THE OLD SAMPLER.-M. E. SANGSTER.

In the New England kitchen at the Centennial there was a sampler one hun. dred years old, wrought, as the faded words upon it stated, by "Elizabeth, aged eigh." Studying the quaint embroidery, we could but wonder if it was not the hict of the following beautiful poem.

Out of the way, in a corner

Of the dear old attic room,

Where bunches of herbs from the hillside

Shed ever a sweet perfume,

An oaken chest is standing,

With hasp, and padlock, and key,
Strong as the hands that made it,
On the other side of the sea.

When the Winter days are dreary,
And we're out of heart with life,—

Of its crowding cares aweary,

And sick of its restless strife,

We take a lesson in patience

From the attic corner dim,

Where the chest still holds its treasures-
A warder faithful and grim.

Robes of an antique fashion,

Linen, and lace, and silk,

That time has tinted with saffron,

Though once they were white as milk;
Wonderful baby garments,

Broidered with loving care

By fingers that felt the pleasure

As they wrought the ruffles fair.

A sword, with the red rust on it,
That flashed in the battle tide
When from Lexington to Yorktown,
Sorely men's souls were tried;
A plumed chapeau, and a buckle,
And many a relic fine;
And all by itself, the sampler
Framed in by berry and vine.

Faded the square of canvas,

And dim is the silken thread,
But I think of white hands dimpled
And a childish, sunny head;
For here in cross and tent stitch,
In a wreath of berry and vine,

She wrought it a hundred years ago,

'Elizabeth, aged nine."

In and out in the sunshine
The little needle flashed,
In and out on the rainy day

When the merry drops down plashed,
As close she sat by her mother,

The little Puritan maid,

And did her piece on the sampler
While the other children played..

You are safe in the beautiful heaven,
Elizabeth, aged nine,"

But before you went, you had troubles
Greater than any of mine!

Oh, the gold hair turned with sorrow,
White as the drifted snow;

And your tears fell here where I'm standing,
On this very plumed chapeau!

When you put it away, the wearer
Would need it nevermore,

By a sword thrust, learning the secrets,
God keeps on yonder shore.

But you wore your grief like a glory,

You could not yield supine,

Who wrought in your patient childhood,

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Elizabeth, aged nine."

For love is of the immortal,

And patience is sublime;

And trouble's a thing of every day

And touching every time.

And childhood, sweet and sunny,

And womanly truth and grace,

Ever can light life's darkness,
And fill earth's lowliest place.

THE DARKEY BOOTBLACK.

The bootblack at the corner-stand on C street was looking for a customer. He was as black as the ace of spades, and as he carelessly dusted off his stand with the stump of a cornbrush, he occasionally paused and rolled his eyes hungrily up and down the street.

Presently a tall, raw-boned, middle-aged man, with a considerable length of goatee and not a little breadth of hat rim, stopped and glanced at the stand with some show of interest.

"Have a shine, boss?" said the owner of the stand, giving his chair a parting slap with his brush. "Shine 'em up in half a minit, sah. You'll jist have time to glance over de morning papers."

Without deigning an answer the lank chap climbed into the seat before him.

"Whar yer a-rollin' them pants to?" was his first remark after the proprietor of the stand began to operate.

"All right now, boss. We musn't muss 'em, you see. It's all feasible now, sah."

"Wall, perceed to business."

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"I'se a-movin', boss; I'se a-movin', sah."

Wall, see that you keep a-movin'."

"De people of de Souf," said the bootblack, cocking a cunning eye upon his customer, "de people of de Souf (another look of the eye) most allus gives us pore culled boys any little feasible jobs dey's got."

"You think I'm from the South?"

"I's from de Souf myself, sah."

"Likely."

"I's from de Souf, sah-from ole Kaintuck, sah." "Indeed?"

"Sartin, boss. I's from Lex'nton, Kaintuck, sah," scraping away with an old case-knife at the mud on the soles of his eustomer's boots.

