The lad rode down the valley, and I stood still at the door;
The baby laughed and prattled, playing with spools on the floor;
Kentuck was out in the pasture; Conrad, my man, was gone;
Near, nearer, Morgan's men were galloping, galloping on!

Sudden I picked up baby, and ran to the pasture-bar.
"Kentuck!" I called-“ Kentucky!" She knew me ever so far!
I led her down the gully that turns off there to the right,
And tied her to the bushes; her head was just out of sight.

As I ran back to the log house, at once there came a soundThe ring of hoofs, galloping hoofs, trembling over the ground— Coming into the turnpike out from the White-Woman Glen-Morgan, Morgan the raider, and Morgan's terrible men.

As near they drew and nearer, my heart beat fast in alarm;
But still I stood in the doorway with baby on my arm.

They came; they passed; with spur and whip in haste they sped

along-

Morgan, Morgan the raider, and his band, six hundred strong.

Weary they looked and jaded, riding through night and through

day;

Pushing on east to the river, many long miles away,

To the border-strip where Virginia runs up into the west,
And ford the Upper Ohio before they could stop to rest.

On like the wind they hurried, and Morgan rode in advance. Bright were his eyes like live coals, as he gave me a sideways

glance;

And I was just breathing freely, after my choking pain,
When the last one of the troopers suddenly drew his rein.

Frightened I was to death, sir; I scarce dared look in his face,
As he asked for a drink of water, and glanc d around the place.
I gave him a cup, and he smiled--'twas only a boy, you see;
Faint and worn, with dim-blue eyes; and he'd sailed on the Ten-

nessee.

Only sixteen he was, sir-a fond mother's only son-
Off and away with Morgan before his life had begun.

The damp drops stood on his temples; drawn was the boyish

mouth;

And I thought me of the mother waiting down in the South.

Oh, pluck was he to the backbone, and clear grit through and

through;

Boasted and bragged like a trooper; but the big words wouldn't do.
The boy was dying, sir, dying, as plain as plain could be,
Worn out by his ride with Morgan up from the Tennessee.

But when I told the laddie that I too was from the South,
Water came in his dim eyes, and quivers around his mouth.
"Do you know the Blue-grass country?" he wistful began to say;
Then swayed like a willow sapling, and fainted dead away.

I had him into the log-house, and worked and brought him to;

I fed him, and coaxed him, as I thought his mother'd do;
And, when the lad got better, and the noise in his head was gone,
Morgan's men were miles away, galloping, galloping on.

"Oh, I must go," he muttered; "I must be up and away!
Morgan--Morgan is waiting for me! Oh, what will Morgan say?'
But I heard a sound of tramping and kept him back from the door—
The ringing sound of horses' hoofs that I had heard before.

And on, on, came the soldiers--the Michigan cavalry-
And fast they rode, and black they looked, galloping rapidly,-
They had followed hard on Morgan's track; they had followed day

and night;

But of Morgan and Morgan's raiders they had never caught a sight.

And rich Ohio sat start!ed through all those summer days:
For strange, wild men were galloping over her broad highways-
Now here, now there, now seen, now gone, now north, now east,
now west,

Through river-valleys and corn-land farms, sweeping away her best.

A bold ride and a long ride! But they were taken at last.
They almost reached the river by galloping hard and fast;
But the boys in blue were upon them ere ever they gained the ford,
And Morgan, Morgan the raider, laid down his terrible sword.

Well, I kept the boy till evening -kept him against his will— But he was too weak to follow, and sat there pale and still. When it was cool and dusky-you'll wonder to hear me tellBut I stole down to that gully, and broug it up Kentucky Belle.

I kissed the star on her forehead-my pretty gentle lass—
But I knew that she'd be happy back in the old Blue-grass.
A suit of clothes of Conrad's, with all the money I had,
And Kentuck, pretty Kentuck, I gave to the worn-out lad.

I guided him to the southward as well as I knew how;
The boy rode off with many thanks, and many a backward bow:
And then the glow it faded, and my heart began to swell,
As down the glen away she went, my lost Kentucky Belle!

When Conrad came in the evening, the moon was shining high; Baby and I were both crying--I couldn't tell him why

But a battered suit of rebel gray was hanging on the wall,

And a thin old horse, with drooping head, stood in Kentucky's stall.

Well, he was kind, and never once said a hard word to me;
He knew I couldn't help it-'twas all for the Tennessee.
But, after the war was over, just think what came to pass--
A letter, sir; and the two were safe back in the old Blue-grass.

The lad had got across the border, riding Kentucky Beile;
And Kentuck, she was thriving, and fat and hearty and well;
He cared for her, and kept her, nor touched her with whip or spur.
Ah! we've had many horses, but never a horse like her!

CONSTANCE FENIMORE WOOLSON,

MISS EDITH HELPS THINGS ALONG.

"My sister'll be down in a minute, and says you're to wait, if you

please;

And says I might stay till she came, if I'd promise her never to tease,

Nor speak till you spoke to me first. But that's nonsense; for how

would you know

What she told me to say, if I didn't? Don't you really and truly think so?

"And then you'd feel strange here alone. And you wouldn't know just where to sit;

For that chair isn't strong on its legs, and we never use it a bit;

We keep it to match with the sofa; but Jack says it would be just

like you

To flop yourself right down upon it, and knock out the very last

screw.

"Suppose you try! I won't tell. You're afraid to! Oh, you're afraid

they would think it was mean!

Well, then, there's the album; that's pretty, if you're sure that your fingers are clean.

For sister says sometimes I daub it; but she only says that when she's

cross.

There's her picture. You know it? It's like her; but she ain't as good-looking, of course.

"This is ME. It's the best of 'em all. Now, tell me, you'd never have thought

That once I was little as that? It's the only one that could be bought; For that was the message to pa from the photograph-man where I

sat,

That he wouldn't print off any more till he first got his money for that.

"What? Maybe you're tired of waiting. Why, often she's longer than this.

There's all her back hair to do up, and all her front curls to friz.
But it's nice to be sitting here talking like grown people, just you

and me!

Do you think you'll be coming here often? Oh, do!

like Tom Lee,—

But don't come

"Tom Lee, her last beau. Why, my goodness! he used to be here

day and night,

Till the folks thought he'd be her husband; and Jack says that gave

him a fright.

You won't run away, then, as he did? for you're not a rich man, they

say.

Pa says you are poor as a church mouse. Now, are you? And how poor are they?

Ain't you glad that you met me? Well, I am, for I know now your

hair isn't red;

But what there's left of it is mousey, and not what that naughty Jack

said.

But there! I must go Sister's coming. But I wish I could wait

just to see

If she ran up to you and kissed you in the way that she used to kiss Lee."

BRET HARTE.

THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTER MAN.

It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river side,
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;
The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,
Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.

It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid,
Upon a moonlight evening, a sitting in the shade;

He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,
"I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away."

Then up arose the oysterman and to himself said he;

"I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should see
I read it in the story book, that, for to kiss his dear,
Leander swam the Hellespont, and I will swim this here."

And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining stream,
And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam
O there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain,—
But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again!

Out spoke the ancient fisherman,--“() what was that, my

daughter?"

'Twas nothing but a pebble, sir, I threw into the water."