do, is to tell ye to go thar," said he, pointing to a large white house which stood by itself, off the main street of the village. "Go thar; they're kind folks. Thar's no kind o' danger but they'll help you—they're up to all that sort o'thing."

"The Lord bless you!" said Eliza, earnestly.

"No 'casion, no 'casion in the world," said the man. "What I've done's of no 'count."

"And, oh, surely, sir, you wont tell any one !"

"Go to thunder, gal! What do you take a feller for? In course not," said the man. "Come, now, go along like a likely, sensible gal, as you are. You've arnt your liberty, and you shall have it, for all me."

The woman folded her child to her bosom, and walked firmly and swiftly away. The man stood and

looked after her.

"Shelby, now, mebbe, wont think this yer the most neighbourly thing in the world; but what's a feller to do? If he catches one of my gals in the same fix, he's welcome to pay back. Somehow, I never could see no kind o' critter a strivin' and pantin', and trying to clar theirselves, with the dogs arter 'em, and go agin' 'em. Besides, I don't see no kind of 'casion for me to be hunter and catcher for other folks, neither."

So spoke this poor, heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been instructed in his constitutional relations, and, consequently, was betrayed into acting in a sort of Christianized manner, which, if he had been better situated and more enlightened, he would not have been left to do.

Haley had stood a perfectly amazed spectator of the scene till Eliza had disappeared up the bank, when he turned a blank, inquiring look, on Sam and Andy.

"That ar was a tolerable fair stroke of business," said Sam.

"The gal's got seven devils in her, I believe," said Haley. "How like a wild cat she jumped!"

“Wal, now,” said Sam, scratching his head, "I hope mas'r 'll 'cuse us tryin' dat ar road. Don't think I

feel spry enough for dat ar, no way!" and Sam gave a hoarse chuckle.

"You laugh!" said the trader, with a growl.

"Lord bless you, mas'r, I couldn't help it, now," said Sam, giving way to the long pent-up delight in his soul. She looked so curi's, a leapin' and springin', ice a crackin', and only to hear her-plump! ker chunk! ker splash! Spring! Lord! how she goes it!" And Sam and Andy laughed till the tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I'll make ye laugh the 'tother side yer mouths!" said the trader, laying about their heads with his riding-whip.

Both ducked, and ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses before he was up.

"Good evening, mas'r," said Sam, with much gravity. "I berry much 'spect missis be anxious 'bout Jerry. Mas'r Haley wont want us no longer. Missis wouldn't hear of our ridin' the critters over Lizzy's bridge to-night;" and, with a facetious poke into Andy's ribs, he started off, followed by the latter, at full speed, their shouts of laughter coming faintly on the wind.

THE BOAT-RACE.

W. C. BENNETT.

"THERE, win the cup, and you shall have my girl.
I won it, Ned; and you shall win it too,

Or wait a twelvemonth. Books-for ever books!
Nothing but talk of poets and their rhymes!
I'd have you, boy, a man, with thews and strength
To breast the world with, and to cleave your way,
No maudlin dreamer, that will need her care,
She needing yours. There-there-I love you, Ned,
Both for your own, and for your mother's sake;
So win our boat-race, and the cup, next month,
And you shall have her." With a broad, loud laugh,

do, is to tell ye to go thar," said he, pointing to a large white house which stood by itself, off the main street of the village. "Go thar; they're kind folks. Thar's no kind o' danger but they'll help you—they're up to all that sort o'thing."

"The Lord bless you!" said Eliza, earnestly.

"No 'casion, no 'casion in the world," said the man. "What I've done's of no 'count."

"And, oh, surely, sir, you wont tell any one!"

"Go to thunder, gal! What do you take a feller for? In course not," said the man. "Come, now, go along like a likely, sensible gal, as you are. You've arnt your liberty, and you shall have it, for all me." The woman folded her child to her bosom, and walked firmly and swiftly away. The man stood and

looked after her.

Shelby, now, mebbe, wont think this yer the most neighbourly thing in the world; but what's a feller to do?

