a pound too great)!

And when shadows of evening are gathering around,
And the sun with pure gold each hill-top has crowned,
Then pick up your trappings and leisurely wend
Your way back to camp, above the long bend,
Where the cook has prepared a supper, I trow,
Ne'er dreamt of in thoughts of Delmonico!
And you'll sit there and eat for an hour or more
With an appetite keen--and unheard of before!

Now bring out your pipe and fill up the bowl,
And loll there and smoke till it seems that the soul
Is wafted away like the ringlets that rise
As blue as the dome of the star-jeweled skies!
Then roll in a blanket with your feet to the blaze,
And the croak of the frogs and the ripple that plays
Will lull you to sleep with music as sweet
As that of the song when the angels you greet!

AN EASTER FLOWER.

I.

The flower that she gave to me
Has withered now and died--
But yet with fond fidelity
Its faded leaves abide.

II.

The petals that so fragrant then
She wore upon her breast--
Still clinging to the lifeless stem,
With miser care possessed.

III.

As when in sweetest purity
It shed its perfume rare,
A symbol dear 'twill ever be
Of one divinely fair!

IV.

Plucked by the cruel hand of Death
In beauty's youthful bloom--
She perished with his chilling breath,
And withered in the tomb.

V.

But I will cherish ever thus
The token that she gave
When sun-lit skies were over us,
Unclouded by the grave!

THE STAGE COACH.

No matter what the weather was, in good old stage coach days,
The driver with his ruddy face and spanking team of bays
Would spin along the turnpike road, o'er level stretch and hill,
That wound away from "Idleburg" to classic Nicholasville.

The depths beneath his seat were filled with leathern sacks of mail,
And all the coach's top at times was crowded to the rail
With trunks, valises, packages, and bundles by the score,
That must have weighed, it seemed to me, five thousand pounds or more.

And strapped within the bulging boot, that hung far out behind,
Was added weight enough to make a team of oxen blind;
And counting all the passengers that filled the coach within,
The load those horses had to drag--I thought it was a sin!

How proud of them the driver was! And often he would brag
That they could pull a heavier load and never balk or flag;
If all the road was ankle-deep in miry, sticky mud,
That was the time his team would show its