I shows you I don't vorget'-but he most hafe died, de poor feller;

I never hear ofe him since. He don't get vell, I beliefs.

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Only I alvays got der saddisfachshun ofe knowin'Shtop! vots der matter? Here, take some vater, you're vite as a sheet

Shteady your handt on my shoulder! my gootness! I dinks you vos goin'

To lose your senses avay, und fall right off mit der seat.

"Geef me your handts. you vos a soldier

Vot! der left one gone? Und

In dot same battle!-a Tennessee regiment ?—dot's mighty queer

Berhaps after all you're-" "Yes, Yacob, God bless you old fellow, I told you

I'd never-no, never forget you. I told you I'd come, and I'm here."

GEORGE L. CATLIN.

THE CHILD ON THE JUDGMENT SEAT.

W

HERE hast been toiling all day, sweet heart,

That thy brow is burdened and sad!

The Master's work may make weary feet,

But it leaves the spirit glad.

Was thy garden nipped with the midnight frost,
Or scorched with the mid-day glare?

Were thy vines laid low, or thy lilies crushed,
That thy face is so full of care?

"No pleasant garden toils were mine ↓
I have sat on the judgment-seat,
Where the Master sits at eve and calls
The children around his feet."

How camest thou on the judgment-seat,
Sweet heart? Who set thee there?
'Tis a lonely and lofty seat for thee,
And well might fill thee with care.

"I climbed on the judgment-seat myself,
I have sat there alone all day,

For it grieved me to see the children around
Idling their life away.

"They wasted the Master's precious seed,
They wasted the precious hours;

They trained not the vines, nor gathered the fruits,
And they trampled the sweet, meek flowers."

And what hast thou done on the judgment seat,
Sweet heart? What didst thou there?
Would the idlers heed thy childish voice?
Did the garden mend by thy care?

"Nay, that grieved me more! I called and I cried,

But they left me there forlorn ;

My voice was weak, and they heeded not,
Or they laughed my words to scorn."

Ah, the judgment-seat was not for thee!
The servants were not thine!

And the eyes which adjudge the praise and the blame,

See further than thine or mine.

The Voice that shall sound there at eve, sweet heart,

Will not raise its tones to be heard,

It will hush the earth, and hush the hearts,
And none will resist its word.

"Should I see the Master's treasures lost,
The stores that should feed his poor,
And not lift my voice, be it weak as it may,
And not be grievèd sore?"

Wait till the evening falls, sweet heart,
Wait till the evening falls;

The Master is near, and knoweth all;
Wait till the Master calls.

But how fared thy garden-plot, sweet heart,
Whilst thou sat'st on the judgment seat!
Who watered thy roses and trained thy vines,
And kept them from careless feet?

"Nay, that is saddest of all to me!

That is saddest of all!

My vines are trailing, my roses are parched,
My lilies droop and fall."

Go back to thy garden-plot, sweet heart!
Go back till the evening falls!

And bind thy lilies, and train thy vines,
Till for thee the Master calls.

Go, make thy garden fair as thou canst,
Thou workest never alone,

Perchance, he whose plot is next to thine
Will see it, and mend his own.

And the next may copy his, sweet heart,
Till all grows fair and sweet,
And when the Master comes at eve,
Happy faces his coming will greet.

Then shall thy joy be full, sweet heart,
In the garden so fair to see,

In the Master's words of praise for all,
In a look of his own for thee!

THE SAILING OF KING OLAF.

"NORR

From the Atlantic Monthly.

ORROWAY 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."

"Take thou my Dragon with silken sails," Said Olaf, "The Ox shall be mine in place. If it pleases our Lord to send me gales,

In either vessel I'll win the race.
With this exchange ar't' satisfied?"
"Ay, brother," the crafty one replied.›

King Olaf strode to the church to pray
For blessing of God on crew and ship;
But Harold, the traitor, made haste to weigh
His anchor, and out of the harbor slip.

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"Pray!" laughed Harold Haardrade, “ pray ! The wind's in my favor, let sail!

As Olaf knelt by the chancel rail,

Away!"

Down the broad aisle came one in haste,
With panting bosom and cheeks all pale;
Straight to King Olaf's side he paced :
“Oh, waste no time in praying," cried he,
"For Harold already is far at sea!"

But Olaf answered: "Let sail who will,
Without God's blessing I shall not go."
Beside the altar he tarried still,

While the good priest chanted, soft and low;
And Olaf prayed the Lord in his heart,
"I shall win yet if Thou take my part!"

Cheerily then he leaped on board;

High on the prow he took his stand;

"Forward!" he bade, "In the name of the Lord!"

Held the white horn of the Ox in his hand:

"Now Ox, good Ox, I pray thee speed
As if to pasture in clover mead!”

The huge Ox rolled from side to side,

And merrily out of the harbor sped.