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Miss Annabel McCarty
Was the youngest at the party, And every one remarked that she was beautifully dressed;
Like a doll she sat demure y
On the sofa, thinking surely
The noise kept growing louder;
The naughty boys would crowd her; “I think you're very rude indeed !” the little lady said;
And then, without a warning,
Her home instructions scorning,
Now big folks who are older,
Need not laugh at her, nor scold her,
As did Annabel McCarty, But we hadn't half her courage and we couldn't speak our mind!
- St. Nicholas.
THE LAST HYMN.-MARIANNE FARNINGIIAM.
The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea,
west, And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon
of rest. But they looked across the waters, and a storm wus raging
there; A fierce spirit moved above them-the wild spirit of the airAnd it lashed, and shook, and tore them till they thun
dered, groaned, and boomed, And, alas! for any vessel in their yawning gulss entombed. Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of Wales: Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful
tales, When the sea had spent its passion and should cast upon
the shore Bits of wreck, and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore. With the rough winds blowing round her a brave woman
strained her eyes, As she saw along the billuns a lurge vessel fill aud rise.
Oh! it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be, For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea. Then the pitying people hurried from their homes and
thronged the beach. Oh, for power to cross the waters and the perishing to
reach ! Helpless hands were wrung in terror, tender hearts grew
cold with dread, And the ship urged by the tempest to the fatal rock-shore
sped. "She has parted in the middle! Oh, the half of her goes
down! God have mercy! Is His heaven far to seek for those who
drown?" Lo! when next the white, shocked faces looked with terror
on the sea, Only one last clinging figure on a spar was seen to be. Nearer to the trembling watchers came the wreck tossed by And the man still clung and floated, though no power on
earth could save. "Could we send him a short message? Here's a trumpet,
shout away!" 'Twas the preacher's hand that took it, and he wondered
what to say. Any memory of his sermon? Firstly? Secondly? Ah, no. There was but one thing to utter in that awful hour of woe. So he shouted through the trumpet, “ Look to Jesus! Can And“Aye, aye, sir!" rang the answer o'er the waters loud
and clear. Then they listened, “He is singing ‘Jesus, lover of my soul,'” And the winds brought back the echo, “While the nearer
waters roll." Strange indeed it was to hear him, “Till the storm of life is
past," Singing bravely o'er the waters. “Oh, receive my soul at
last." He could have no other refuge, “ Hangs my helpless soul
on thee." “Leave, oh! leave me not"—the singer dropped at last into
the sea. And the watchers looking homeward, through their eyes by
tears made dim, Said, “He passed, to be with Jesus in the singing of that
PIMPKIN VERSUS BODKIN.
Jeremiah Pimpkin was an honorable citizen and a house. holder, and among his class he was an oracle. He flattered himself on his shrewdness. He often declared that he should have been a lawyer. He fancied that Solon Bodkin, Esquire, would have fared but slimly against him in forensic contest. Pimpkin raised turkeys, and upon a certain occasion it happened that a prowling dog made a raid upon his flock and killed four fine gobblers that were being fatted for the Thanksgiving market. Pimpkin made due inquiry and investigation, and satisfied himself beyond a peradventure that the marauding canine was the property of Lawyer Bodkin. Here was an opportunity he had long coveted. He waited upon the lawyer in his office, and was warmly welcomed, and invited to a seat.
"Squire," said Pimpkin, "s'pose a neighbor's dog should kill a lot of my turkeys, could I recover damages by law?"
“ Certainly,” replied Bodkin,“ you can recover-that is, if you can prove the fact.”
“Oh, I can prove it. I've got the evidence all right and tight. And so you think there can be no doubt ?”
“Not in the least. And now, what are the circumstances ?”
"Well, Squire, last night your dog killed four of my best turkeys. What do you think about it now?"
"Why, my dear sir, I think you can recover. That is the law. What is the amount of damage ?”
"Them turkeys was worth a dollar apiece, Squire. Four dollars will settle.”
“All right,” said Bodkin. “I wish to deal legally. Here is the sum."
And the lawyer handed over the four dollars which Pimpkin took with a chuckle, and then departed.
Jeremiah Pimpkin had reached his home, having related his sharp practice with the lawyer to all his friends whom he had met on the way, and had just told the story to hus wife, when Deputy Sheriff Reacher unceremoniously entered his domicile.
"A small bill, Mr. Pimpkin, which Squire Bodkin says I will collect or he will sue it to-day.”
"A bill!-Squire Bodkin!" echoed Pimpkin, aghast.
“Yes,” smiled the Sheriff, “ a bill for professional services in the case of 'Pimpkin versus Bodkin.' He says you sought advice upon legal points bearing on the case.
The bill is five dollars. sir-expense of officer, one dollar-total, six dollars."
Pimpkin scratched his head vigorously, but he could scratch no path-out from the trouble. He paid the bill, and from that time he was never heard to speak boastingly of his legal acumen.
THE LEAK IN THE DIKE.-PHEBE CARY.
A STORY OF HOLLAND.
At the close of the pleasant day,
Outside the door at play:
While there is light to see,
Across the dike, for me;
They are hot and smoking yet;
Before the sun is set.”
Huniming a simple song,
At the sluices all day long;
And brought the coarse black bread;
And find the table spread.
With whom all day he'd played,
In the willow's tender shade;
They saw a star in sight,
In the very darkest night!
With eye and conscience clear;
He could do whatever a boy might do,
And he had not learned to fear. Why, he wouldn't have robbed a bird's nest,
Nor brought a stork to harm,
Had stood to stay his arm!
And eyes as bright as the day
He trudged along the way;
Made glad a lonesome placeAlas! if only the blind old man
Could have seen that hapy faceYet he somehow caught the brightness
Which his voice and presence lent;
As Peter came and went.
And the winds began to rise,
Shading her anxious eyes;
And birds to their homes come back,
Along the level track.
So I need not fret or grieve-
To stay without my leave.”
On the homeward way was he,
An hour above the sea.
Now listening to the sound,
Against their narrow bound. "Ah! well for us," said Peter,
“That the gates are good and strong, And my father tends them carefully,
Or iliey would not hold you long!" “You're a wicked sea," said Peter;
“I know why you fret and chafe;
But our sluices keep you safe!”
Comes a low, clear, trickling sound;