THE TWINS. IN form and feature, face and limb, And not a soul knew which. One day (to make the matter worse), As we were being washed by nurse, This fatal likeness even dogged My footsteps when at school, What would you do, if you were me, hold them at the festal board. Everything is novel and strange, yet they give no token of surprise, and scorn to betray their sense of awkwardness, even so much as by asking questions. They take what is offered them and gulp it down with stern and desperate gravity. To one of them a pot of mustard is handed. He helps himself liberally to the mild-looking mixture, and swallows a good spoonful of it. Spirit of the tornado! Fiend of the burning prairie! What is this molten fire, compared to which the "firewater" of the trader is as bland as milk? The unhappy warrior struggled to conceal his agony; but though he succeeded in avoiding any contortion of the features, the tears, to his unspeakable disgust, chased themselves in a stream down his dusky cheeks. What would he not have given for an opportunity of scalping the innocent occasion of his trouble Meanwhile his discomfort had not escaped the keen eyes of an Indian who sat beside him. Nudging his tearful comrade, the latter inquired in low, guttural accents, the cause of his emotion. Suppressing his rage, the other mildly answered, that he was thinking of his honored father who had lately gone to the happy hunting grounds. Whether this explanation was regarded by the questioner as perfectly satisfactory we have no means of knowing; he did not, however, press his inquiries any further, nor does he appear to have suspected that the contents of the little jar had had anything in particular to do with the doleful memories of his friend. Presently the mustard came to him. It was a compound all untried; but the warrior was a stranger to fear. He took the condiment without hesitation, and he swallowed it freely-just once. Ah!! Death and torments! Is he on fire ?-Will he die? A PARTY of Indians were being fêted on He is not quite sure; but it requires all his the occasion of their first introduction to strength to keep quiet-The blood mounts the manners and customs of the "Pale to his head, and the tears-ugh!-that he Faces." The stoicism of the red man is a should thus play the squaw before all this well-known trait. From childhood these company-rush from his bulging eyes. Inchildren of the forest are schooled to en- dian No. 1 is an interested observer of this dure pain without crying or wincing; and little incident. His eyes had been upon to be equally undemonstrative also in their mustard pot, and he had quietly awaited emotions of joy. Any departure from this developments. His turn had now come; standard of manliness they regard as a his revenge was at hand. Nudging his incontemptible weakness. The Indians of wardly writhing neighbor, he asked, in mildour story were true "braves," whom no new est gutterals, "My brother, why do you weep?" experience, either of satisfaction or displeas- To which the furious sufferer gently replied, ure, could startle into any sign more ex- "I was weeping to think that when your pressive than a grunt; their countenances precious father went to the happy hunting being uniformly grave and impassive. Be-grounds he did not take you with him." Our close resemblance turned the tide For somehow my intended bride In short, year after year the same HENRY S. LEIGH. THE INDIANS AND THE MUSTARD. the THE YELLOW DOMINO. IN the latter part of the reign of Louis XV. of France the masquerade was an entertainment high in estimation, and was often given at an immense cost on court days and such occasions of rejoicing. As persons of all ranks might gain admission to these spectacles, provided they could afford the purchase of the ticket, very strange rencontres frequently took place at them, and exhibitions almost as curious in the way of disguise or assumption of character. But perhaps the most whimsical among the genuine surprises recorded at any of these spectacles, was that which occurred in Paris the 15th of October, on the day when the dauphin (son of Louis XV.) attained the age of one and twenty. At this fête, which was of a peculiarly glittering character-so much so, that the details of it are given at great length by the historians of the day-the strange demeanor of a man in a yellow domino, early in the evening, excited attention. This mask, who showed nothing remarkable as to figure, ---though tall rather, and of robust proportions, seemed to be gifted with an appetite, not merely past human conception, but passing the fancies even of romance: The dragon of old, who churches ate, he was a nibbler-a mere fool-to this stranger of the yellow domino. He passed from chamber to chamber-from table to table of refreshments, not tasting but devouring, devastating all before him. At one board, he despatched a fowl, two thirds of a ham, and half a dozen bottles of champaign; the very next minute