has been the constant companion and 

 friend of its master. 



In the extravagant and poetical lan- 

 guage of the East, one Arab thus speaks 

 of his beloved Horse : ''Do not tell me 

 that this animal is my horse, say that he 

 is my son. It runs more quickly than 

 the wind of a storm, more swiftly than 

 the glance that sweeps the plains. It is 

 pure as gold. Its eye is clear and so keen 

 that it sees a hair in the dark. It over- 

 takes the gazelle in its course. To the 

 eagle it says : I hurry on like you. When 

 it hears the shouts of girls it neighs with 

 joy, and the whistling of bullets rejoices 



its heart. From the hands of women it 

 begs for alms ; the enemy it beats in the 

 face with its hoofs. When it can run to 

 its heart's desire, it weeps tears. It recks 

 not whether the sky be clear or the blasts 

 of the desert obscure the light of the sun 

 with dust ; for it is a noble steed and de- 

 spises the rage of the storm. There is 

 no other in this world that could vie with 

 it. Swift as a swallow, it courses on ; 

 so light is its weight that it could dance 

 on the breast of your beloved and not 

 annoy her. It understands all like a son 

 of Adam, and all it lacks is speech." 



John Ainslie. 



A MELODY. 



Afar and near, afar and wide, 



The murm'ring chant of a running stream, 

 Across the rocks to the brimming tide 



Of the shining sea, its waters gleam. 



Low in the beeches, hid from sight, 



A robin is singing a song so sweet. 

 Its rapturous melody seems a flight 



Of song from Heaven's own azure deep. 



O fateful river, now gleaming, now dark, 



Like my checkered life of shadow and sun, 

 But always through it the song of my heart 



Like the robin's vesper, to God is sung. 



But ever the river rolls along 



With manifold crews of human souls; 

 And ever, the robin's clear, sweet song 



Is heard afar as the river rolls. 



—Amanda M. E. Booth, 



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