"I'm from Kentucky myself, and from Lexington," said the man, beginning to look interested. "So you're from Lexington, eh?”

"Jess so, boss. Practically, I was born dar, sah.”

"I golly, boss, ef I didn't think from de fust dat I saw in you de rale old Kaintucky gentleman. You've got a good deal of de cut of some o' dem law and med'cine students dat used to be about de ole Transylvany 'Varsity; but you's aged a little, boss-aged a le-etle grain more dan was de boys in dem days."

"I've often seen the old university."

"It was a fine ole town, too. De main street was more

dan a mile long; dar war beautiful trees 'long de streets, and de orphan 'sylum, an' de baggin facterys, de wire-works, an' de-"

"The lunatic asylum."

'Yes, boss; shore 'nuff, dar was de lunatic 'sylum."

"And the river."

"An' de ribber; I golly, dat fust big bend in Town Fork of de Elkhorn, up 'bove de city-practically, dat was a mighty feasible proposition for cat-fish."

"Amazin"."

"I say, boss, practically, you never happened to know a cullud boy named Columbus Parsons, as lived out on de road to'ards whar ole Harry Clay was borned-out to'ards Ashland-did yer, sah?"

'I knowed a colored boy named Columbus Parsons, that rode ole Woodpecker against Ploughboy, down at the Blue Grass course, and won the purse."

"De Lord love us! Was you dar? De great hokey! Practically, I am dat same Columbus Parsons what rode ole Woodpecker, an' won de puss down dar to Blue Grass!"

"The Columbus Parsons I knowed used to be a great fiddler; played for all the balls and parties for miles around.” "Dat was me, sah. I was de boy. Now you's a beginnin' to know me!"

"The Columbus Parsons I used to know was a great singer—was lightnin' at all the nigger camp-meetin's."

"Dat was me, boss. I'm identically and practically dat same Columbus Parsons! You's got de most feasible mem'ry dat I ever saw, sah."

"The Columbus Parsons that I knowed went down to Frankfort, and ran on the river as steward of the Bell Wagner."

"Yah, yah; you knows me-you knows me, boss! You knows me like a brudder, sah! In dem days didn't I put on de apparel? Wasn't I attired? Practically, sah, you's got de most feasible mem'ry dat I ever saw!"

"The Columbus Parsons that I knowed, the Columbus Parsons that rode old Woodpecker, the Columbus Parsons that used to sing at camp-meetin's, the Columbus Parsons that was steward on the Bell Wagner, that Columbus Parsons

busted open the trunk of a passenger, stole a thousand dol lars, and was sent to the State Prison of Frankfort for five years."

'Practically, boss, you's got a powerful feasible mem'ry, but dar was anoder Columbus Parsons down dare 'bout Lexin'ton and Frankfort-partic❜larly South Frankfort, 'cross de chain bridge-dat was a hoss-rider, a fiddler, a singer, an' a steam-boater, an' he was a low-flung, harum-scarum, no-account feller; I guess he mout a bin de Columbus Parsons what you knowed, sah."

"You think so?"

'Sartin, sure, boss; but don't say nuffin 'bout de feller heah, sah. You see, practically, it mout injure my good name, sah."

A WORD FOR EACH MONTH.-CLARK JILLSON.

[FROM A NEW ENGLAND STAND-POINT.]

How swift and silent pass the ages,

Adown the solemn march of time!

The days and months and years and cycles,
All make God's works to us sublime.

JANUARY.

'Neath stormy skies the wintry blast
Sweeps o'er the hill and down the vale,
While children 'round the farmer's hearth
Repeat the merry fire-side tale.

FEBRUARY.

The forests with their icy plumes
Are radiant with the rising sun,
Or sparkle like an armed host
Before the closing day is done.

MARCH.

Now falls the snow, the sleet, the rain,
And raging tempests fill the sky-
A moment-and the sun peers through
Where clouds with golden edges lie.

APRIL.

Now comes the warm and genial rain,

The green earth charms once more the eye.