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E. H. & C. II. F06T1SU, Puolishors. Jamestown. D. A Christmas Carol. "The moou came nut, ami crowned the hills With holy calm The stars Dish'd duwn on silver ril!s And groves of palm While tranquil ut the day's surcease, Blest Bethlehem slept, a thing of peace. Even dumb Nature's pulses thrilled With temier awe, Aft i| §he fqjt, thus linshed mid stilled, I '--"Mora linn is he ^avv And 'neath ftie stnright rent her knee, In rev' cut, giad expecta cv. Dowiiou the p! tiu, in peaceful wise, .... ,, The white llocks slept. While shepherds. 'neath the crystal skie3, Their vigils kept And luidtiight.'a awe ami silence foil Upon their souis in that lone dell. And thep—a g!ry from the place ,,t Where angels kneel The'light, it seemed,o' (Icd'sown face, Mid swift oil steal The luster from the shining htnrs, Ami chained the moonlight's shimmering bar Then Go.l.'s bi ghr mocsenircr came down, Willi princely in-in At:ri happyTace outshone his crown And raiment's sheen While by tL* gracious words lie said. He raised each shepherd's drooping head. "War not!for lo. I tidings bring r. 0'" are-test joy Wbo^e music through the world Bhall ring, Without alloy I hear your new* of priceless worth, Of Christ-, the Kiug, come down to earth!" Then suddenlv the -ky grew bright With angel eyes Their carol stirred the pulse of night In tender wise And echoed o'er the slumbering land, All loving, rev'rei^, jubilant, grand! Glory to i-iod! to sinful men, Peace and good-will!" The light died out ihe earth again Grew dim and still. The angels left the starry dome, And Christ lay born in earthly home. 0 Lord came down to us to-night, Give us tliat grace, 0 grant one climp.se of th' shepherds' sight— To see Thy face— To worship at those bWsed feet! The Christ in hearts &r homeeto meet! —Grace Raymond. ONE MAFSCHRIST1IAS. T.Y OLIVE TIARITIR. "taps, let me keep him—please do he looks so lonesome, just as if hi", mother had died, too andfce looks 60 hungry, and shivers so in the cold. Please do, papa. Bee his eye& they just seem begging you to, and as if he wanted you to see his poor leg, and to make you understand how cold and hungry he is. Why, paoa, I don't believe he ever had enaugh to eatin his 1 ife and the quiv ering little voice died out altogether in sobs,as he took the poor little starved dog into his arms *nd held him agaist his breast. The father, a stern looking man, whose hat was circled with a band of crape, looked down with a smile of rare tenderness as he said: "Why, Harry, don't cry about it you shall keep the little dog, if you will though he certainly looks anything but a pretty play thing. Come, now: we will go home. Yoi? can call your Dew friend alontr." "Oh, thank you, pana!" said the little boy: and his violent eyes danced with delight, and his transparent cheeks flushed bright crim dou with pleasure, while the littte dog limned along afterjhim, encouraged by his childish voice, sometimes raised with delight at the new acquisition, again to fall wth infinite pity for the starved litrle dog. When they reached home they were met by the housekeeper, with a torrent of exeus and objections to cepirig the dog, till little Harry said with [flashing eyes: "Mrs. Per kins, were you ever hungry and cold and sick, without any home to tro co or any one to love you All of a sudden the housekeeper's pale /ace flushed, end tears came into her eyes as she turned hastily away and buried herself with other affairs for a moment. Then she turned and came back, saving: "Well, dear, shall we take him down the kitchen and see what we can do for him ''Yes," said Harry, "for I guess he needs something, and that, pretty soon. Come doggie." They went out, leaving the father alone, and he threw himself into an easy chair be fore. the fire and clasped his hands before his eyes saying: '"He is like her, so like and t-o frail! Who but be would want to take that miserable little dog? It was always her dis position to do so tio: the more wretched the case the more'.intt-n-st she took in it. My God! how his look went to my heart when he plead ed so. It was like In rs when she lay dying and begged of me with almost her last breath to forgive my poor sister, who ran off with that wretch who died a drunkard. I always said I never would forgive her nor speak to her. but if I could find her now she would al ways live wiih me. Well, Harry." This to Hurry, who stood by his father's chair, with his face flashed and eager. "O, papa, if you could only scr the li• tlo doggie w. 