MORNING.-EDWARD EVERETT.

As we proceeded, the timid approach of twilight became more perceptible; the intense blue of the sky began to soften; the smaller stars, like little children, went first to rest; the sister beams of the Pleiades soon melted together; but the bright constellations of the west and north remained unchanged. Steadily the wondrous transfiguration went on. Hands of angels hidden from mortal eyes shifted the scenery of the heavens; the glories of night dissolved into the glories of the dawn. The blue sky now turned more softly gray; the great watch-stars shut up their holy eyes; the east began to kindle. Faint streaks of purple soon blushed along the sky; the whole celestial concave was filled with the inflowing tides of the morning light, which came pouring down from above in one great ocean of radiance; till at length, as we reached the Blue Hills, a flash of purple fire blazed out from above the horizon, and turned the dewy tear-drops of flower and leaf into rubies and diamonds. In a few seconds the everlasting gates of the morning were thrown wide open, and the lord of day, arrayed in glories too severe for the gaze of man, began his state.

FATHER MOLLOY.-SAMUEL Lover.

THE DYING CONFESSION OF PADDY M'CABE.

Paddy McCabe was dying one day,

And Father Molloy he came to confess him; Paddy prayed hard he would make no delay,

But forgive him his sins and make haste for to bless him. "First tell me your sins," says Father Molloy, "For I'm thinking you've not been a very good boy."

"Oh," says Paddy, "so late in the evenin' I fear
"Twould trouble you such a long story to hear,
For you've ten long miles o'er the mountain to go,
While the road I've to travel 's much longer, you know:
So give us your blessin' and get in the saddle;
To tell all my sins my poor brain it would addle;
And the docthor gave ordhers to keep me so quiet-
'Twould disturb me to tell all my sins, if I'd thry it—

And your Reverence has towld us unless we tell all
'Tis worse than not makin' confession at all:
So I'll say, in a word, I'm no very good boy,
And therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy.""
"Well, I'll read from a book," says Father Molloy,
"The manifold sins that humanity 's heir to;
And when you hear those that your conscience annoy,

You'l just squeeze my hand, as acknowledging thereto."
Then the Father began the dark roll of iniquity,
And Paddy, thereat, felt his conscience grow rickety,
And he gave such a squeeze that the priest gave a roar-

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Oh, murdher!" says Paddy, "don't read any more;
For if you keep readin', by all that is thrue,

Your Reverence's fist will be soon black and blue;
Besides, to be troubled my conscience begins,

That your Reverence should have any hand in my sins.
So you'd better suppose I committed them all—

For whether they're great ones, or whether they're small,
Or if they're a dozen, or if they're four-score,

'Tis your Reverence knows how to absolve them, asthore: So I'll say, in a word, I'm no very good boy, And therefore, your blessin', sweet Father Molloy."

"Well," says Father Molloy, "if your sins I forgive,
So you must forgive all your enemies truly,
And promise me also that, if you should live,

You'll leave off your old tricks, and begin to live newly."

"I forgive ev'rybody," says Pat, with a groan,

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I can

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Except that big vagabone, Micky Malone; And him I will murdher if ever "Tut, tut!" says the priest, "you're a very bad man; For without your forgiveness, and also repentance, You'll ne'er go to heaven, and that is my sentence." "Pooh!" says Paddy McCabe, "that's a very hard case. With your Reverence and heaven I'm content to make pace: But with heaven and your Reverence I wondher-och hone, You would think of comparin' that blackguard, Malone. But since I'm hard pressed and that I must forgive, I forgive-if I die; but as sure as I live That ugly blackguard I will surely desthray So now for your blessin', sweet Father Molley!

RELICS.--ANNIE D. WARE.

Three shining, silken rings of hair
I'm gazing fondly on to-day,
Yet sadly too; for they declare
That all things lovely pass away:

That friends, like flowers, spring and bloom,
Like flowers they wither, droop, and fall;
We lay them gently in the tomb
Which time holds open for us all,
And turn away in grief, to find

There's naught but memory left behind.

This little flaxen curl I hold,
Carries me back full many a day
To boyhood, when, both free and bold,
I cared for naught save fun and play.
As standing up one day in school,

Beside a rosy, blue-eyed girl,
I, quite unmindful of the rule,
Whispering asked her for a curl.
She shook her head; and then, in strife,
I severed this one with my knife.

