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Watching me. Oh, Archie Dean,
What a picture of despair;
Why not hie to Kittie Carrol!

She has money, so they say,
And has held it out for lovers

Many and many a weary day.
She is rather plain, I know-
Crooked nose and reddish hair,
And her years are more than yours.
Archie Dean! Archie Dean!
(He is not rich, like Charlie Green.)
What does love for beauty care?
Hie away to Kittie Carrol;
Ask her out to dance with you,
Or she'll think that you are fickle
And your vows of love untrue,
And maybe you'll get the mitten,
Then, ah then, what will you do?
Well, he sighed at me and I laughed at him
As we danced away together.
He pressed my hand but I heeded not,
And whirled off like a feather.
He whispered something about the past,
But I did not heed at all,
For my heart was throbbing loud and fast,
And the tears began to fall.
He led me out beneath the stars,
I told him it was vain
For him to vow. I had no faith
To pledge with him again.
His voice was sad and thrilling and deep,
And my pride flew away,
And left me to weep,
And when he said he loved me most true,
And ever should love me,

Yes, love only you," he said,
I could not help trusting Archie,-

Say, could you ?


Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Wherever is found a true tongne to proclaim,
Sound boldly the question of “Who is to blame ?"
When women grow bitter in toili:g for bread,
And wish that their children were happily dead;

"When men forget manhood, and duty, and love,
And give to the devil what Christ would approve,-

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Wherever is found a true tongue to proclaim,
sound boldly the question of "Who is to blame?”
When age has no comforts and childhood no grace,
When passion and innocence meet face to face,
When murder, unmasked, shows the dye of its hand,
And moves like a citizen free in the land,

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Whether spoken or thought it is ever the same,
The question of questions, oh, who is to blame?
When the bright of our nation, like stars out of place,
Sink down and are lost in that blackness of space,
When the feet of the toil-worn are tempted astray,
And the heat of the cup drowns the heat of the day,–

Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Whether silent or not, the guilt is the same,
And the question lives on, of“ Who is to blame ?”
Oh, Government, standing alone in thy pride,
Who saith to thy people, " No rights are denied,”.
Thou hast freed but one slave, the other's in chains;
The guilt lies with thee-oh, thou art to blamne!
Who is to blame, oh, who is to blame?
Wilt thou answer to-lay in humanity's name,
This blackest of questions: “ Say, who is to blame?”
Wilt thou free--not as Pilate-thy soul of this blood,
Wilt thou thyself rescue the pure and the good,
Wilt thou lift up white hands without tarnish or stain,
And answer, “Thank God, there is no one to blame !"


He smiled blandly as he halted for a moment in front of the City Hall. He looked like a man who could palm off almost anything on the public at 100 per cent. protit, and yet leave each customer in a grateful mood. He had a tin trunk in his hand, and as he sailed down La Fayette avenue the boys wondered whether the trunk contained tax receipts or horse liniment. The stranger halted in front of a residence, his smile deepened, and he mounted the steps and pulled the bell.

“ Is the lady at home?" he inquired of the girl who answered the bell.

The girl thought he was the census taker, and she seated him in the parlor and called the lady of the house. When the lady entered the stranger rose, bowed, and said:

"Madam, I have just arrived in this town after a tour extending clear down to Florida, and wherever I went I was received with glad welcome.”

“ Did you wish to see my husband ?" she asked, as he opened the tin trunk.

“No, madam ; I deal directly with the lady of the house in all cases.

A woman will appreciate the virtues of my exterminator and purchase a bottle, where a man will order me off the steps without glancing at it.”

“Your-your what ?" she asked.

“Madam,” he replied, as he placed a four-cunce phial of dark liquid on the palın of his left hand; “ madam, I desire to call your attention to my Sunset Bedbug Exterminator. It has been tried at home and abroad, and in no case has it failed to"

“What do you mean, sir?” she demanded, getting very red in the face. “ Leave this house instantly."

“Madam, I do not wish you to infer from my—" “I want you to leave this house!" she shrieked.