If he catches one of my gals in the same fix, he's welcome to pay back. Somehow, I never could see no kind o' critter a strivin' and pantin', and trying to clar theirselves, with the dogs arter 'em, and go agin' 'em. Besides, I don't see no kind of 'casion for me to be hunter and catcher for other folks, neither."

So spoke this poor, heathenish Kentuckian, who had not been instructed in his constitutional relations, and, consequently, was betrayed into acting in a sort of Christianized manner, which, if he had been better situated and more enlightened, he would not have been left to do.

Haley had stood a perfectly amazed spectator of the scene till Eliza had disappeared up the bank, when he turned a blank, inquiring look, on Sam and Andy.

"That ar was a tolerable fair stroke of business," said Sam.

"The gal's got seven devils in her, I believe," said Haley. "How like a wild cat she jumped!"

"Wal, now," said Sam, scratching his head, "I hope mas'r 'll 'cuse us tryin' dat ar road. Don't think I

feel spry enough for dat ar, no way!" and Sam gave a hoarse chuckle.

"You laugh!" said the trader, with a growl.

"Lord bless you, mas'r, I couldn't help it, now," said Sam, giving way to the long pent-up delight in his soul. She looked so curi's, a leapin' and springin', ice a crackin', and only to hear her-plump! ker chunk ! ker splash! Spring! Lord! how she goes it!" And Sam and Andy laughed till the tears rolled down her

cheeks.

"I'll make ye laugh the 'tother side yer mouths!" said the trader, laying about their heads with his riding-whip.

Both ducked, and ran shouting up the bank, and were on their horses before he was up.

"Good evening, mas'r," said Sam, with much gravity. "I berry much 'spect missis be anxious 'bout Jerry. Mas'r Haley wont want us no longer. Missis wouldn't hear of our ridin' the critters over Lizzy's bridge to-night;" and, with a facetious poke into Andy's ribs, he started off, followed by the latter, at full speed, their shouts of laughter coming faintly on the wind.

THE BOAT-RACE.

W. C. BENNETT.

"THERE, win the сир, and you shall have my girl.
I won it, Ned; and you shall win it too,

Or wait a twelvemonth. Books-for ever books!
Nothing but talk of poets and their rhymes!
I'd have you, boy, a man, with thews and strength
To breast the world with, and to cleave your way,
No maudlin dreamer, that will need her care,
She needing yours. There-there-I love you, Ned,
Both for your own, and for your mother's sake;
So win our boat-race, and the cup, next month,
And you shall have her." With a broad, loud laugh,

A jolly triumph at his rare conceit,
He left the subject; and, across the wine,
We talked, or rather, all the talk was his,--
Of the best oarsmen that his youth had known,
Both of his set, and others—Clare, the boast
Of Jesus', and young Edmonds, he who fell,
Cleaving the ranks at Lucknow; and, to-day,
There was young Chester might be named with them;
Why, boy, I'm told his room is lit with cups

Won by his sculls. Ned, if he rows, he wins;
Small chance for you, boy !" And again his laugh,
With its broad thunder, turn'd my thoughts to gall;
But yet I mask'd my humour with a mirth
Moulded on his; and, feigning haste, I went,
But left not. Through the garden porch I turned,
But, on its sun-fleck'd seats, its jessamine shades
Trembled on no one. Down the garden's paths

Wander'd my eye, in rapid quest of one

Sweeter than all its roses, and across

Its gleaming lilies and its azure bells,

There, in the orchard's greenness, down beyond
Its sweetbrier hedge-row, found her-found her there,

A summer olossom that the peering sun

Peep'd at through blossoms,-that the summer airs
Waver'd down blossoms on, and amorous gold,

Warm as that rain'd on Danaë.

With a step,

Soft as the sun-light, down the pebbled path

I pass'd; and, ere her eye could cease to count
The orchard daisies, in some summer mood
Dreaming (was I her thought ?) my murmur'd "Kate"
Shock'd up the tell-tale roses to her cheek,

And lit her eyes with starry lights of love

That dimm'd the daylight. Then I told her all,
And told her that her father's jovial jest

Should make her mine, and kiss'd her sunlit tears
Away, and all her little trembling doubts,
Until hope won her heart to happy dreams,
And all the future smiled with happy love.
Nor, till the still moon, in the purpling east