wriggle, writhe and scream, filled with suction and testing apparatus for milk, and automatic alarm to regulate supply.

A quaint little craft called Innocence, laden with simplicity and love.

A curious bud of uncertain blossom. A thing we are expected to kiss, and look as if we enjoyed it.

The smartest little craft afloat in home's delightful bay.

A mite of humanity that will cry no harder if a pin is stuck into him than he will if the cat won't let him pull her tail.

A little stranger, with a free pass to the heart's best affections.

The most extensive employer of female labor.

The pulp from which the leaves of life's book are made.

A padlock on the chain of love.

A soft bundle of love and trouble which we cannot do without.

The sweetest thing God ever made and forgot to give wings to.

A pleasure to two, a nuisance to every other body and a necessity to the world.

An inhabitant of Lapland.

That which makes home happier, love stronger, patience greater, hands busier, nights longer, days shorter, purses lighter, clothes shabbier, the past forgotten, the future brighter.

THE MYSTICAL SEA.

O LOVE, I'm wandering back to-day Through the valleys of memory; They lie betwixt mountains far away. The mountains of Hope and of Youth are they,

And I'm dreaming again of that night, to-day,

By the mystic southern sea.

O love, I loved you that far-off night
By the mystical southern sea.
The breeze was light and the stars were
bright,

And the sea-gulls flashed in their circling flight,

As we sat alone, on that far-off night, When you whispered your love for

me.

Oh, I kissed your lips, and I clasped your hands,

By that mystical southern sea, While softly the waves were kissing the sands,

And ships went a-sailing to distant lands,

And I kissed your lips, and I clasped your hands,

When you whispered your love to

me.

O love, a storm has swept the shore
Of that mystical southern sea;
The waves still kiss as they kissed be-
fore;

But the ships that sailed will return no

more,

And the youth, and the love, and the hopes of yore

Will never come back to me.
-ALBERT B. PAINE.

WHEN THE SKIES CLEAR OFF.

THE prospects will be brighter,
The burdens will be lighter,
An' the souls of us be whiter

When the skies clear off!
With sweeter roses springin',
An' sweeter birds a-singin',
An' all the bells a-ringin'

When the skies clear off!

The silver-it'll jingle,
Till your fingers tingle, tingle;
Old friends'll meet and mingle
When the skies clear off!
An' trouble, like a feather,
Will go sailin' out the weather,
We'll sing and dance together
When the skies clear off!

There's a sign o' light a-comin'; An' you hear the wagon hummin'; You'll be marchin' to the drummin'

When the skies clear off! No matter what's the troubleIt'll break just like a bubble, An' you'll drive in harness double When the skies clear off!

We move along, and scatter, as we pace,

Soft graces, tender hopes on every hand :

At last, with gray-streaked hair and hollow face,

We step across the boundary of the land

Where none are old.
-ATLANTA CONSTITUTION.

THE RAINY DAY.

THE day is cold, and dark, and dreary ; It rains, and the wind is never weary; The vine still clings to the mouldering wall,

But at every gust the dead leaves fall,

And the day is dark and dreary.

My life is cold, and dark, and dreary; It rains, and the wind is never weary; My thoughts still cling to the mouldering Past,

But the hopes of youth fall thick in the blast,

And the days are dark and dreary.

Be still, sad heart! and cease repining; Behind the clouds is the sun still shin

ing;

Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary,
-LONGFELLOW.

THE HOUSE OF NEVER.

THE house of Never is built, they say, Just over the hills of the By-and-By, Its gates are reached by a devious way Hidden from all but an angel's eye. It winds about and in and out

The hills and dales to sever. Once over the hills of the By-and-By And you're lost in the house of Never,

The house of Never is filled with waits, With just-a-minutes, and pretty-soons, The noise of their wings, as they beat the gates,

Comes back to the earth in the afternoons.

A PRIVATE Soldier by the name of Richard Lee was taken before a magistrate for playing cards during divine service. It appears that a sergeant commanded the soldiers at the church, and when the parson had read the prayers, he took the text. Those who had a Bible took it out, but this soldier had neither Bible nor Common Prayer Book, but pulling out a pack of cards, he spread them out before him. He just looked at one card and then at another. The sergeant of the company saw him and said, "Richard, put up the cards; this is no place for them."

"Never mind that," said Richard. When the service was over the constable took Richard before the justice. "Well," said the mayor, "what have you brought the soldier here for?" For playing cards in church."

"

Well, soldier, what have you to say for yourself?"

་་

་་

Much, sir, I hope."

Very good. If not, I will punish you more than man was ever punished." "I have been," said the soldier, "about six weeks on the march. I have neither Bible nor Common Prayer Book. I have nothing but a pack of cards, and I'll satisfy your worship of the purity of my intentions." And spreading the cards before the mayor he began with the ace : "When I see the ace it reminds me there is but one God. When I see the deuce it reminds