Madam, allow me to explain my—" “I will call the police!" she screamed, making for the door, and he hastily locked his trunk and hurried out.

Going down the street about two blocks he saw the lady of the house at the parlor window, and instead of climbing the steps he stood under the window and politely said :

“Madam, I don't wish to even hint that any of the bedsteads in your house are inhabited by bedbugs, but—"

“What! What's that?" she exclaimed.

“I said that I hadn't the remotest idea that any of the bedsteads in your house were infested by bedbugs,” he replied.

Take yourself out of this yard !" she shouted, snatching a tidy off the back of a chair and brandishing it at him.

“Beg pardon, madam, but I should like to call your"

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“Get out!" she screamed; "get out, or I'll call the gardeer!"

“I will get out, inadam, but I wish you understood -"

“ J-il-W-11! J-a-w-n!" she shouted out of a side window, but the exterminator agent was out of the yard before John wild get around the house. lle seemed discouraged as he walked down the street,

but he had traveled less than a block when he saw a stout woman sitting on the front steps of a fine residence, fanning herself.

“Stout women are always good-natured,” he soliloquized as he opened the gate.

“Haven't got anything for the grasshopper sufferers !" she called out as he entered.

There was an angelic smile on his face as he approached the steps, set his trunk down, and said:

"My mission, madam, is even nobler than acting as agent for a distressed community. The grasshopper sufferers do not comprise a one-hundredth part of the world's population, wbile my mission is to relieve the whole world.”

“I don't want any peppermint essence,” she continued as he started to unlock the trunk.

“Great heavens, madam, do I resemble a peddler of cheap essences 2" he exclaimeil. “I am not one. I am here in Dei roit to enhance the comforts of the night-to produce pleasant dreams. Let me call your attention to my Sunset Bedbug Exterminator, a liquid warranted to—":

Bed what ?" she screamed, ceasing to fin her fat cheeks. “My Sunset Bedbug Externinator. It is to-day in use in she humble negro cabins on the banks of the Arkansaw, as well as in the royal palace of her Majesty Q_"

"You r-r-rascall you villyun!” she wheezed ; “how dare you insult me, m"No insult, madam, it is a pure matter of—"

Leave! Git 0-w-t!" she screamed, clutching at his hair, and he had to go out in such a hurry that he couldn't lock the trunk until he reached the walk.

He traveled several blocks and turned several corners before he halted again, and his smile faded away to a melancholy grin. He saw two or three ragged children at a gate, noticed that the house was old, and he braced up and entereu.


“I vbants no zoap," said the woman of the house as she stood in the door.

“Soap, madam, soap? I have no soap. I noticed that you lived in all old house, and as old houses are pretty apt to be infested -" “I vhants no bins or needles to-day!" she shouted.

Madam, I am not a peddler of Yankee notions," he replied. “I am selling a liquid, prepared only by myself, which is warranted to-"

"I vhants no baper gollers !” she exclaimed, motioning for him to leave.

" Paper collars! I have often been mistaken for Shakspeare, madam, but never before for a paper collar peddler. Let me urilock my trunk and show_"

“I vhants no matches-no dobacco-no zigars !" she interrupted; and her husband came round the corner and, after eyeing the agent for a moment, remarked:

“ If you don't be quick out of here I shall not have any shoking about it!"

At dusk last night the agent was sitting on a salt barrel in front of a commission house, and the shadows of evening were slowly deepening the melancholy look on his face.

- Detroit Free Press.


Please, sir, I have brought you the ticket

You gave her a short week ago;
My own little girl I am ineanin',

The one with the fair hair, you know,
And the blue eyes so gentle and tender,

And sweet as the angels above,
God help me, she's one of thim now, sir,

And I've nothing at all left to love.
It has come on me suddin, ye see, sir;

She was never an ailin' child,
Though her face was as white as a lily,

And her ways just that quiet and mild.
The others was always a trouble,

And botherin', too, every way,
But the first tears as ever she cost me

Are them that I'm sheddin' to-day.

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