'Mrs Perkins has washed him all over, and put ealve on his poor leg, and she says it was broken and she fed him. He would.i't eat until he got up on his back lege and walked along a little, and then made a bow—you have no idea what a gentleman he is, only he isn't very handsome, you know." The father took his little motherless boy in to his lap. and when there he gave a long sigh, and iay wearily down on his father's, breast, sayine, "I am very tired, papa, what makes me get tired .so easy now* I didn't use to, but now every time 1 ga up stairs it makes something jump so in here (placing his hand over his heart) that I can't hardly breathe, and I don't care about playing ball any more and I never rid ray rocking horse now." "0! my Gcd!" Baid the father with his white lips, as be all at once saw the frail boy was pale and tv in even to emaciation. Why, he asked himEclf, had h^ not en it before. It was all plain now and the sight of the colorless cheeks and listless air made him remember other things, fits of almost frantic excitement, followed by prostrating weariness, nights when the childish form was never still, toss ing and startling days when the delicate ap petite failed ana the weary eyes seemed to tarn with loathing from the tempting food hours while the child lay about on the rug at his feet, or on a sofa, and when asked why he did notgo out and phiy on Ihe lawn, answered simply, "I'm tired." He saw it all now too plainly. He saw that all through that first summer of bereavement, while he had given up to grief for his lovely young wife, his child had be*n fading with the summer, decaying with the autumn, ai.d, he now felt, was djing with fhe winter. Harry lay on his father's breast till at last he fellfaet asleep. Then laying him tenderly down on the sofa, the starlled man went out called Mrs. Perkins, and pointed to the sleep ing child, whose face was as pale as a calla lily, and with lipa like the liU? blossoms, said: "Is he dying, Mrs. Perkins, like his mother?" "Oh. don't, Mr. Edward," said she, with a gush of silent tears. "Yon have seen it, then said he. "I was not sure, and I couldn't bc.:r to dis tress you but'I fear it Is so." "Stay with him, I will fetch Dr. Bennett," and the. striken father hurried out while the guod old housekeeper sat down and looked a', the child through her fast falling tejirs. She thought: '"The lamb! I knew it was no use, •fur no one can cure hear.t disease but if he has lud any eyes he must have seen that 1 kept the lamo from excitement, and have taken alt the care 1 could of him, and done for him as 1 did for his mother but he never thought it joadble. Ah. well! we all have to wake to trouble sometime," Soup the doctor, accompanied bv theft her, oamu in, and the old mm, who had beeii not only physician but friend and,adviser to the dead young mother all- er life, sat. down by the still sleeping boy, and watched li pale face, his blue lips, his purple finger-tips and Ills labored breathing very gravely then, at last, he turned a &et, sorrowful face to the fa- ther, looked Ions: and pitifully into his eyes, and the father knew, lie had been buoyed up by more hope than he had known, and now this solemn fiat struck him as if he had not expected it. Then they went out into the. li brary, and the Doctor irave him some dircc. lions for general treatment and taking his hand, said: "Edward, this is going to be'hard, but try and be brave. Jhink it is no hauler for vou to be without him here than his moth er to miss him there. God bless you, my boy let me know if any changv takes place. He may live months yet,, or it may come any day. Good-by" Harry awoke and started up from the sofa, saying, "Where is mv doggie?" and started to go down but his father said: "Keep quiet, Harry, love, and the little dojr shall be broughtuo here "and Mrs Perkins went down and brought him into the room He was a different looking dog in even the short time allowed for improvement, but still nothing could make beautiful the long yel lowish brown body, with its coarse, rouL'h hair and the short, ill-forn.en legs, or the ugly head, with its cropped ears,though the intelli gent eyes, which now expressed love and