Where was their favorite pasture. Behind them followed the watch-dog, .

Patient, full of importance, and grand in the pride of his instinct,

Walking from side to side with a lordly air, and su

perbly

Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward the strag

glers ;

Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd slept; their

protector,

When from the forest at night, through the starry silence, the wolves howled.

Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains from the marshes,

Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with its odor, Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their manes and their fetlocks,

While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and ponderous saddles,

Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with tassels of

crimson,

Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy with blossoms.

Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded their udders

Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in regular cadence

Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets descended.

Lowing of cattle and peals of laughter were heard in the farm-yard,

Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank into still

ness;

Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the valves of the

barn-doors,

Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season was silent. H. W. LONGFELLOW: Evangeline.

THE CATTLE OF A HUNDRED FARMS.

And now, beset with many ills,

A toilsome life I follow;
Compelled to carry from the hills,
These logs to the impatient mills,
Below there in the hollow.

Yet something ever cheers and charms
The rudeness of my labors;
Daily I water with these arms
The cattle of a hundred farms,

And have the birds for neighbors.

H. W. LONGFELLOW: Mad River.

CAT-QUESTIONS.

Dozing, and dozing, and dozing!

Pleasant enough,

Dreaming of sweet cream and mouse-meat,

Delicate stuff!

Waked by a somerset, whirling

From cushion to floor;
Waked to a wild rush for safety
From window to door.

Waking to hands that first smooth us,
And then pull our tails;

Punished with slaps when we show them
The length of our nails!

These big mortal tyrants even grudge us
A place on the mat.

Do they think we enjoy for our music
Staccatoes of "scat"?

To be treated, now, just as you treat us, -
The question is pat,

---

To take just our chances in living,
Would you be a cat?

LUCY LARCOM.

THE NEWSBOY'S CAT.

Want any papers, Mister?
Wish you 'd buy 'em of me
Ten year old, an' a fam❜ly,
An' bizness dull, you see.
Fact, Boss!

There's Tom, an' Tibby,

An' Dad, an' Mam, an Mam's cat,

None on 'em earning money

What do you think of that?

Could n't Dad work? Why yes, Boss,
He's working for gov'ment now, -
They give him his board for nothin',
All along of a drunken row.

An' Mam? Well, she 's in the poorhouse,

Been there a year or so;
So I'm taking care of the others,

Doing as well as I know.

Ought n't to live so? Why, Mister,
What's a feller to do?

Some nights, when I'm tired an' hungry,
Seems as if each on 'em knew

They 'll all three cuddle around me,
Till I get cheery, and say:

Well, p'raps I'll have sisters an' brothers,
An' money an' clothes, too, some day.

None o' your scraps an' leavin's,

But a good square meal for all three ; If you think I'd skimp my friends, Boss,

That shows you don't know me.

So 'ere's your papers

come take one,

Gimme a lift if you can

For now you've heard my story,

You see I'm a fam❜ly man!

E. T. CORBETT.

THE CHILD AND HER PUSSY.

I like little pussy, her coat is so warm,

And if I don't hurt her, she 'll do me no harm; So I'll not pull her tail, nor drive her away,

But pussy and I very gently will play :

She shall sit by my side, and I'll give her some food;
And she 'll love me, because I am gentle and good.
I'll pat
little pussy, and then she will purr,

And thus show her thanks for my kindness to her.

E. TAYLOR.

THE ALPINE SHEEP.

They in the valley's sheltering care,
Soon crop the meadow's tender prime,
And when the sod grows brown and bare,
The shepherd strives to make them climb

To airy shelves of pastures green

That hang along the mountain's side,
Where grass and flowers together lean,
And down through mists the sunbeams slide:

But nought can tempt the timid things

The steep and rugged paths to try,
Though sweet the shepherd calls and sings,
And seared below the pastures lie,

Till in his arms their lambs he takes
Along the dizzy verge to go,

Then heedless of the rifts and breaks
They follow on o'er rock and snow.

And in those pastures lifted fair,

More dewy soft than lowland mead,
The shepherd drops his tender care,
And sheep and lambs together feed.

MARIA LOWELL.