five years, and we have always had ham for dessert for a week afterward. We had all been looking forward to your Christmas Eve ball, and when papa told us that he would have to go to the tea-and-cake place to-night mama felt so badly that I took papa's ticket out of his pocket when he was asleep and came here myself. Papa has a thick ulster, full of nice big pockets, that he puts on when he goes out to report, but I have brought a basket."

The child finished her simple and affecting narrative, and the members of the press committee looked at one another dumfounded. Jacob Scaffold was the first to break the silence.

"And what is your name, little child?" he inquired.

"Eva Swallowtail," she answered, as she turned a pair of trusting, innocent blue eyes full upon him.

The old man grew pale and his lips trembled as he gathered his grandchild in his arms. The other members of the committee softly left the room, for they all knew the story of Susan Scaffold's mésalliance and her father's bitter feelings toward her and her husband.

"What!" cried Jacob Scaffold, "my grandchild wanting bread? Come to me, little one, and we'll see what can be done for you."

And putting on his heavy ulster, he took little Eva by the hand and led the way to the great thoroughfare, on which the stores were still open.

It was a happy family party that sat down to dinner in William Swallowtail's humble home that bright Christmas Day, and well did the little ones enjoy the treat which their generous new-found grandparent provided for them. They began with a soup made of wine jelly, and ended with a delicious dessert

of corned-beef sandwiches and large German pickles; and then, when they could eat no more, and not even a pork pie could tempt their appetites, Grandpa Scaffold told his daughter that he was willing to lift his son-in-law from the hard and ill-paid labor of writing society chronicles and give him a chance to better himself with a whitewash brush. "And," continued the old man, "if I see that he possesses true artistic talent, I will some day give him a chance at the side of a house."-"The Literary Shop."

Samuel Minturn Peck

Bessie Brown, M.D.

"TWAS April when she came to town;

The birds had come, the bees were swarming. Her name, she said, was Doctor Brown:

I saw at once that she was charming. She took a cottage tinted green,

Where dewy roses loved to mingle; And on the door, next day, was seen A dainty little shingle.

Her hair was like an amber wreath;
Her hat was darker, to enhance it.
The violet eyes that glowed beneath
Were brighter than her keenest lancet.
The beauties of her glove and gown

The sweetest rime would fail to utter.
Ere she had been a day in town

The town was in a flutter.

The gallants viewed her feet and hands,
And swore they never saw such wee things;
The gossips met in purring bands

And tore her piecemeal o'er the tea-things.
The former drank the Doctor's health

With clinking cups, the gay carousers; The latter watched her door by stealth, Just like so many mousers.

But Doctor Bessie went her way
Unmindful of the spiteful cronies,
And drove her buggy every day
Behind a dashing pair of ponies.
Her flower-like face so bright she bore

I hoped that time might never wilt her.
The way she tripped across the floor
Was better than a philter.

Her patients thronged the village street;
Her snowy slate was always quite full.
Some said her bitters tasted sweet,

And some pronounced her pills delightful. 'Twas strange-I knew not what it meant; She seemed a nymph from Eldorado; Where'er she came, where'er she went, Grief lost its gloomy shadow.

Like all the rest, I, too, grew ill;

My aching heart there was no quelling.

I tremble at my doctor's bill

And lo! the items still are swelling. The drugs I've drunk you'd weep to hear!

They've quite enriched the fair concocter, And I'm a ruined man, I fear,

Unless I wed the Doctor!

Henry Cuyler Bunner

Behold the Deeds!

(Chant Royal)

I WOULD that all men my hard case might know,
How grievously I suffer for no sin—

I, Adolphe Culpepper Furguson; for lo!
I of my landlady am locked in,

For being short on this sad Saturday,

Nor having shekels of silver wherewith to pay;
She has turned and is departed with my key;
Wherefore, not even as other boarders free,
I sing (as prisoners to their dungeon stones
When for ten days they expiate a spree):
Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!

One night and one day have I wept my wo;
Nor wot I, when the morrow doth begin,

If I shall have to write to Briggs & Co.,

To pray them to advance the requisite tin For ransom of their salesman, that he may Go forth as other boarders go alway

As those I hear now flocking from their tea, Led by the daughter of my landlady Pianoward. This day, for all my moans,

Dry bread and water have been servèd me. Behold the deeds that are done of Mrs. Jones!