e time a mile off. The old sexton lived to see this change,
and at the end of half a century of care under that venerable roof he
went to his rest. The beloved minister, and many, many who sat with
trustful and devoted hearts under his teachings, are gone to their
reward. A board from the old pulpit, a piece of the red-damask
curtain, and the long wished-for gold vase, are now in my possession.

"SOMETHING THAN BEAUTY DEARER."

You ask me if her eyes are fair,
And touched with heaven's own blue,
And if I can her cheek compare
To the blush-rose's hue?

Her clear eye sheds a constant gleam
Of truth and purest love,
And wit and reason from it beam,
Like the light of the stars above.
Good-humor, mirth, and fancy throng
The dimples of her cheek,
And to condemn the oppressor's wrong
Her indignant blush doth speak.

You ask me if her form is light
And graceful as the fawn;
You ask me if her tresses bright
Are like the golden dawn?

Her step is light on an errand of love,
Scarce doth she touch the earth,
And in graceful kindness doth she move
Around her father's hearth;
And when to bless his child he bends,
His comfort and delight,
The silver with her dark hair blends,
Like a crown of holy light.

A TALE

FOUND IN THE REPOSITORIES OF THE ABBOTS OF THE MIDDLE AGES.

Swept from his saddle by a low branch, Count Robert lay stunned upon
the ground. The hunting-party swept on, the riderless steed galloping
wildly among them. No man turned back; not one loved the Count better
than his sport.

There came to the spot a man in a woodman's garb, yet of a knightly
and noble aspect. He bent over the fallen man, and bathed his temples,
turning back the heavy, clustering locks. The Count, opening his eyes,
gazed on him at first without surprise; he thought himself at home,
however he came there, so familiar was the face.

Then did the woodman embrace him with tears, crying, "My brother, O my
brother! it is I! it is Richard!"

"Thou in England!" cried the Count. "Art thou mad?" And he frowned
gloomily.

"Fear not for me," replied the exile, tenderly raising the Count from
the ground.

A narrow path wound through the wood to a ruined hermitage. The outlaw
here prepared a bed of leaves for the Count, laid him softly thereon,
and went to seek some refreshment. His loved brother might revive, and
yet smile kindly on the playmate of h