SHERIFF THORNE.

From "The Emigrant's Story and Other Poems."

THAT I should be sheriff, and keep the jail,
And that yonder stately old fellow, you see
Marching across the yard, should be
My prisoner-well, 't is a curious tale,
As you'll agree.

For it happens we've been here once before
Together, and served our time, although
Not just as you see us now, you know;
When we were younger both by a score
Of years or so.

When I was a wild colt, two-thirds grown,
Too wild for ever a curb or rein,

Playing my tricks till-I need n't explain-
I got three months at breaking stone,
With a ball and chain.

The fodder was mean and the work was hard, And work and I could never agree;

And the discipline—well, in short, you see, 'Twas rather a roughish kind of card That curried me.

A stout steel bracelet about my leg,
A cannon-shot and chain at my feet,
I pounded the stones in the public street,
With a heart crammed full of hate as an egg
Is full of meat.

The school-boys jeered at my prison-rig;
And me, if I moved, they used to call
(For I went with a jerk, if I went at all)
"A gentleman dancing the jail-bird jig-
At a county ball.”

But once, as I sat in the usual place,

On a heap of stones, and hammered away At the rocks, with a heart as hard as they, And cursed Macadam and all his race,

There chanced that way,

Sir, the loveliest girl! I don't mean pretty;
But there was that in her troubled eye,
In her sweet, sad glance, as she passed me by,
That seemed like an angel's gentle pity
For such as I.

And, sir, to my soul that pure look gave

Such a thrill as a summer morning brings, With its twitter and flutter of songs and wings, To one crouched all night long in a cave Of venomous things.

Down the broad green streets she passed from sight;
But all that day I was under a spell,

And all that night-I remember well-
A pair of eyes made a kind of light
That filled my cell.

Women can do with us what they will.
"T was only a village girl; but she,

With a flash of a glance, had shown to me
The wretch I was and the self I still
Might strive to be.

And if in my misery I began

To feel fresh hope and courage stir

To turn my back upon things that were

And my

face to the future of a man

'Twas all for her.

And that is my story. And as for the lady?
I saw her-oh! yes-when I was free,
And thanked her, and-well, come with me;
As likely as not, when supper is ready,
She'll pour your tea.

She keeps my house, and I keep the jail;
And the stately old fellow who passed just now
And tipped me that very peculiar bow-
But that is the wonderful part of the tale,
As you'll allow.

For he, you must know, was sheriff then,
And he guarded me as I guard him!
(The fetter I wore now fits his limb.)
Just one of your high-flown, straight-laced men,
Pompous and grim-

The Great Mogul of our little town!
But, while I was struggling to redeem
My youth, he sank in the world's esteem.
My stock went up; while his went down,
Like the ends of a beam.

What fault? "Twas not one fault alone
That brought him low; but a treacherous train
Of vices, sapping the heart and brain.

Then came his turn at breaking stone,
With a ball and chain.

It seemed, I admit, a sort of treason,

To clip him and give him the cap and ball, And that I was his keeper seemed worst of all And now, in a word, if you ask the reason Of this man's fall,

Twas a woman again, is my reply.
And so I said, and I say it still,

That women can do with us what they will. Strong men they turn with the twirl of an eye, For good or ill.-J. T. TROWBRIDGE.

"I

MILKING-TIME.

TELL you, Kate, that Lovejoy cow
Is worth her weight in gold;

She gives a good eight quarts o' milk,
And is n't yet five year old.

"I see young White a-comin' now;
He wants her, I know that.
Be careful, girl, you're spillin' it!
An' save some for the cat.

"Good-evenin', Richard, step right in;"
"I guess I could n't, sir,

I've just come down "-"I know it, Dick,
You've took a shine to her.

"She's kind an' gentle as a lamb,

Jest where I go she follers;

And though it's cheap I'll let her go;
She's your'n for thirty dollars.

"You'll know her clear across the farm,
By them two milk-white stars;
You need n't drive her home at night,
But jest le' down the bars.

"Then, when you've owned her, say a month,
And learnt her, as it were,

I'll bet-why, what's the matter, Dick?"
""Taint her I want-it 's-her!"

"What? not the girl! well, I'll be blessed!—
There, Kate, do n't drop that pan.
You've took me mightily aback,

But then a man's a man.

"She's your'n, my boy, but one word more:
Kate's gentle as a dove;

She'll foller you the whole world round,
For nothin' else but love.

"But never try to drive the lass;
Her natur's like her ma's.

I've allus found it worked the best

To jest le' down the bars."-PHILIP MORSE

A

MASTERS OF THE SITUATION.

GREAT mastery-like that of Wellington or Bismarck-is not so common in the world as to excite no surprise. True mastery is compact of supreme quali. ties. It is heroism; it is culture; it is enthusiasm; it is faith; it is intelligence; it is endurance; it is unconquerable will. There are men of conviction whose very faces will light up an era. And there are noble women in whose eyes you may almost read the whole plan of salvation.

Insight, foresight, and knowledge are what the world. demands of a great leader-men who have power to transmute calamity into greatness. To a real commander