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the arch, on the spot it usually selected for its subter. ranean evanishment. Here another woeful, wailing shriek arose ; Adam for the first time felt an odd tingling sensation, and a sort of creepy-crawly feeling that would be difficult to analyze. Balaam, however, showed not the least surprise, so Adam stood up again in his stirrups, though he was "a goodish bit dumfoonder'd," as he afterward confessed, and repeated in a loud voice a verse of a favorite hymn,
"Theere is a neeame 'igh ower all,
l'hell or 'arth or sky; Aingels an' men afoore it fall,
An' divvils fear an' fly !” Hereupon the ghost itself was “a goodish bit dum. foonder'd” too; however, the last act of the drama was accomplished as usual, for instantly a pale blue flash surrounded the figure, which sank at once among the briars and brambles that grew in unchecked profusion on that uncanny ground.
“Cum oop! Balaam,” said Adam, and that unflinching steed trotted under the broken arch! Adam's observant eye
had noticed that as the figure sank the brambles bent and waved to and fro, as if set in motion by some living thing. He was not greatly learned in ghost lore, still he had the idea that a real, genuine ghost, with no nonsense about it, ought to have gone through the briars with no more commotion than the moonbeams made.
“That'll deea for te-neet, Balaam,” said Adam; “ť ghaust's run te’arth like a fox, an’ we mun dig 'im oot.”
Balaam obeyed the bridle, turned his steps homeward, and in a few minutes the anxiety of Judy was allayed by the appearance of her good man, all safe and sound.
“ Adam !” said she, "wherivver hae yo’ been, te be so late ?"
Why, me an' Balaam's been te see t boggle!”
What, Sister Agatha's ghost ?” “Sister Agatha's gran'mother," said Adam, contemptuously. “It's my opinion ’at it isn't a sister at all, but a bruther, an'a precious rascal at that, wiv 'is white smock, an' 'is bloody breest, an' 'is blue bleeazes. If he dizn't mind, he'll get mair o' them last sooat o' things then he'll care for; bud we'll dig 'im oot."
The next day Adam related his midnight encounter to two of his friends, and they with him resolved to go and explore the haunted spot. They were ultimately rewarded by the discovery of an underground cave, which penetrated far into the earth. Candles were provided to prosecute the search, and there they found much thievish booty. The astonished discoverers kept their secret, and quickly arranged to set a secret watch on the bramble-covered entrance to the burglar's den. Two or three nights afterward they were successful in capturing a man just as he was in the act of descending to his lair. He was seized by strong hands and placed under guard, and eventually the entire gang, which had long been a terror to the country side, was captured, and speedily “left their country for their country's good," and Sister Agatha's ghost disappeared from the old Abbey forever, and the village rested in peace.
J. J. WRAT.
HAT is so rare as a day in June ?
Then, if ever, come perfect days ; Then Heaven tries the earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays : Whether we look, or whether we listen, We hear life murmur, or see it glisten; Every clod feels a stir of might,
And instinct within it that reaches and towers, And, groping blindly above it for light,
Climbs to a soul in grass and flowers ; The flush of life may well be seen
Thrilling back over hills and valleys; The cowslip startles in meadows green,
The buttercup catches the sun in its chalice, And there's never a leaf nor a blade too mean
To be some happy creature's palace; The little bird sits at his door in the sun,
Atilt like a blossom among the leaves, And lets his illumined being o'errun
With the deluge of summer it receives ; His mate feels the eggs beneath her wings, And the heart in her dumb breast flutters and sings; He sings to the wide world, and she to her nest,In the nice ear of Nature which song is the best ? Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away Comes flooding back with a ripply cheer, Into
every bare inlet and creek and bay; Now the heart is so full that a drop overfills it, We are happy now because God wills it;
No matter how barren the past may have been, 'Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green; We sit in the warm shade and feel right well How the sap creeps up and the blossoms swell; may shut our eyes
but we cannot help knowing That skies are clear and grass is growing ; The breeze comes whispering in our ear, That dandelions are blossoming near,
That maize has sprouted, that streams are flowing, That the river is bluer than the sky, That the robin is plastering his house hard by; And if the breeze kept the good news back, For other couriers we should not lack;
We could guess it all by yon heifer's lowing, And hark! how clear bold chanticleer, Warmed with the new wine of the year,
Tells all in his lusty crowing!
Joy comes, grief goes, we know not how;
Everything is upward striving;
'Tis the natural way of living: Who knows whither the clouds have fled ?
In the unscarred heaven they leave no wake; And the eyes forget the tears they have shed,
The heart forgets its sorrow and ache; The soul partakes the season's youth,
And the sulphurous rifts of passion and woe Lie deep 'neath a silence pure and smooth, Like burnt-out craters healed with snow.
JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.
THREE LEAVES FROM A BOY'S DIARY.
From Youth's Companion.
JUNE 20,- I'll have a lot to write,
now. More than
, . I ever had before, for I've found out something. Six months ago we moved out here on our farm, and didn't
go to town, only just once in a while, on the cars. They put it in the paper when we left, and once in a while they put it in that pa had been in the city-when he called on the editor. But I hadn't never been in.
In the paper, I mean. So I was just the surprisedest you ever saw, to read yesterday, in a little corner, “Died, June 18, in Hickory Township, of brain fever, James Willis, aged thirteen years." That was me! only, of course, I hadn't died, nor nothing, and I lived in Hickory, and all. But then, it wasn't me, of course, and still I couldn't help believin' it was, if they'd only left out the brain-fever and the dyin'.
Everybody else thought it was me, too—I mean everybody in town—and Cousin Fred came right out to see about it.
Oh, how sorry everybody was! How they pitied pa ! and how they pitied ma ! and how sorry they were for Bess and Bob for losin' such a noble brother! and what a great man I had given promise of making ! and how much good they had all calculated on my doing in the world!
Really, I couldn't help thinkin' it would have been a downright shame if it had been me-everybody was so sorry.