"Even as I told," the wagoner said
"The urchin, wild of heart and head,
Wishing to follow where I led,
Stealthily stole behind the wain,
Breasting the gusts of hail and rain.
It was no easy task, I fear,

For one so young to keep so near.
For miles I thought I heard the beat
And splash, behind, of following feet.
You well may guess with what surprise
I met the truant's laughing eyes,
And how that face of brave delight,
While in the trough he sat upright,
Put all my chiding words to flight.

All day my thoughts were somewhat sad
With too much dwelling on the lad,
Contriving where I best might trust
His sheltered head when comes the gust.
For when it comes, I must be where
The thickest dangers are to dare;

And there are cowards who would make
The boy a victim for my sake.

It was for this I would not own

Before these Tories of the town

The child was aught to me beside

A friendless truant wandering down,
Whom, pitying, I allowed to ride.

And now, my friend, I ask of you
To aid me in my urgent need,-

To give or find the boy a home
Where present danger may not come:
For this you shall receive your due,

Even though it cost my last good steed."

The host replied, "Leave that to me:

There's

many a one comes here to dine

Would joy beside his chair to see

So lithe an urchin serve his wine."

"Serve!"-but between the wagoner's teeth The word was crushed to instant death: His brow grew black a moment, then As quickly it was cleared again. "Be it, good landlord, as you say,' He murmured: "'tis but for a day," And then abruptly turned away.

Under the gable-roof the boy

Soon prest the soothing bed with joy:

A little while he heard the sigh
Of winds like spirits hovering nigh,
The weather-vane that creaked aloof,
The slumberous rain along the roof,

And breathed the scent of bundled herbs Close to the waspy rafters hung;

Then heard the hour from the belfry flung, And then the watch along the curbs,

With voice that warns but not disturbs; Then slept, and dreamed of his native place, And woke with the red sun on his face.

OUT of the sea, and over the land,
Over the level Jersey sand,

Making the bay with splendor quiver,
Flashing a glory up the river,

Came the morn on its wheel of fire,
Flinging flame from its glowing tire.

And with the morning, up the tide,
Through golden vapor dim descried,
A distant ship was seen to ride,
Vague as a vessel in a dream,-
More in the sky than on the stream.

Down to the wharf a horseman rode,

As oft on many a morn before,

To note the barks that inland bore;

And when his glance had swept the shore, His face with sudden pleasure glowed.

He

gave the rein to a boy near by,

And raised him in his stirrups high,

And poised the glass at his anxious eye.—
Long time with breathless breast he gazed,
Then deeply sighed, "Now, Heaven be praised!”
And to a skipper sauntering past

He cried, "Unless my vision fail,
I know the set of yonder sail
And the streamer at her mast!"
The skipper then a moment scanned
The ship beneath his shading hand,

And answered, with a sudden smile,
"Ay, ay, sir: I should know that deck:
The same that saved us once from wreck,—
'The Lady of the Isle !'"

In haste the rider grasped the rein,
And turned his restive steed again,

Yet, ere he sped, with hand of joy
A coin of silver flung the boy,

And, as he threw, looked down and smiled;

And then, as if some form had risen