Maud Muller looked and sighed: "Ah me!

That I the Judge's bride might be !

"He would dress me up in silks so fine,

And praise and toast me at his wine.

"My father would wear a broadcloth coat; My brother should sail a painted boat. "I'd dress my mother so grand and gay ; And the baby should have a new toy each day.

"And I'd feed the hungry and clothe the poor, And all should bless me who left our door."

The Judge looked back as he climbed the hill, And saw Maud Muller standing still:

"A form more fair, a face more sweet,
Ne'er hath it been my lot to meet.

"And her modest answer and graceful air
Show her wise and good as she is fair.
"Would she were mine, and I to-day,

Like her, a harvester of hay.

"No doubtful balance of rights and wrongs,
Nor weary lawyers with endless tongues,

"But low of cattle, and song of birds,
And health, and quiet, and loving words."

But he thought of his sister, proud and cold,
And his mother, vain of her rank and gold.

So, closing his heart, the Judge rode on,
And Maud was left in the field alone.

But the lawyers smiled that afternoon,
When he hummed in court an old love-tune.

And the young girl mused beside the well,
Till the rain on the unraked clover fell.

He wedded a wife of richest dower,
Who lived for fashion, as he for power.

Yet oft, in his marble hearth's white glow,
He watched a picture come and go;

And sweet Maud Muller's hazel eyes
Looked out in their innocent surprise.

722

Oft, when the wine in his glass was red,
He longed for the wayside well instead,
And closed his eyes on his garnished rooms,
To dream of meadows and clover-blooms;

And the proud man sighed with a secret pain,
"Ah, that I were free again!

"Free as when I rode that day

Where the barefoot maiden raked the hay.”
She wedded a man unlearned and poor,
And many children played round her door.
But care and sorrow, and child-birth pain
Left their traces on heart and brain.

And oft, when the summer sun shone hot
On the new-mown hay in the meadow lot,
And she heard the little spring brook fall
Over the roadside, through the wall,
In the shade of the apple-tree again
She saw a rider draw his rein.

And, gazing down with timid grace,
She felt his pleased eyes read her face.

Sometimes her narrow kitchen walls
Stretched away into stately halls;

The weary wheel to a spinnet turned,
The tallow candle an astral burned;

And for him who sat by the chimney lug,
Dozing and grumbling o'er pipe and mug,
A manly form at her side she saw,
And joy was duty and love was law.
Then she took up her burden of life again,
Saying, only, "It might have been!"

Alas for maiden, alas for Judge,
For rich repiner and household drudge.

God pity them both! and pity us all,
Who vainly the dreams of youth recall;

For, of all sad words of tongue or pen,
The saddest are these: "It might have been."

Ah, well! for us all some sweet hope lies

Deeply buried from human eyes;

And, in the hereafter, angels may

Roll the stone from its grave away.

A LEGEND.

BY ADELAIDE A. PROCTOR.

THE monk was preaching; strong his earnest word,
From the abundance of his heart he spoke:
And the flame spread-in every soul that heard,
Sorrow, and love and good resolve awoke-
The poor lay brother, ignorant and old,
Thanked God that he had heard such words of gold.

"Still let the glory, Lord, be thine alone,"

So prayed the monk, his heart absorbed in praise;
"Thine be the glory; if my hands have sown,

The harvest ripened in Thy mercy's rays;
It was thy blessing, Lord, that made my word
Bring light and love to every soul that heard.
"O Lord! I thank Thee that my feeble strength
Has been so blessed; that sinful hearts and cold
Were melted at my pleading; knew at length

How sweet Thy service and how safe Thy fold:
While souls that loved Thee saw before them rise
Still holier heights of loving sacrifice."

So prayed the monk; when suddenly he heard

An angel speaking thus: "Know, O my son,
Thy words had all been vain, but hearts were stirred

And saints were edified, and sinners won

By his, the poor lay brother's, humble aid
Who sat upon the pulpit-stair and prayed."

WHICH SHALL IT BE?

A rich man, who had no children, proposed to his poor neighbor, who had seven, to take one of them, and promised, if the parents would consent, that he would give them property enough to make themselves and their other six children comfortable for life.

WHICH shall it be? Which shall it be?

I looked at John, John looked at me,
And when I found that I must speak,
My voice seemed strangely low and weak:

"Come, John," said I,

"We'll choose among them as they lie
Asleep." So, walking hand in hand,
Dear John and I surveyed our band:
First to the cradle lightly stepped,
Where Lilian, the baby, slept.
Softly the father stooped to lay
His rough hand down in a loving way,
When dream or whisper made her stir,
And huskily he said: "Not her!"

We stooped beside the trundle bed,
And one long ray of twilight shed
Athwart the boyish faces there,
In sleep so beautiful and fair;
I saw on James's rough, red cheek
A tear undried. E'er John could speak,
"He's but a baby, too," said I,
And kissed him as we hurried by.
Pale, patient Robbie's angel face
Still in his sleep bore suffering's trace,
"No, for a thousand crowns, not him!"
He whispered, while our eyes were dim.

Poor Dick! bad Dick! our wayward son-
Turbulent, restless, idle one-
Could he be spared? Nay, He who gave
Bade us befriend him to the grave;

[Miguel turns an honest penny by selling a scrap of information which comes in his way, settling a little private grudge of his own at the same time

HUSH! it is he be quiet, girl,

Push under your hood that one gold curl;

He will know us, be sure, if we stand and stare,

Kneel down, I say. (She is more than fair,

What with her cream-white skin and her hair.)

Yes, it is warm; I am stifling, too;

The place is an oven, but what can we do?
If they stay, we stay. (How her great eyes flame!
These Spanish women deserve their name—

Beautiful leopards no hand can tame.)