In leaf torn from my spelling-book

I wrapt the trophy up with care; She laughed at all the pains I took,

And blushing, looked most wondrous fair. I kept the ringlet for my own,

And half in earnest, half in play,
Promised when we were older grown,
To give her one of mine in pay.
From that time forth there seemed to be
No flower so fair as Mary Lee.

The next few years flew swiftly by;

And then a day of sadness came, Which severed every home-loved tie And sent me forth to win a name. 'Twas then at gentle Mary's side

I sought to win her loving heart:
She promised me to be my bride,

And as we were about to part
She shook her curling tresses down,
And I cut out this ringlet brown.

With both fair locks together laid,

I started onward into life;
And when at length a home I made,
Sweet Mary Lee became my wife.
With blessings all unknown before,

Our Heavenly Father strewed our way; For fifty happy years or more,

We watched each other turning gray. Our children's children gathering round, With perfect love our hearth-stone crowned.

Her gentle spirit 's passed away:
Heaven holds for me a stronger tie.
I watched her drooping, and to-day
I held her in my arms to die;
Around her brow, so cold and white,

Hung scattered rings of snowy hair;
This precious curl of silver bright,

I took, then left her sleeping there ;-
And now that I am left alone,
Each silken tress has dearer grown.

COUNTRY SLEIGHING.-E. C. STEDMAN.

In January, when down the dairy the cream and clabber freeze, When snow-drifts cover the fences over, we farmers take our

ease.

At night we rig the team, and bring the cutter out;
Then fill it, fill it, fill it, fill it, and heap the furs about.

Fere friends and cousins dash up by dozens, and sleighs at least a score;

There John and Molly, behind, are jolly,-Nel rides with

me, before.

All down the village street we range us in a row:
Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle, and over the crispy snow!

The windows glisten, the old folks listen to hear the sleighbells pass;

The fields grow whiter, the stars are brighter, the road as smooth as glass.

Gur muffled faces burn, the clear north-wind blows cold, The girls all nestle, nestle, nestle, each in her lover's hold. Through bridge and gateway we're shooting straightway,

their toll-man was too slow!

He'll listen after our song and laughter as over the hill we go. The girls cry, "Fie! for shame!" their cheeks and lips are red, And so with kisses, kisses, kisses, they take the toll instead. Still follow, follow! across the hollow the tavern fronts the road.

Whoa, now! all steady! the host is ready,-he knows the country mode!

The irons are in the fire, the hissing flip is got;
So pour and sip it, sip it, sip it, and sip it while 'tis hot.

Pah back the tables, and from the stables bring Tom, the fiddler, in ;

All take your places, and make your graces, and let the dance begin.

The girls are beating time to hear the music sound;

Now foot it, foot it, foot it, foot it, and swing your partners round.

Last couple toward the left! all forward! Cotillon 's through, let's wheel:

First tune the fiddle, then down the middle in old Virginia Reel.

Play Monkey Musk to close, then take the "long chassé," While in to supper, supper, supper, the landlord leads the

way.

The bells are ringing, the ostlers bringing the cutters up

anew;

The beasts are neighing, too long we're staying, the night is half way through.

Wrap close the buffalo robes, we're all aboard once more; Now jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle, away from the tavern-door. So follow, follow, by hill and hollow, and swiftly homeward glide.

What midnight splendor! how warm and tender the maiden by your side!

The sleighs drop far apart, her words are soft and low;
Now, if you love her, love her, love her, 'tis safe to tell her so.

THE LAST WISH.-B. W. KIRKHAM.

When friends are gone and the last flowers are spread,
And thou, dear wife, left silent with the dead,
Ere the official puts the screws in place,
From air and sunshine to conceal my face--
Do thou, dear soul, the last approach my bier,
Reserve thy strength, but freely drop the tear.

Have faith in me and courage in thy heart,
And give me one long kiss before we part;
Then fate a moment will his doom resign,
A moment only, but that moment's thine!
A moment only, but when love's the power
That moment holds the raptures of an hour!

As when in life, compliant with thy will,
Thy kiss had magic, now, believe it still,
From old time habit, my dead heart will beat
At that fond signal, and thy signal meet;
Conscious of thee, and answering to thy spell,
My voice will whisper, "Dearest wife, farewell!"