LOST AND FOUND. COME miners were sinking a Calm as a monarch upon his throne, I know not where, but the He sat there taking his rest, alone. facts have filled A chink in my brain, while He must have been there for many a year: The spirit had fled, but there was its shrine, In clothes of a century old, or near. other tales Have been swept away, as, when pearls are spilled, One pearl rolls into a chink in the floor. Somewhere, then, where God's light is killed And men tear in the dark at the earth's heart core, These men were at work, when their axes knocked A hole in a passage closed years before. A slip in the earth, I suppose, had blocked Till these men picked it, and 'gan to creep In on all-fours. Then a loud shout ran Round the black roof: "Here's a man asleep!" They all pushed forward, and scarce a span From the mouth of the passage, in sooth, the lamp Fell on the upturned face of a man. No taint of death, no decaying damp, The dry and embalming air of the mine Had arrested the natural hand of decay, Nor faded the flesh nor dimmed a line. Who was he, then? No man could say In their great rough arms begrimed with coal They took him up, as a tender lass To the outer world of the short warm grass. Then up spoke one: "Let's send for Bess. She is seventy-nine come Martinmas— Older than any one here, I guess : Belike she may mind when the wall fell there, And remember the chap by his comeliness." So they brought old Bess, with her silver hair, To the side of the hill, where the dead man lay, Ere the flesh had crumbled in outer air. When, at the top, as their eyes see clear, I ha' lived since then! And, now I'm old, again. THE May cheer, not change, its doomMay stay its fate for one brief hour, But ne'er restore its bloom: That heart, if yesterday caressed, Then, oh, love's vow of honor keep, Nor let affection wait; For vain repentance-vain to weep- CHARLES SWAIN. A WOMAN'S LOVE. THERE is a feeling in the heart Of woman which can have no part In man-a self-devotedness, As victims round their idols press, And asking nothing but to show How far their zeal and faith can go. Pure as the snow the summer sun Never at noon hath looked upon; Deep as is the diamond wave Hidden in the desert cave; Changeless as the greenest leaves Of the wreath the cypress weaves; Hopeless often when most fond; Without hope or fear beyond Its own pale fidelity, All this woman's love can be. L. E. LANDON. THE HENPECKED MAN. stream and Kelso, though, if I should say that the village itself is beautiful, I should be speaking on the wrong side of the truth. Yet there may be many who have both heard the saying and seen the village who. never heard of little Patie Crichton, the bicker-maker. Patie was of diminutive stature, and he followed the profession (if the members of the learned professions be not offended at my using the term) of a cooper, or bicker-maker, in Birgham for many years. His neighbors used to say of him, “The puir body's henpecked." Patie was in the habit of attending the neighboring fairs with the water-cogs, creambowies, bickers, piggins and other articles of his manufacture. It was Dunse fair, and Patie said he had dune extraordinar' wee] : the sale had been far beyond what he expeckit." His success might be attributed to the circumstance that when out of the sight and hearing of his better half, for every EVERY one has heard the phrase "Go bicker he sold, he gave his customers half a to Birgham!" which signifies much the same as bidding you go to a worse place. The phrase is familiar not only on the Borders, but throughout all Scotland, and has been in use for more than five hundred years, having taken its rise from Birgham being the place where the Scottish nobility were when they dastardly betrayed their country into the hands of the first Edward; and the people, despising the conduct and the cowardice of the nobles, have rendered the saying "Go to Birgham!" an expression of contempt until this day. Many, however, may have heard the saying, and even used it, who know not that Birgham is a small village beautifully situated on the north side of the Tweed, about midway between Cold dozen jokes into the bargain. Every one, therefore, liked to deal with little Patie. The fair being over, he retired with a crony to a public-house in the castle-wynd to crack off old stories over a glass and inquire into each other's welfare. It was seldom they met, and it was as seldom that Patie dared to indulge in a single glass; but on the day in question he thought they could manage another gill, and another was brought. Whether the sight of it reminded him of his domestic miseries and of what awaited him at home I cannot tell; but after drinking another glass and pronouncing the spirits excellent, he thus addressed his friend: "Ay, Robin" (his friend's name was Rob in Roughead), "ye're a ye're a happy man ye're maister in your ain house and ye've a wife that adores and obeys ye; but I'm nae better than naebody at my ain fireside. I'll declare, I'm waur: wife an' bairns laugh at I'm treated like an outlan' body an' a fule. Though, without me, they micht gang and beg, there is nae mair respeck paid to me than if I were a pair o' auld bauchels† flung into a corner. Fifteen years syne I couldna believe it o' Tibby though onybody had sworn it to me. I firmly believe that a guid wife is the greatest blessin' that can be conferred upon a man upon this earth. I can imagine it by the treasure that my faither had in my mither; for, though the best may hae words atween them occasionally, and I'm no saying that they hadna, yet they were just like passing showers to mak' the kisses o' the sun upon the earth mair sweet after them. Her whole study was to please him and to mak' him comfortable. She was never happy but when he was happy, an' he was just the same wi' her. I've heard him say that she was worth untold gold. But oh, Robin, if I think that a guid wife is the greatest blessin' a man can enjoy, weel do I ken that a scoldin', domineerin' wife is his greatest curse. It's a terrible thing to be snooled in your ain house; naebody can form an idea o't but they wha experience it. "Ye remember when I first got acquainted wi' Tibby she was doing the bondage-work up at Riselaw. I first saw her coming out 'Eccles kirk ae day, and I really thocht that I had never seen a better-faured or a more gallant-looking lass. Her cheeks were red and white like a half-ripe strawberryor rather, I should say, like a cherry-and * Children. † Shoes. Subjugated by tyranny. she seemed as modest and meek as a lamb. It wasna very lang until I drew up; and, though she didna gie me ony great encouragement at first, yet in a week or twa, after the ice was fairly broken, she became remarkably ceevil and gied me her oxter§ on a Sunday. We used to saunter about the loanings, no saying meikle, but unco' happy, and I was aye restless whan I was out o' her sight. Ye may guess that the shoemaker was nae loser by it during the six months that I ran four times a week, wet or dry, between Birgham and Riselaw. But the termtime was drawing nigh, and I put the important question and pressed her to name the day. She hung her head, and she no seemed to ken weel what to say; for she was sae mim || and sae gentle then that ye wad hae said butter wadna melt in her mouth. when I pressed her mair urgently, I'll just leave it to yersel', Peter,' says she. And |