he was found seated in another apartment, performing the same feat with a stomach better than at first. This strange course went on until the company, who at first had been amused by it, became alarmed and tumultuous. "Is it the same mask or are there several dressed alike?" demanded an officer of the guards, as the yellow domino rose from a seat opposite to him and left the apartment. "I have seen but one, and by Heavens ! he is here again," exclaimed the party to whom the query was addressed. The yellow domino spoke not a word, but proceeded straight to the vacant seat which he had just left and again commenced supping, as though he had fasted for the half of a campaign. At length the confusion which the proceeding created, became universal; and the cause reached the ears of the dauphin. "He is a very fiend, your highness!" exclaimed an old nobleman, "or wants but a tail to be so!" 'Say rather he should be a famished poet, by his appearance," replied the prince, laughing. But there must be some juggling; he spills all his wine, and hides the provisions under his robe." Even while they were speaking, the yellow domino entered the room in which they were talking, and, as usual, proceeded to the table of refreshments. "See here, my lord," cried one—" I have seen him do this twice!" "I thrice!"-"I five times!"-" and I fifteen!" This was too much. The master of the ceremonies was questioned. He knew nothing, and the yellow domino was interrupted as he was carrying a bumper of claret to his lips. "The prince desires that monsieur who wears the yellow domino should unmask." The stranger hesitated. "The command with which his highness honors monsieur is perfectly absolute." Against that which is absolute there is no contending. The yellow man threw off his mask and domino; and proved to be a private trooper of the Irish dragoons! when "And in the name of gluttony, my good friend (not to ask how you gained admission), how have you contrived," said the prince, "to sup to-night so many times?" Sire, I was but beginning to sup, your royal message interrupted me." Beginning!" exclaimed the dauphin, in amazement," then what is it I have heard and seen? Where are the herds of oxen that have disappeared, and the hampers of burgundy? I insist upon knowing how this is!" แ "It is, sire." returned the soldier, “may it please your grace, that the troop to which I belong is to-day on guard. We have purchased one ticket among us, and provided this yellow domino, which fits us all. By which means the whole of the front rank, being myself the last man, have supped, if the truth must be told, at discretion! and the leader of the second rank, saving your highness's commands, is now waiting outside the door to take his turn." A NUTTING ADVENTURE. A PARTY of adventurous lads, myself among the number, were out for a glorious holiday. Each had his canvas bag across his shoulder, and we stole along the stone wall yonder, and entered the woods beneath that group of chestnuts. Two of us acted as outposts on picket guard, and another, young Teddy Shoopegg by name, the best climber in the village, did the shaking. There were five busy pairs of hands beneath | these trees, I can tell you; for each of us fully realized the necessity of making the most of his time, not knowing how soon the warning cry from our outposts might put us all to headlong flight, for the alarm, Turner's coming!" was enough to lift the hair of any boy in town. with elegant large nuts, that we had all แ look eeah, yeu boys," exclaimed a high-pitched voice from the neighboring shrubbery, accompanied by the form of Deacon Turner, approaching at a brisk pace, hardly thirty feet away. "Don't yeu think yeu've got jest about enuff'o Of course, a wild panic ensued, in which we made for the bags and dear life; but Turner was prepared and ready for the emergency, and raising a huge old shot-gun, he levelled it and yelled, "Don't any on ye stir ner move, or I'll blow the heads clean off n the hull pile on ye. I'd shoot ye quicker'n lightnin'." But luck seemed to favor us on that day. We "cleaned out" six big chestnut trees, and then turned our attention to the hicko-them nuts ?" ries. There was a splendid, tall shag-bark close by, with branches fairly loaded with the white nuts in their open shucks. They were all ready to drop, and when the shaking once commenced, the nuts came down like a shower of hail, bounding from the rocks, rattling among the dry leaves, and keeping up a clatter all around. We scrambled on all fours, and gathered them by quarts and quarts. There was no need of poking over the leaves for them, the ground was covered with their bleached shells, all in plain sight. While busily engaged, we noticed an ominous lull among the branches overhead. "'Sst! 