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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
It would never do for her to run and frolic with the rest.

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,
She screamed: "I want my supper-and I want to go to bed !"

Now big folks who are older,

Need not laugh at her, nor scold her,
For doubtless, if the truth were known, we've often felt in-

To leave the ball or party,

As did Annabel McCarty, But we hadn't half her courage and we couldn't speak our mind!

- St. Nicholas.


The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea,
The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly,
And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, lighted

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.

the wave,

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


you hear?"



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 good dame looked from her cottage

At the close of the pleasant day,
And cheerily called to her little son

Outside the door at play:
“Come, Peter, come! I want you to go,

While there is light to see,
To the hut of the blind old man who lives

Across the dike, for me;
And take these cakes I made for him,

They are hot and smoking yet;
You have time enough to go and come

Before the sun is set.”
Then the good-wife turned to her labor,

Huniming a simple song,
And thought of her husband, working hard

At the sluices all day long;
And set the turf a-blazing.

And brought the coarse black bread;
That he might find a fire at night,

And find the table spread.
And Peter left the brother,

With whom all day he'd played,
And the sister who had watched their sporta

In the willow's tender shade;
And told them they'd see him back before

They saw a star in sight,
Though he wouldn't be afraid to go

In the very darkest night!
For he was a brave, bright fellow,

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,
Though never a law in Holland

Had stood to stay his arm!
And now, with his face all glowing,

And eyes as bright as the day
With the thoughts of his pleasant errand,

He trudged along the way;
And soon his joyous prattle

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;
And he felt the sunshine come and go

As Peter came and went.
And now, as the day was sinking,

And the winds began to rise,
The mother looked from her door again,

Shading her anxious eyes;
And saw the shadows deepen,

And birds to their homes come back,
But never a sign of Peter

Along the level track.
But she said, “ He will come at morning,

So I need not fret or grieve-
Thongh it isın't like my boy at all

To stay without my leave.”
But where was the child delaying?

On the homeward way was he,
And across the dike while the sun was up

An hour above the sea.
He was stopping now to gather flowers,

Now listening to the sound,
As the angry waters dashed themselves

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;
You would like to spoil our lands and homes:

But our sluices keep you safe!”
But hark! Through the noise of waters

Comes a low, clear, trickling sound;

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