ith them.

In the centre of the table stood a roast pig, with an apple in its
mouth, and around it were a great abundance of the substantial viands
and delicacies usually provided on such occasions. There were also many
presents for the bride from her old friends, not costly or fine, but in
keeping with their manner of living. Mrs. Loper brought a sheep-skin for
a mat, the wool combed out smoothly and colored crimson, Maggie a white
crocheted tidy as big as a cart-wheel, Mrs. Sapp a wooden butter-stamp,
Mary Sapp a picture-frame made of pasteboard, with beech-nuts glued
together thickly upon it and varnished.

So, amid good wishes and rejoicing, the young married pair entered upon
their new life together, contented, yet energetic, and happy in the fact
that their own lives afforded fulness and enjoyment, and that in their
own efforts lay the fulfilment of their ambitions.

LOUISE COFFIN JONES.

INTO THY HANDS.

Into thy hands, my Father, I commit
All, all my spirit's care,
The sorest burden this dim life can bear,
The sweetest hope wherewith its paths are lit!
Into thy hands, that hold so closely knit
What our blind, aching heart
Calls joy or grief,--we know them not apart!
Into the hands whence leap
The hurling tempest, and the gentle breath
Kissing the babe to sleep,
The flaming bolt that smites with instant death
The giant oak, and the refreshing shower
Whose balmy drops make glad the tender flower.

What though, even as lent jewels passing bright,
That crowned me happy king
For one sweet revel of one night in spring,
I must surrender in the morning light,
That cold and gray breaks on my tearful sight,
Youth, hope, and joy, and love,
And--oh, all other gems, all price, above!--
The deathless certainty
Of the deep life beyond this pallid sun,
That golden shore and sea
Which to my youthful feet seemed wellnigh won,
So fair, so close, so clear, methought I heard
The trees' soft whisper and faint song of bird;

What though this fair dream, too, fled long ago,
And on my straining eyes
There break no more visions of mellow skies
'Neath which dear friends, called dead, move on in low
Sweet converse through wide, happy fields aglow
With heavenly flower and star,--
What though, like some poor pilgrim who from far
Sees, through a sle