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"You're so stupid! I'm quite hoarse Talking to you!” “What goes off?
Why, the rabbit does, of course.”
HOW AN ANGEL LOOKS.
OBIN, holding his mother's hand,
Throws some kisses from rosy lips,
Slips her hand through his soft brown hair;
Speaks aloud in an earnest prayer:
Asked the boy, in a wondering tone.
Watching me while I'm all alone?”
Kindliest voices and sweetest eyes.”
Cried and looked with a pleased surprise,
The heart, like a tendril accustomed to cling,
Let it grow where it will, can not flourish alone, But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing
It can twine to itself, and make closely its own.
SHE EARNED HER HALF.
N. P. BABCOCK. THOUGHT you had given up betting on the horse-races,” said Mrs. De Tompkins, to her lord and master the other
afternoon. “I trust you haven't wavered in the belief,” said Mr. De Tompkins.
Ignoring the remark, the wife quietly asked: “How much did you win on Ben Brush?”
Look here, madam,” said her husband, angrily, “ if you've been spying on my actions or hiring anybody to dog my steps, all I have to say is, you might be more profitably employed.'
“Don't get excited, Frederick. I have neither the money nor the inclination to employ detectives. It isn't necessary. I have merely used the method which you ridicule. You know you have called the Sherlock Holmes stories absurd.” “So they are; what's that got to do with it?”
Everything, my dear. You got off the street-car before it fairly stopped. I saw you from the window. That meant that you were feeling well and in good spirits. You spoke cheerily to Julia on the block and even patted little Mary's head. Instead of setting your cane down in the rack with a thump, you let it fall gingerly into its place. I observe even now, as you are washing your hands, that there are four cigars cropping out of your vest pocket. Now look at your coat, there is chalk on the sleeve. And what is this on the back? The plain mark of four fingers and a thumb. Do you deny that it is the brand of that good-for-nothing Major Sportley's hand, or that he struck you a hearty blow on the back in the billiard-room when the news that Ben Brush had won came in over the ticker?”
“Goodness!” said Mr. De Tompkins, "you're a wonder. “But,” suddenly, "why do you think it was Ben Brush?"
“Ah, Freddie dear,” said Mrs. De Tompkins, sweetly,“ when you leave your morning newspaper by your chair at the breakfast table, with the sporting page turned outside, you shouldn't make a hole with your toothpick through the name of the horse you fancy most. Now, Freddie, how much was it, and how much do I get?"
TWO OF A KIND.
ATRICK O'MARS, a private in the Ninth Regulars, went
to the colonel of his regiment, and asked for a two weeks'
leave of absence. The colonel was a severe disciplinarian, who did not believe in extending too many privileges to his men, and did not hesitate to use a subterfuge in evading the granting of one.
'Well,” said the colonel, “ what do you want a two weeks' furlough for?”
Patrick answered: “ Me wife is sick and the children are not well, and if ye didn't moind she would like to have me home for a few weeks to give her a bit of assistance.” The colonel eyed him for a few minutes, and said:
Patrick, I might grant your request, but I got a letter from your wife this morning saying that she didn't want you home; that you were a nuisance and raised a rumpus whenever you were there. She hopes I won't let you have any more furloughs.”
That settles it. I suppose I can't get the furlough, then?” said Pat.
“No, I'm afraid not, Patrick. It wouldn't be well for me to do so under the circumstances.
It was Pat's turn now to eye the colonel, as he started for the door. Stopping suddenly he said:
Colonel, can I say something to ye?” "Certainly, Patrick, what is it?" “You won't get mad, colonel, if I say it?" "Certainly not, Patrick; what is it?'
I want to say there are two splendid liars in this room, and I'm one of them. I was niver married in me loife.”
INTO the house he came running,
And begged me to cut off his curls,
As bright and as fair as a girl's.
“Because our old hen,” pouted he,
(From "Songs of War and Peace,” by permission of Messrs. Lee and
Say he's almighty smart.
An’ what's he do? Wall, what d'ye think?
An' what the deuce is art?
But our girls thinks he's smart.
'Tain't bread, nor cheese, nor meat; 'Tain't pie, nor puddin', nor corn'-beef,
Nor nuthin' fit to eat:”.
'Twarn't nothin' fit to eat.
My girls take everything he says
Without a gasp or guli —
An' fools who love to skulp.
No images for me.
“ Then what is their idee?"
But they ain't corn, nor wheat,
Nor nuthin' fit to eat."
That they warn't fit to eat.
He showed a picture t'other day
That made a monstrous hit,A picture of a durned ol' cow
They said was exquisite.
How much milk does your picture give?”
Says I to him one day,
For he didn't know what to say.
That's mighty hard to beat; But that air painted cow of yourn,
Is she good steak to eat?”
That she warn't fit to eat.
An' picture filagree!
That suits the likes of me.
Stone images or pie?
“The cows themselves," says I.
"Are they best baked or b'iled ?" said I, “An' are they fit to eat?” An' then the fool he owned right up
That they warn't fit to eat.
THE BATTLE OF MANILA.
[By permission of the author.) UT of the deep, O Lord,
Thy Spirit moves and passes and none knows
The Sovereign Will directing where it goes Save only Thou, O Lord ! Thy ways are mystery. Oft, while Thou dost sit With folded hands and deep eyes brooding o’er The wrong and anguish of this world of sin, We count Thee blind, and, vaunting our own wit, Build the frail loom wherewith we think to spin