gratitude toward Harry, redeemed him. at least, in the opinion of Mrs. Perkins and Mr. Emmons, ard they both concluded he was not so bad a lookinc dosr. after all. "No, 1 know he isn't handsome, papa, but I think he is good and I love him, don't I, doggie? Then, again, papa, was you going to buy me anything for Christmas?" "Yes, Harry what do you want?" "I don't want anything now, papa. I will take doggie for my Christmas, only he docs look so funny, doesen't he? Just as if he hud never been used to be where there was a good fire, and more to eat than he wanted. I suppose he has been drove from one house to another, Just like Hannah drove the poor old cat away that was trying to cet some scraps in the yard, and I just cried. Itlooked back so sorry off the kitchen fence, and 1 wanted to pinch Hannah for it. Ar.d you, poor doirgie, you have been driven off from houses, I know, and had stones thrown at you, and—where do you suppose dogs sleep, papa?" "Oh. almost anywhere,I £ruess. I will tret, a nice little house made fur him if you wish." "That will be nice, and to-nigat, doevi i_'rew 1 you will sleep ritrht here," making a so't bed out of Mrs. Perkins' shawl for the dog to sleep on. She would have given her best black silk dress, which she set great store by. had Harry wished it. When they were about to lenv'c the room for the night the tittle do jrot np and limped along after them, and looked at, Harry so piteously when told to iro hack, thai he beggi to have him at the foot of his ib and from that time no one disputed his right and he slet there unmolested. Harry seemed to rally and feel better for the next fe .v dij", and his father would lock at him and say: "It is impossible tnat the child is in any danger he looks so well there is a mistake I will see another doctor," and he would almost believe that there was no causc for a'arm. It was a beautiful sight to see the fragile boy sit, or recline, on the floor, and to see the intense devotion exoressed for him in the, eyes of the little dog, which was now well. He would crouch for hours beside the dosr, mo tionless, except to once in a while raise one p.'W and lav it tenderly on the sleeve of his icket, or to put his cold little nose softly against the thin, bloodless hand: and nothing, not even hunger, would draw him away. The boy more and more fond of him, and rarely laid down unless he drew the little doir close and let the l'.t Ie shaggy yellow head rest on his breast, while the bright, inteMiarent eyes were always fastened on Htrry's facc, with a look of more thon huinin attachment and love. Very precious to little Ilnrry wa the love, silent and so deep, of his dog, and 'he father used to look upon them until his eyes grew misty and dim with tears that lie would turn away his he^d to hide. Every indulgence that could be given to Harry he had, and every whim" was gratified, and tiny were many but he never," for one moment, swerved from the protecting love of his ugly lit le dog, and at lat it ul come to be that even the father loved him for the sake of the affectionate dev&tion to his child that showed in every look and mot'on. A month had passed since the puor creature lud been taken by Harry a month that had made sad havoc with the little vitality of the child, who now scarcely moved off the sofa all day for when he made the slightest exertion the cruel spasms at the heart seemed to almost divorce soul and bod v. And the father and loving old nurse were powerless to relieve him, and the day was fast approaching that wotitd release the in tense pam that racked the little heart to agony. At such times the eyes of the poor little dojr would be raised piteou^lv to each in turn, as if in entreaty that some thing should be done for Harry, who he knew suffered so. At length the lasthou. came—the tine silver aord was almost loosened, and the little heart so long tortured with suffocatinsr pain was about to be relieved in the calm of death. For hours he had lain siient, the rich, gold en hair tosced back on the pillow, and one clasped in that of his father, tbe other around poor "doggie," whose pitiful eyes seemed al most human, as he wouid look into the white 11"tie face, so fast chilling to death, and now and tl.en giving a sigh as deep and full of agony as the human ones that loved the boy could have felt. Silent and sorrowful faded the light of the day before Christmas in that, house. Tbe rain fell steadily and fast, and there was a little chill in the air outside, that made it hard to those, who unprotected, walked alone the al most deserted streets. Presently Harry oncloeed niseyes, and said: Papa, where la Aunty ry! I thought I s^w her, just now, comeJn at tho hall door, and jou to'd Herto go'out You iwilMii't do tliftt, papa?" "Mo, Harry. I hope she will come, One of there day s, and live with us. Dq you feel bet ter, Harry'?'