Selected Poetry

One day, when wanflering on the snor Tliat once was rulad by Marlnell, I found wlthln a elefted rock A stranfrely twlsted, curious Shell, With splral whorls of pearly i]ii Ana hollowg tlnged wlth rosoate light. Thls shell possessed a wondrons power, Por, placed agalnst thr llstsner'a ear, He hearrt, tlioiiKh gentlp, falnt. and low, The tones of those lie held most dear; Though parterl far by land or wave, The falthful shell an echo gaye. "O. happy Llft, to man," sald I ; "More preclons tlian the palnterS art; How oft shalt thou. In distant cllme, Console the eTi;r-faltlifil hcart, Brlnff nack the eh'èmhéd volee ncaln. And take fn)m absence half lts pain." "Valn are thy thniifrhts," a nTmph replied; "For t.liose who own lt win lament That never, throuph lts echoes falnt, Can ttfllntrs from the loved be sent; The distant sound Is only cauffht, But Bever word or message brought, "Twlll only waken yearnlns valn ; 'Twlll only plerne the heart anew. And brlnpr to mlnd wlth tenfold pain The angulsh of the lnst arlleu. When all Is lost beyond reeall, Tla better far a veil should fall." She ceased. I turned, and threw the shell Beneath the tossing, toamlng tlde ; Too well can memory waken grief. That man should seek for aught beslde. Love needs lt not ; for Love can last When all the thlngs of Time are past. When I was about fourteen years old, my father lived on a small farm in the little village of Presoott. The old-fashioned square house, painted yellow, with its large brick chimney rising sullenly from the middle of the flat roof, was one of the pleasantest among the many lovely houses in Prescott. About my fifteenth birthday, my father reoeived a letter announcing the death of his eldest brother, who left his entire property - a considerable amount - to him. As this property was principally invested in some valuable buildings, which he rented to different mechanical laborers, and as these buildings at the time - it being one of those times, like the present - which we cali hard - would realize little at auction sale, my father decided that he would sell the farm, for which he had a handsome offer, and move into the city. We went into my uncle's house - for he had kept bachelor's hall - and so suddenly found ourselves changed from country folks into fashionable people. But stül, after the lapse of twenty years, I look back upon my farm-life as the happiest period of my young days, for I fciuud warmer friends among the beautiful, kind horses, and the patiënt cattle, than I ever met afterwards at Mme. de Fair's dancing school. After this slight explanation, pardon me if I write about my farm life. My father kept generally about six cows, and an indefinite number of "young stock." The day I was twelve, a little pure white calf was added to our herd, and father, saying he "guessedold Drusilla intended it as a birthday present," gave it to me. The idea of really owning such a beautiful little creature made me grow at least two yeara older and doubly full of importance. Henceforth, Cassie, as I called her, must be made to feel her own exalted position, so she was honored with a blue ribbon around her neck, and under her throat a silver bell - not solid, I guess - which my brother had given me. Cassie in a few months became a very aristocratie calf ; she -would scarcely deign to notice Brindle's spotted calf of nearly the same age. Fred, who was fond of teasing me, said he often found her feeding on the edge of a stream, which ran through the pasture, and gazingfurtivelyat the "fair face below," as he expressed it. After a while one of the men commenced to complain that the white calf was getting cross, and father himself said she had not so pleasant a disposition as Brindle's homely calf Spot. She was a true friend to me, however, and would often look at me with an expression of real lo ve in her large brown eyes. I used to take my knitting stint out into the pasture, and sit and work under the shade of a large chestnut tree. Cassie always came to graze near me, or if she preferred to chew her cud, she would lie down by my side, and I would alternately knit a stitch and caress her white head ; and yet as every day I grew more and more fond of her, but Bobert often complained to father of her disposition. Father himself never had a real love for cows ; they were simply means of adding to his pile of dollars and cents. One night he carne in, looking very much contented and pleased. Kosie, who was two years older than I, furtively whispered to me that if I wanted to ask father for anything, it was a very good time to do it. As winter was coming, I had been revolving in my mind for some time whether I could have a new winter dress. I was comfortably supplied already, but there were to be a number of iittle partios given by my young friends, for which I had nothiug teaüy suitame. So, after the supper dislies were done, .nd fatlier was sitting by the lireplace, moking his pipe, I ventured to draw a low chair to his side, and, with some fear and trembling, make known my wish for a dress. He did not answer, but the smile on his face I thought quite favorable ; so I went on and carefullT explained my reason for wauting it "bo awfully." "Well," he said at laat, "how much do you want it !" '.'More than you can teil, father," I answered with animation. "I wonld give any thing for it. " "Anything?" questioned