THE AFRICAN CHIEF.

THE AFRICAN CHIEF.-W. C. BRYANT.

HAINED in the market-place he stood,

CHAIN

A man of giant frame,

Amid the gathering multitude

That shrunk to hear his name.
All stern of look and strong of limb,
His dark eye on the ground;-
And silently they gazed on him,
As on a lion bound.

Vainly, but well, that chief had fought.-
He was a captive now;

Yet pride, that fortune humbles not,
Was written on his brow;

The scars his dark, broad bosom wore,
Showed warrior true and brave;
A prince among his tribe before,
He could not be a slave.

Then to his conqueror he spake"My brother is a king ;

Undo this necklace from my neck,

And take this bracelet ring,

And send me where my brother reigns,

And I will fill thy hands

With store of ivory from the plains,

And gold-dust from the sands."

"Not for thy ivory nor thy gold
Will I unbind thy chain;
That bloody hand shall never hold

The battle-spear again.

A price thy nation never gave,

Shall yet be paid for thee;

For thou shalt be the Christian's slave,
In lands beyond the sea."

Then wept the warrior-chief, and bade

To shred his locks away;

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PRAYING FOR RAIN.

PRAYING FOR RAIN.-PETER PINDar.

OW difficult, alas! to please mankind!

HOW

One or the other every moment mutters:
This wants an eastern, that a western wind;

A third, petition for a southern utters.
Some pray for rain, and some for frost and snow:
How can Heaven suit all palates?—I don't know.

Good Lamb, the curate, much approved,
Indeed, by all his flock beloved,

Was one dry summer begged to pray for rain:
The parson most devoutly prayed—

The

powers of prayer were soon displayed; Immediately a torrent drenched the plain.

It chanced that the church warden, Robin Jay,
Had of his meadow not yet saved the hay:

Thus was his hay to health quite past restoring.
It happened too that Robin was from home;
But when he heard the story, in a foam

He sought the parson, like a lion roaring.

"Zounds! Parson Lamb, why, what have you been doing?
A pretty storm, indeed, ye have been brewing!
What! pray for rain before I saved my hay!
Oh! you're a cruel and ungrateful man!

I that forever help you all I can;

Ask you to dine with me and Mistress Jay
Whenever we have something on the spit,
Or in the pot a nice and dainty bit;

"Send you a goose, a pair of chicken,
Whose bones you are so fond of picking;
And often too a keg of brandy!

You that were welcome to a treat,
To smoke and chat, and drink and eat;
Making my house so very handy!

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MINNIE AN' ME.

"You, parson, serve me such a scurvy trick!
Zounds! you must have the bowels of Old Nick.
What! bring the flood of Noah from the skies,
With my fine field of hay before your eyes!

A numskull, that I wer❜n't of this aware.—
Hang me, but I had stopped your pretty prayer!"
"Dear Mister Jay!" quoth Lamb, “alas! alas!
I never thought upon your field of grass."

"Oh! parson, you're a fool, one might suppose;
Was not the field just underneath your nose?
This is a very pretty losing job! "--

"Sir," quoth the curate, "know that Harry Cobb,

Your brother warden, joined to have the prayer.""Cobb! Cobb! why this for Cobb was only sport: What doth Cobb own that any rain can hurt?"

Roared furious Jay, as broad as he could stare. "The fellow owns, as far as I can larn,

A few old houses only, and a barn;

As that's the case, zounds! what are showers to him?
Not Noah's flood could make his trumpery swim.
Besides why could you not for drizzle pray?
Why force it down in buckets on the hay?

Would I have played with your hay such a freak?
No! I'd have stopped the weather for a week."

"Dear Mister Jay, I do protest,

I acted solely for the best;

I do affirm it, Mister Jay, indeed.

Your anger for this once restrain;

I'll never bring a drop again

Till you and all the parish are agreed."

THE

MINNIE AN' ME.-FRANCIS BENNOCH.

HE spring-time had come; we were sowing the corn;
When Minnie-wee Minnie-my Minnie was born;
She came when the sweet blossoms burst for the bee,
An' a sweet bud of beauty was Minnie to me.

MINNIE AN' ME.

The harvest was owre, an' yellow the leaf,
When Mary, my daughter, was smitten wi' grief;
Oh, little thought I my dear Mary wad dee,
An' leave as a blessing wee Minnie to me.

Her hair's like the lang trailing tresses o' night;
Her face is the dawn o' day, rosy and bright;
Sae bashfu', sae thoughtfu', yet cheery an' free;
She just is a wonder, my Minnie, to me.

Her smile is sae sweet, an' sae glancin' her een,
They bring back the face o' my ain bonny Jean;
Mair clear than the linties that sing on the tree
Is the voice o' my Minnie when singing to me.

For mony long years I'd been doiting alane,

When Minnie reveal'd the old feelings again; In the barn or the byre, on the hill or the lea, My bonnie wee Minnie is seldom frae me.

Wherever she moves she lets slip a wee crumb,

To beasties or birdies, the helpless and dumb; How she feeds them, and leads, it's bonny to see; Oh! a lesson o' loving is Minnie to me.

Whenever she hears my slow step on the floor,
She stands wi' her han' on the sneck o' the door,
An' welcomes me ben wi' a face fu' o' glee ;
Oh, nane are sae happy as Minnie an' me.

She trots to the corner, an' sets me a chair,

She plays wi' my haffets, and kames down my hair; Or keeks through my speck, as she sits on my knee; Oh, were't not for Minnie I think I wad dee.

But I'll nae talk o' deeing while work's to be done,
But potter about, or sit still in the sun;

Till Providence pleases my spirit to free,

Oh! nae power shall sever my Minnie frae me.

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