* Yes, papa lutlf»*cl very tired--dilFerent from any other tired I over saw. Oh, doggie, you here? Of course, you are. Papa, ain't you glatl I to him? I'm glad you let me, and he loves me. I always sleep so good when lie i? with me. I am sleepy now, and 1 miess I'll go to sleep. Pupa, you love me? You love doggie, too' You won't let anybody hurt liitn, and to-morrow we will have a nice Christinas—a nii-e. Christmas," and^hero the iihit! veined lids fell, anH a dreamy smile be trau to settle on the little, pinched lips, and the iare to urow more placid and peaceful, the Mr. Emmons had been taken from the room by the Doctor. He gave way utterly, and fat her watching it till, when the clock struck 1, he puts his hand on the fair, high brow, and found it icy cold in the chill of death. No wonder, then, that, tbe strong man cried aloud in his agony, nor that the winds wailed outside, or that the clouds dropped tears up on that desolate house, or that a poor littie ugly dog shivered and moaned on the bed from whence the waxen form had been borne for tt,e fulfillment of those last sad itcs for tlie dead—the dead that lay so still and peace ful amid the agonized srroans of the father Hnd the louder cries of his fond nurse, and the rvants of the house—unmindful for once of the little dog that licked the cold hand, often raising his head to look upon the calm face, aud then, meeting no response, turning it with a mute agony of appeal to the faces of those around. threw himself on the floor, while great sobs shook his frame. He had consolation in but one thing, and that was: "iSVwhas as much need of him there as you here." He lay there till daylight came through the windows, and the sun shone over the landscape aR brightly as though between his setting and rising no soul had left its tenement—no home desolated and rain-drops glittered on every tree and hrub, flashing back the warm sunshine. At noon they bore the body of the bojT to hii grave beside his mother, and covered him up wiih the sodden earth. The heavy thuds with which they struck the coffin were sharp blows of agony'to the desolate father, who tried hard to control his grief, but he broke flown utterly and sobbed like a babe, when he felt a feeble'scratchmg on his leg, and looked town to see poor "doggie," with his piteous look of entreaty and grief almost human, and his eyes actually full of tears, a3 he whined in vain, turning toward the fast filling arave. They took doggie home and tried by every means to induce him to eat and drink, but it was of no avail, his little heart, although only a dog's, was broken, and he would sigh and whine, while tears were in his pleading eyes as he looked from one to the ot»er, as if seeking an explanation as to where Harry ha gone. Mr. Emmons sat long in his study that night in sad loneliness, when even the company of •lie little dog would have comforted hm and finally lie rose, thinking he would take him into his lap l\r his mute sympathy. He called, but received no answer, and finally concluded he would perhays find him in the empty crib where Harry had slept, fie wen1 into the bedroom with "his heart filled with acute pain at entering again the place where little Hariy died. There was r,o "dog gie." in there and he called again, and was answered by afaint whine in a corner of the room, and there be found "doggie," who had dragged a little velvet cap, a pair of red-top ped boots, aud a tiny boat that Harrv had loved to $ lay with, and was lying on the heap A moaning cry—the despairing cry of the bitterness of desolation—broke from the set lips, tears gushed forth at this pitiful proof of devotion, raining down on the poor dog's head as the trembling hand tenderiy stroked it. ilie little doggish 'ace turned upwaid for a moment with a look of affection, and then fe'l bac. "Doggie" was dead! Flowers bloomed afterwards, and