father. "Well, perhaps I can make a bargain with yon. You give me the white calf, and I will give you the new dress !" My face feil in a moment. I had said I would give anything for the dress, but Caasie was no thing to me, but a person, a real friend. I decided quickly to give up the dress. Father, however, went on: "Imustsell her, for I have been offered thirty dollars for her to-day, which is three times her worth to me. The gentleman who wishes to buy her is trying to form a herd of pure white cattle, aud is willing to pay these fancy prices. She will make a cross cow, too." I knew if father had made up his mind, there was no use in trying to change it. So I crept up stairs to my little ohamber, and went soberly to bed. I had quite forgotten my dress. All my thoughts were of Cassie- how much I should miss her, and she me- and when at last I feil asleep, my face pressed a wet pillow, and troubled dreams oame to me. In tliem all, Cassie waa the principal object, and she was always in some danger. But towards morning, I grew calmer, aud dreamed of my seat imder the chestnut tree, and my knitting work, and Cassie's cold nose rubbing against my bare arm. 1 woke up eaily in the morning, and stole out to the barn, half expeoting to I find my white calf gone. My eye ran quickly up and down the atable, and the only white to be seen was the white spots on Brindle, and the old Hereford's white face. I did not even then believe I Cassie conld go away without sayin good-bye to me, and all the more as Í heard a low which I knew must come from her. I looked in the stall whence it prooeeded, and there stood a black calf ! In a moment, I recognized my friend, changed as she was. Klie reached out her head, and lickod my hand. Robert came out in a moment, and both he and father expressed surprise and dismay at Cassie's change in color. No more so than the calf herself. She even turned and greeted Spot cordially, and seemed quite humbled in spirit. "Take some cold water and wash that black off, Kobert," said father. Robert obeyed, but cold water or warm, with soap or without, the black would not come off. It was not paint, but some coloring herb, father decided, which was not poisonous, and which in time would lt was enough for him, however, thaf Lis bargain was ruiued ; for Mr. Leonard could not wait for Cassie to tnrn back to her original color, and as the black was not by any means a handsome shade - dull and inurky - he thought best not to run the risk of buying her. At least he reduced his price from thirty dollars to flve. Father was much disappointed, not so much at the failure of the bargain as because he feit that some one had been dealing unfair with him, and what pained him most was, I think, that a slight suggestion carne to his mind that I might have been the one. He feit it was better not to naention bis Buspicion to me, but partly as a punishment, if I were the guilty one, he decided to send Oassie to the slaughter house, when she was a little fo.t.ter he said. I begged and entreated, but in vam, till half in desperatiou one day, when I chanced into the village depot aud saw a young stranger just stepping from the cars, I ruslied up to him with tears in my eyes, and besought him to buy Cassie. "And who is Cassie ?" he said, goodnaturedly. Then I related to him the whole matter, and ended by a most passionate appeal for him to rescue my darling from such an untimely end. lt was not without effect, and he promised to come up to see her in the afternoon. I went home feeling happy the flrat time in several weeks. I had to lose OasBie, but how much better I should feel to have her in the kind hands of the blue-eyed young gentleman than to feel her young life was ruthlessly sacrificed. Even the thought that Cassie would be enrolled among the martyrs gave me no consolation. Tred teased me a little on my resignation when I carne home, but I caref ully kept my secret till I saw my blueeyed gentleman standing at the gate talkinsr with father. I stole out to hear ■■ fj .1 I - w - - _-_ . - v - - - - - - -- - . the bargain, and oould aoarcely believe my ears when I heard the immense snm of thirty dollars offereil and accepted. As father went to cali Kobert to fetch the calf round for a oloser examination, I seized the opportunity to rush out and throw my arms around the neck of Oassie's purchaser, and cover hirn with teara and kisses. He aeemed pleased, and gave me a kind invitation to visit Cassie in her new home. In a few months father went to see this gentleman's, or rather his father's stock, and, as a recompense to me for giving up Cassie - for by this time he knew I was quite innocent of the crime of blackening her - he took me with him. There she was, pure white, in a herd of Bpotless cattle! I found out then that my blue-eyed gentleman was a son of the Mr. Leonard who first offeredtobuy her. I laid down my pen a minute, because David said he must read what I was writing. "Teil the sequel," he says. "Well," I answer, "wait till I have written how we afterwards discovered that one of the men whom father dismissed from hia service blackened Cassie." "Very well," answered David, "and then close your story with these words: 'The memory of the kisses lasted in the heart of David Leonard till - till - ;' write what you like, my wife, but be sure and add this: 'Blessed be the memojy of the white calf Cassie !' " - Country Gentleman.