to his feet, he cried,
"Thank God, 'twas but a dream,
And I, perhaps, may yet regain
My fellow-man's esteem!"

Then reaching forth his trembling hand,
He from the table took

A mother's gift when he was wed-

The good God's Holy Book:

And while his loved ones knelt around,
A solemn vow he took.

"So help me God, I ne'er again

Will touch the poisoned bowl Which ruins health and character,

And steeps in guilt the soul,

And swells the fearful list of names
Affixed to Satan's scroll!

"Help me, O Lord! to keep this oath-
To shun each vicious den

Wherein I'd feel the tempter's power
To make me sin again!"