the sun hone on, day after day, just as ever but i.iipt father lonely .still with the dread lone iinesH of childlessness, and his steps are 1 ftenist, traced to the little grave where Harry lies, and whose white tombstone, below his name, bears a strange device—a dog dying beside a cap and a toy. A Sparrow Fig-ht. Indianapolis N«ws. Goiuct up Tennessee street yesterday afternoon a News reporter witnessed a fight between two English sparrow cocks, rhat would bare been to the death had he not appeared upon the scene. As in rnosc encounters, there was a woman in it, that is, a hensparrow, who stood out side at a short distance waiting the result o*' the com' 'At, ready to fly away with the succcssful bird. They paid no attention to the N. r. until he was just about to step over them, when they separated and (lew away, the hen accompanyinc the ne that was on top. He evidently had his rival foul, and was pecking his head with much vigor. The punishmont must have been severe, for the one underneath sent forth the most piteous crics, and was apparently unable to help himself. When released, however, lie snowed that he was still game by pursuing the pair as far rnd as fast as his remaining strength would permit. He soon gave up the chase, however, and lit upon the limb of a neighboring tree, where the reporter left him, panting for breath, and smoothing out his ruffled feathera. The mother had talked so much about the whooping-cough, and worried so over il, that the child was afraid to leave her side. One night, alter the littie fellow had been put to bed and to sleep, a jack ass was driven past the house, and when just opposite set up his he haw, he-haw, he-haw. With a shriek the little fellow was out of bed, screaming at the top of •voice, "The whooping-cough is coming, mamma the whooping-cough is coming." FTe didn't catch it that time.—Cincinnati Commercial. A Quaker's Christmas Eve. ...... BT FAXNIS KOBINSOIJ, How slow and ?soft the 6' ow-dress falls Upon the vine dfeaertcd walls, Ab if Borne gracious qoul, intent U|.on the one sweet deed it iQeant 8ince in its grace and beauty lay„ Should wraJp each hare thing on the way, Till %ll..U*Migs white and whiter grow, Except the shadows earth may throw, The tender gray, tho peeieful white, A Quaker Setting make to-niglit And so this moonshine, which is shade Only a #ttjg lighter liia, 5 Into my Heart uttfl mood has' crept, *. How earcth He, for Christmas song To whom all days and song belong! Only, an ebbing love has need Its high-tide reaching thus to heed. Always the willing angles sing To worn out workers listening: Always our Christ is in the earth, Always his love, his human birth Iii joy rhat crowns our later morn As in Judean Christmas born. 6 With which aglow of sunrise kept When youth and Benjamin were mine, Ab! swift the slowest years incline, And sunrise has no story now To moye me like the night and snow. If thoBe unquiet bells would cease Clashiug their peals across this peace, It. seems the hour's rare silentness, Even worldly hearts might chide atad bless, And lift the lowest heavenward To greet the birthday of the Lord. I can not think tbe loudest bells Can utter what a pure voice tells ,, The spirit needs no braz -n tone To whispur triumph to His own The blessed healing falls to tlum Who touch unseen the garment's hem Aud hidden deeds are wa'ted higher Than chantings of an aw gel choir, Hoeamia still the mad lips crv, While still the mad hands crucify But angels watch and women weep, And theirs the Rising after sleep. Aud yet I mind how every year, When ripe birthday draw auear, Dear Ruth, from out her gayer life, With worldly hope and wisdom rife, Comos to the quiet nest once more, Bringing tbe smile her fatuer wore, And little gracious gifts, to tell She keeps by some high miracle The simple heart 'neath costly lace. That needs a double grant of grace. Though all the year Ruth's tenderest ey#a To mine are opening to the ski s. Though love unsaid be love complete, I find the special service sweet. And so, perhaps, those louder chimes, Smoothing the prose-told hours to- rhymes, Like some rare voir God sets to round The jarring ones of shriller sound Tnese spires with grand and silly art, Climbing to reach the Central Heart These broken lillies, and the rush Of feet where leaning angels hush— May be to clearer eyes than mine Fresh spellings