'sst!" whispered Shoopegg up above; "I see old Turner on his white horse daown the road yonder." Coming this way ?" also in a whisper, from below. "I dunno yet, but I jest guess you'd better be gittin reddy to leg it, fer he's hitchin' his old nag 't the side o' the road. Yis, sir, I b'leeve he's a-comin'. Shoopegg, you'd better be gittin' aout 'o this," and he commenced to drop hap-hazard from his lofty perch. In a moment, however, he seemed to change his mind, and paused, once more upon the watch. 'Say, fellers,' he again broke in, as we were preparing for a retreat, "he's gone off to'rd the cedars; he ain't cummin' this way at all." So he again ascended into the tree-top, and finished his shaking in peace, and we our picking also. There was still another tree, And we believed him, for his aim was true, and his whole expression was not that of a man who was trifling. I never shall forget the uncomfortable sensation that I experienced as I looked into the muzzle of that double-barrelled shot-gun, and saw both hammers fully raised, too. And I can see now the squint and the glaring eye that glanced along those barrels There was a wonderful persuasive power lurking in those horizontal tubes; so I hastened to inform the Deacon that we were not going to run.' แ 66 Wa'al," he drawled, "it looked a leetle that way, I thort, a spell ago;" and he still kept us in the field of his weapon, till at length I exclaimed, in desperation, "Point that gun in some other way, will you?" Wa'al, no I'm not fer pintin' it enny whar else jest yit-not until you've sot them ar bags daown agin, jist whar ye got 'em, every one on ye." The bags were speedily replaced, and he slowly lowered his gun. "Wa'al, naow," he continued, as he came 66 up in our midst, "this is putty bizniss, | and soon left the town behind them. They ain't it? Bin havin' a putty likely sort 'o were good boys, faithful attendants upon the time, teu, I sh'd jedge from the looks 'o Sunday school; and they knew a lot of these 'ere bags. One-two-six on 'em; Bible history, and had considerable knowlan' I vaow they must be nigh on teu teu ledge of the angels and the cherubim and the an' a half bushel in every pleggy one on seraphim, but concerning natural history, 'em. Wa'al, naow" with his peculiar their ignorance was unusually profound and drawl-"look eeah: you're a putty ondus- comprehensive. This may have had sometrious lot 'o thieves, I'm blest if ye ain't." thing to do with the fact that they tramped But the Deacon did all the talking, for his about the whole afternoon, up hill and down, manoeuvres were such as to render us over fields and meadows, ditches and hedges, speechless. Putty likely place teu come without bagging a single piece of game. a nuttin', ain't it?" Pause. Putty nice On their weary homeward way in the twimess 'o shell-barks ye got thar, I tell ye. light, when they had given up all hope of Quite a sight 'o chestnuts in yourn, ain't bringing anything down, they suddenly esthey?" pied a large bird on a neighboring tree. All excitement, the blunderbuss was rested on a fence, and carefully aimed and fired. To their inexpressible joy, the bird fell. As they were so near the town as to be in doubt whether their firing was not a breach of the law, it was deemed prudent for one of them to stand sentry by the road-side, in order to give the note of warning if need be, while the other climbed the fence in search of the bird. The latter duty devolved on Tom, while Joe kept watch. Tom soon discovered the game, which proved to be an owl. The boy had never seen such a bird before, and as he observed its large round head, and grave, uncanny face, and contrasted its expanse of wings with its marked brevity of tail, he thought of those peculiar, celestial creatures, all head and wings, of which he had seen pictures, and was filled with superstitious awe. With uprising hair and pallid face, he rushed back to his waiting friend and gasped out the startling intelligence, " Joe, we've shot a cherubim !" There was only one spoken side to this dialogue, but the pauses were eloquent on both sides, and we boys kept up a deal of tall thinking as we watched the Deacon alternate his glib remarks by the gradual removal of the bags to the foot of a neigh boring tree. This done, he seated himself upon a rock beside them. Thar," he exclaimed, removing his tall hat, and wiping his white-fringed forehead with a red bandana handkerchief. "I'm much obleeged. I've bin a-watchin' on ye gittin' these 'ere nuts the hull arternoon. thort as haow yeu might like to know it." And then, as though a happy thought had struck him, what should he do but deliberately spit on his hands and grasp his gun, "Look eeah "—a pause, in which he cocked both barrels- 66 yeu boys waz paowerful anxyis teu git away from eeah a spell ago. Naow yeu kin git ez lively ez yeu please. I hain't got nothin' more fer ye teu deu today." And bang! went one of the gunbarrels directly over our heads. We got; and when once out of gunrange we paid the Deacon a wealth of those rare compliments for both eye and ear that always swell the boys' vocabulary. "All right," he yelled back in answer, as he transported the bags across the field. "Cum agin next year-cum agin. Alluz welcome! alluz welcome!"