lden chink a-chink.

I thank you--_don't_ I thank you, though!
My darling, dashing, handsome cousin!
I 'll pat your whiskers, when we meet,
And give you kisses by the dozen.

I 'll promise not to pull your hair,
When on your shoulder next I mount,
Nor bore my fingers in your ears,
Too often bored on my account.

Those fingers light shall never leave
On velvet waistcoat one faint crease,
Nor give your profile, clear and fine,
Another needless touch of Greece.

I will not bend the killing bow
Of that nice neck-tie, "rich, but neat,"
Nor put a ruffle in your shirt,
Nor break the white plaits with my feet.

The sacred collar shall not bear
The impress of a touch of mine;
Your sparkling diamond studs, like dews,
Shall on the lawn inviolate shine.

I will not fumble for your seals,
Nor listen where your tick-tick lies,--
Nor dare to call in anger down
The heavy lashes of your eyes.

In short, I 'll be a tender sprig,
A greenwood blossom small and sweet,
To hang upon your button-hole,
Or breathe love's fragrance at your feet.

THE DAY AT THE CASTLE.

The Reverend Charles Rivers was the Rector of a small country parish in
the North of England. He was a good man, a true minister of Christ to
his people. He had a lovely wife, and four beautiful children, and
there was no happier or sweeter home in all the country round than the
modest little Rectory, embowered in ivy and climbing roses.

Four or five miles from the parish church, on a noble eminence, rise
the lofty towers of Glenmore Castle, which for centuries has been the
great family seat of the Lords of Glenmore. It is surrounded by
beautiful gardens, laid out in the French style, with hedges of box,
full ten feet high. Beyond these a noble wooded park stretches away on
all sides, for miles, taking in hill and valley, and a fairy little
lake. To the southward it is crossed by a lazy, loitering stream,
shadowed by willows, fringed with flags, and in the early summer
flecked by snowy water-lilies.

The Lord Glenmore of the time of my story was a handsome young
nobleman, married to a pretty London lady, very gay and fond of
splendor, but kind-hearted and gentle to every one.

Whenever Lord Glenmore came up from London to his northern
estate,--usually in the shooting season of the early autumn,--the happy
event was made known to his tenants and friends, by the ru