steady stream of cold water from some unfriendly source.

Before we could investigate the matter or get into dry clothes, a violent ringing of the door-bell was heard, and a sound as of smashing glass and tramping feet in the rooms below. Leander was shouting, “Father Father!” without regard to elocu

! tionary rules, and Miranda Dorothea was screaming with fright. Aristarchus was struggling into some clothes and I was wrapping a bed-quilt about my drenched person, when our chamber door burst suddenly open and a fireman, with glazed hat on his head and axe in hand, demanded to be told in what part of the house the fire was located. We had hard work to convince him that the house was not and had not been on fire, and our united efforts were unavailing to stop the stream of water that was pouring into our chamber, or the stream of furniture and books that was pouring out of the rooms below, until the latter were nearly emptied and the former was nearly inundated. But the work of destruction was at last stayed, and the fire-company and attending crowd dispersed, except an army of small boys, who remained behind to cheer Aristarchus and me, while we conveyed the ruins of our books and furniture into the house. Many of the books were torn from their covers as they were thrown from the windows, and some were soaked with water, while not an article of furniture had escaped damage of some kind. It seemed likely to prove the most expensive adventure with which we had ever met.

Aristarchus dropped elocution—so did Leander and Miranda Dorothea. I never picked it up.

THE OLD MAN'S SHIP COMES HOME.

С

H. H. BROWN.
LIMB the old tower, watchman,
And cheerily ring the bell;

Out upon this early air

Let its clear tones swell;
For low! upon the waves afar,
'Neath the morning's brightest star,

A ship is riding at full sail !

She'll anchor in the haven, Ere yet the sun shines clear!

Then loudly ring, watchman, And call the people here.

'Twas years ago, long years ago,

Those new white sails were set.
Many have ceased their watch and gone;

But I am watching yet!
Many look from the yonder shore

With love for the wanderer here,
And music floats through the open door,-

Music to soothe and cheer.
They bid me wait; in patience watch;

Help me to work and win;
Help me to climb life's headlands steep

And bear its woe and sin.
And thus I've waited that ship's return

That bore my all away,
The bark of youth that sailed from port

Seventy years to-day!
Therein I sent my dearest treasure

Faith in God and trust in man;

Hope and love and aspiration

Will it ne'er return again? Never for a moment doubting,

Oft on yon height I've stood alone, Knowing, in the Father's good time,

She would ride in triumph home.

And now beneath the morning-star

I see her pennon float;
And through the radiant door ajar

I hear the welcome note.
Glorious she comes ! ( watchman, ring!
Ring loud, ring long, thy bell shall sing,
“The ship is here!”

The ship is here!”
Oh, let the bell
Break the silent spell,

And to the sleeping heaven tell
The ship is here!”

“Oh, speed her well! [Bell.] Speed well!”

Watchman, with each clanging stroke
Nearer comes the expectant bark.

With each wave's swell

Is timed thy bell, An' people crowd thy dock

And join the cry: [People.] “The ship is here!” Bell.]

"Speed well! Speed well!” (People.] "The ship is here!” ĪBell.]

'Speed well! Speed well!”

Hark! she hears thy ring of bell

And answers with her gun: [Bell.]

“ 'Tis well!” Gun.] Boom! boom!” (Bell.]

“ 'Tis well! 'Tis well!” She comes in triumph then; Our ventures have successful been. [Old man.] "Hurrah! Hurrah!” [Bell.]

"Speed well! Speed well!” I've watched her oft and waited long But now, thank God! my ship comes home. [Old man.] "Thank God! [Bell.]

“ 'Tis well!” old man.] "Thank God!” (Bell.]

“ 'Tis well!” Oh, let your bell ring out again! [Old man.] "Thank God!' Bell.]

“Amen!” Old man.] "Thank God!” [Bell.]

“Amen! amen! amen!”

Captain, sold ye my venture?

venture? and the price? Nay! I read in thy honest face, My ventures brought me but disgrace!

a

Silver and gold and merchandise,

The money sent,
Brought rich return;

My life I lent
'Twas a useless urn!
Have pity, God. Oh, toll the bell;

Toll slow the bell,
O'er a wasted life, o'er hopes interred;
O'er trust misplaced, o'er an aching void.

Oh, toll the bell! Toll the bell !
But yet God's hand is in it all;
I trust him yet whate'er befal;

Then toll the bell a pitying strain:
[Old man.] "Praise God!
[Bell.]

“Amen! amen! amen!”

"Nay! good sir, your venture paid

More than all the rest beside!
My ship could not bear so great a treasure,

'Tis stored for thee on the other side! Rather let the bell in gladness ring.

Thou art richer far than tongue can sing,
And when within your azure shell
Angel hands ring thy birthday bell,
Within the hearts that love thee well,

Thou'lt find more than thy youthful dream!” Oh, let the bell ring once again! [Old man.] “God is good! [Bell.]

'Tis well! 'Tis well!” Told man.] “God is good! [Bell.]

"Amen! amen! amen! amen!"

Watchman, bid thy bell ring yet again,
Its last rich knell, threescore and ten!
My ship has come,

I'm going home
Where all is well!
Bell.]

" 'Tis well!” Now the bell celestial rings And on its swell my soul shall soar

Where it shall dwell

Forevermore.
[Bell.]

“ Evermore!”
In trust and faith I've waited long,
Now love and peace shall be my song.
The angels come! I hear them sing !
A welcome hand to me they bring !
[Angel Bell.]

Speed well!”
[Old man.] "Farewell ! ”
[Angel Bell.]

“ All's well!”
[Old man.] "Farewell!'
[Angel Bell.]

“ 'Tis well! 'Tis well!”

JEAN NOEL: A STORY OF CHRISTMAS IN FRANCE.

DRAMATIZED BY RUTH GOWE.

[By permission of Messrs. Estes & Lauriat, publishers.)

CHARACTERS: JEANNE BRIGUEZ

YOLANDE
JEAN
MME. BRIGUEZ
PIERRE BRIGUEZ
BABETTE
COUNT

COSTUMES:
French peasant girl's dress of

blue and white.
Rich dress of blue and white.
Rich boy's dress.
Peasant woman's dress.
Peasant dress.
French cook's dress.
Gentleman's dress; hair and

beard in French style.
Rich house dress.

COUNTESS

SCENES: SCENE 1.-A road. SCENE II.-Interior of Pierre Briguez's cottage. SCENE III.-Room in the chateau. SCENES IV and V.-Interior of Pierre Briguez's cottage.

SCENE I. A road. Enter little JEANNE BRIGUEZ, with dress in wild disorder, trying to hold a white woolen scarf about her neck and to keep a basket of eggs on her other arm from spill