of a tale divine. And Ho whose birthday knew no bliss Except a woman's troubled ki-s, May still forgive the foolish art, And hide the meaning in His heart. —//aiwr's Maqaxine The Little Folks. "Where are you going?" asked a little bov of another, who had slipped and fal len down on the icy pavement. "Going to get up," was the blunt reply .J Grandfather: "My son, which would you rather have when you go heme—a little brother or sister?" Grandson: Well, I would rather have a little pony." "What's jography, Bill?" "It's a tell in' of forrin lands that we know nothin' about by 'cute chaps that nover seen 'ein." Bill got a government situation. William Augustus, to sleepy room mate "Come, John Henry, why don't you get up with the lark, as I do?" John Henry, grimlv: "Been up with him all night." "See here, boy, this makes the second time I've called for you. Didn't you hear me the first time?" "No. sir." "Then how do you know I called you twice?'' "Mamma." said a little girl, pointing to the telegraph wires, "how do they send messages by those bits of wire with out tearing them to pieces?" "They send them in a fluid state, my dear," Wiis the reply. A boy who v.-ut after chestnuts on the 29th ult., broke- the Sabbath, his right leg and his suspenders.—Norrktown Her ald. Michigan boys never have any such luck. Tbey return home safe and sound and fairly loaded down. A little boy in a Sunday-school put a poser to his teacher. Th/lady was tell ing her clasp how God punished the Egyptians by causing the first-born of each household to be slain. The little boy listened attentively and, at the proper interval, inquired: "What would God have done if there had been twins?" It was in a Stumptown Sunday-school a visitor, who was interrogat ing the children, asked the question: Why was Lot'3 wife turned into a pillar of salt?" There was a small boy, with a preternatural growth of head, piped out, "I s'pose it was because she was too fresh. "How many rods makes a furlong?" asked a father of his son,a fast urchin, as he came home one evening from school. "Well, I don't know," was the reply of young hopeiul "but I fancy you'd think one rod made an acher, if you got such a tanning as I did from old Scroggins this afternoon." The parent stood aghast. A lady who had been teaching her lit tle four-year old the elements of arith metic was astounded by his running in and propounding the following problem: "Mamma, if you had three butterflies and each butterfly had a bug in his ear, how mpny butterflies would you have?" The mother is still at work on the problem. A student was reprimanded by the professors for his lateness at moraine prayers, and excused himself on the plea that the prayers took place too late "How," said the professor, "is sixo'clock too late?" "Yes, sir," replied the student. "If you had them about 4, I could at tend, but no man could be expected to to stay up till six. A little girl in Philadelphia, when asked what bad been her lesson at Sunday school, said, "It was ab:.utthe ten tigers", '•Ten tigers 1 You m. an ten lepers, don you?" "Well, anyhow it was about some of the animals at the zoological.,' There was one important word in that lesson which had not ciKplijned.—Sunday 3chool Time*,.. A gentleman Observed an urShin who had a large slidte ofin his hand, and who was cfying very ibitterly. "My son," he ,e*claiiiiiecj,^ vo'i crying about?" Hlotlier tfrtnV—boo--hoo-oo— put any butter on my bread —boo-hoc oo!" "Oh, is that all?" said the gentle man. "Come, dry up your tears and be a man." "It ain't so much the butter/'re torted the littie urc'iju, "itfa-ttye .dispoei fiori of the old woman. Littk.AUiq,B—m f^Ajr-yearmold, takes great interest in the story of Sampson. Ifot }odg si nee |ie, had hi}ir oui short ift the prevailing' Ie, add sonn after was Been in the vain attempt to turn a somersault. Some one remarked "Allie, you don't sectn to succeed very well in turning somersaults." "No," he crravelv replied "I am not as strong as I was I have lost all my hair." A certain professor was noted for hav ing a certain set of illustrations, from which he could not well deviate without running the risk pf,a blunder. In illus trating- the powerful effects of prussic acid, he was wont to inform the class that a drop placed on a dog's tongue was sufficient to kill him. Oa one occasion, when lecturing his class, he