-W. H. GIBSON. A RARE BIRD. Two boys, finding themselves in possession of a half-holiday, resolved to devote it to a gunning expedition, and so, borrowing a rusty old fowling-piece, they sallied forth STRIKES, STRIKE the lute, sir, if you like, Strike, by all means, the guitar, But, you'll pardon the reminder "MIDDLERIB'S AUTOMATIC WEL COME." THE Burlington Hawkeye thus describes an improvement added to its editorial office furniture: and the nail-grab resumed its accustomed place, young Mr. Bostwick found himself so kind of out of the sanctum, like it might be, that he went slowly and dejectedly down the stairs, as it were, while amazement sat upon his brow, like. The next casual visitor was Mr. J. Alexis Flaxeter, the critic. He had a copy of the We believe it is fully equal, in all that Hawkeye in his hand, with all the typograthe term implies, to the famous Bogardess phical errors marked in red ink, and his Kicker, less liable to get out of order, and face was so wreathed in smiles that it was less easily detected by casual visitors. It impossible to tell where his mouth ended is known as Middlerib's Automatic Wel- and his eyes began. He took the vacant come. The sanctum is on the same floor chair and spread the paper out before him, as the news room, being separated by a covering up the editor's manuscript. "My partition, in which is cut a large window keen vision and delicate sense of accuracy, easily opened by an automatic arrangement. he said, are the greatest crosses of my The editor's table is placed in front of that life. Things that you never see are moun-window and near the head of the stairs; tains in my sight. Now, here you see is a and on the side of the table next the window, directly opposite the editor, the visitor's chair is placed. It has an inviting look about it, and its entire appearance is guileless and commonplace. But the strip of floor on which that chair rests is a deception and a fraud. It is an endless chain, like the floor of a horse power, and is operated at will by the editor, who has merely to touch a spring in the floor to set it in motion. Its operation can best be understood by personal inspection. Yesterday morning about ten o'clock, Mr. Bostwick came in with a funny story to tell. He naturally flopped down into the chair that had the strongest appearance of belonging to some one else, and began in his usually happy vein: "I've got the richest thing-oh! ha, ha, ha!-the best thing-oh, by George! I can't-oh! ha, ha, ha! Oh! it's too good! Oh! by George, the richest thing! Oh! it's too loud! You must never tell where you got-oh, by George! I can't do it! it's too good! You know-oh, ha, ha, ha, oh, he, he, he! You know the-oh, by George, I ca" Here the editor touched the spring, a nail-grab under the bottom of the chair reached swiftly up and caught Mr. Bostwick by the cushion of his pants, the window flew up and the noiseless belt of floor gliding on its course bore the astonished Mr. Bostwick through the window out into the news room, half way down to the cases, where he was received with great applause by the delighted compositors. The window had slapped down as soon as he passed through, and when the editorial foot was withdrawn from the spring and the chair stopped The spring clicked softly like an echo to the impatient movement of the editor's foot, the nail-grab took hold like a bull-dog helping a Burlington troubadour over the garden fence, the chair shot back through the window like a meteor, and the window came down with a slam, and all was silent again. Mr. Flaxeter sat very close to the frosted window, staring blankly at the clouded glass, seeing nothing that could offer any explanation of what he would have firmly believed was a landslide, had he not heard the editor, safe in his guarded den, softly whistling, "We shall meet but we shall miss him." Then there was a brief interval of quiet in the sanctum and a rustling of raiment was heard on the stairs. A lovely woman entered and stood unawed in the editorial presence. The E. P., on its part, was rather nervous and uncomfortable. The lovely woman seated herself in the fatal chair. She slapped her little gripsack on the table and opened her little subscription book. She said "I am soliciting cash contributions-strictly, exclusively and peremptorily cash contributions-to pay off the church debt and to buy an organ for the Mission Church of the Forlorn Strangers, and I expect- There are times when occasion demands great effort. The editor bowed his head, and after one brief spasm of remorse felt for the secret spring. The window went up like a charm. The reckless nail-grab hung back for a second, as if held by a feeling of innate delicacy, and then it shut its eyes and smothered its pity and reached up and took a deathlike hold on a roll of able and influential newspapers and |