him, and under this delusion he conversed with them freely. The Japanese were very polite to him, they bowed and uttered a great many words in their own tongue; but though Josiah could not understand a syllable, he kept plying them with questions about their goods, their country, and their modes of living. "Well, you're a kind o' smart people, too. Kinder yaller in the complexion, like, but maybe ye ain't none the worse for that." The Log Cabin was Josiah's idea of a residence. While he was examining it, the bell rang, and the police ordered his party to move out. "But we ain't through yet. We ain't got the worth of our money," remonstrated Josiah. We next found our friends making frantic efforts to get into a car. "Mother have you got all the children?" "All but one, Josiah. Bless me, where is that Abe Lin coln? Maria Jane where's your brother? There, the car's going off, and we'll be left! Josiah, ask the police to look after our Abe Lincoln. I'll die if anything happens to him." But the police officer refuses to search for Abe Lincoln, being otherwise engaged, and the family feeling is at panic height, when the boy appears, having been trying to smuggle himself in to see the learned pig. "Abe Lincoln, where was you brought up, to go after pigs in that way?" said his mother, administering a cuff; but at the same time adding, "Josiah, that must be a curious crit、 ter! I wish to gracious you had took us to see it." "All aboard!" was shouted. Josiah and two of the children got into one car; his wife, four of the children, and the Brown family got into another, When the separation was discovered a loud wail was raised, "Josiah don't leave your little family!" shrieked his wife. An officer helped Josiah back to his spouse, and the car was about moving off when another shriek attested a fresh catastrophe: the ginger-bread had fallen on the road, and the younger children were wild at the loss. Josiah mildly asked the conductor to stop while he went back for it; but we regret to say that that depraved conduct or looked wickedly at the poor man, and said some words in answer that sounded very strong, to say the least of it. The last words we heard were from Josiah, who was saying to a fellow-passenger: "Yes sir, big affair! I never saw a Centennial before, to my knowledge; but I mean to attend 'em regular at every place after this." MARGERY MILLER. Old Margery Miller sat alone, One Christmas eve, by her poor hearthstone, Unsought, unknown, Her friends, like the birds of summer, had flown. Full eighty summers had swiftly sped, Full eighty winters their snows had shed, One by one had they left her side, Fading like flowers in their summer pride. Had God forgotten she was His own? No castle was hers, with a spacious lawn: A brother she had, who once wore a crown, Unsought, unknown, Where was her kingdom, her crown, her throne? Margery Miller, a child of God, Meekly and bravely life's path had trod, Nor deemed affliction a "chastening rod." Her brother, Jesus, who went before, A crown of thorns in his meekness wore, And what, poor soul! could she hope for more? CCCC* Poor old Margery Miller! Unsought, unknown, Strange that her heart had not turned to stone! Aye, there she sat on that Christmas eve, Oh! for those long, long eighty years, Unsought, unknown, How could she stifle her sad heart's moan? Soft on her ear fell the Christmas chimes, Unsought, unknown, How heavy the burden of life had grown! "Oh, God!" she cried, "I am lonely here, Bereft of all that my heart holds dear; Yet Thou dost never refuse to hear. Oh! if the dead were allowed to speak! Could I only look on their faces meek, How it would strengthen my heart so weak!" Poor old Margery Miller! Sitting alone, Unsought, unknown, What was that light which around her shone? Dim on the hearth burned the embers red, Unsought, unknown, How light the burden of life had grown! She lifted her withered hands on high, And uttered the eager, earnest cry, "God of all mercy! now let me die. Beautiful angels, fair and bright, Holding the hem of your garments white, So earnest grown, Was she left alone? His humble child did the Lord disown? Oh! sweet was the sound of the Christmas bell, Her faith had grown; And now the blossom had brightly blown. Unsought, unknown, God had not forgotten she was His own. A change o'er her pallid features passed; She faintly murmured," God's name be blest!" Faithful Margery Miller! Without one moan, Her patient spirit at length had flown. Next morning a stranger found her there, Her spirit had flown To the world unknown, Where true hearts never can be alone. MOSAICS.-JOTHAM WINROW. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day- Honor and shame from no condition rise, Lo, the poor Indian, whose untutored mind A little learning is a dangerous thing; Oh, give relief, and heaven will bless your store, "Live while you live," the epicure would say, You see mankind the same in every age, "Turn, gentle hermit of the dale, Should auld acquaintance be forgot, Oh, no, my friends, for is it not |