said, .'t'Mr. Smith," addressing a young man whose chance of passing was very slender, "what can you say of prussic .acid? Is it powerful or otherwise?" ''It is rather powerful," said the student, dubiously. yllatlibr powWifful?" saftd'. the professor, indignantly "put a drop oj your tongue, and it would kill,a dog!" The shout of laughter which followed, and Smith's contusion, ievealed to the professor that his illustration had aerwd a double pur pose. The NcwmarKct (Canada) Eri is credited with the following dog ^tale: During the late Provincial Fair, Mr. Wm. Moore of East Gwiilimbury, went to Toronto. His dog essayed to follow .him, but was put off the train between New Market and King stations. Mr. Moore proceeded on—:went to Toronto. Some time after he took the special train for tbe fair ground, and before long found his faithful dog at his heels. Returning to the city that night, Mr. Moore missed the animal—and, strange to say, early next morning the dog turned up at home. Not finding his master there, his dogship started off and when Mr. Moore steeped off the train at the fair grounds about 11 o'clock the same day. there stood his dog looking for him to alight. Whether the animal got down *o Newmarket, boarded the train unobserved and obtained a, free ride to the city, or whether be traveled the whole distance on foot that forenoon, is a mystery but certain it is that he was at home in the early morning, and the same forenoon was at the show grounds in Toronto. How he got home the first night, or how he returned to the city next morning, is a puzzler. The Niglit of the Charity Ball.' BY MB8. M. IIANDY. Now isn't it perfectly horrid. To-night of all nights. I declare, My face should be swollen with toothache? If I just were a man, hoyv I'd swear! I'd go to the ball in a minute— I don't care a fig for the pain But I can't th my face like a dumpling, And I've tried lots of physic in vain. Then my dress, too, it's perfectly lovely! I worried mamma for the lace 8be vowed that pa couldn't afford it And the flowers, I had such a chase To find them—azaleas and hawthorn—( Pule pink is my color, jou know And roses arc getting quite common— Please hand me the chloroform—oh! Pa'll Etorm when tho bill cornea. I know it But that dress would have paid for It all, If I'd only been aole to show it To-night at the charity ball. He says the whole thing is a nuisance— You know how men scold about coet The five dollars paid for mv ticket, I suppose that is uuney justlost. This year, my dear—would you believe it?— He offered to give Kate and me Fifty dollars apiece tor the orphans, If we'd both 6tay away. Well, you see, He'd have made a good thing by the bargain That dress was two hundred and more. So ridiculous!—just like a man, though— As if toe went there for the poor! —Harper's Bazar. A Gold Story. This is from the Burlington Ilawkeye: This is the time of the year to travel and talk with a cold. My cold is very ob stinate, Out I am holding it in check, I think, or rather my friends are holding it in check for me. "i paid but little atten tion to it at first, but as the cough in creased in severity and the hoarseness be came worse, Mrs. Clemments gave me bryonia and phosphorus the day follow ing I went to Middletown, and good Mrs. Brown gave me boneset syrup then, on advice of,a traveling friend, I took to horehound and licorice, but on reaching Erie Mr. Thornton changed my treatment and prescribed chloride of potash lozen gers. I next sent for a regularly ordain ed physician, who gave me a bottle of pills and a box of tablets and a receipt for two dollars. That evening old Mrs. Bryan sent me a bo'tie of carbolic acid and Mr. Gregory ssnt me a carbolic tube. I inhaled the bottie and swallowed the tube, and experienced great relief. I then resolved to refuse any further treatment but Mrs. Dawson persuaded me with a very harmless and rather pleasant pre paration of glycerine and sugar, and at night I still further submitted to a cold water compress. The next day a woman gave me a dose of medicine in a street, and I munched troches all the rest of the day, and declared I would try no more prescriptions. That very night I was tucked into bed by friendly hands and filled to my chin with hot lemonade. To day I am wearing a liver pad around my neck. To-moriow—ubt alas! who can tell -what to-morrow will bring forth 1