the stream was lulling him to rest. Now the boat was out at sea. And now there was a shore before him. Who stood on the bank?

He put his hands together, as he had been used to dɔ, at his prayers. He did not remove his arms to do it, but they saw him fold them so, behind his sister's neck.

"Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the face! But tell them that the picture on the stairs at school is not Divine enough. The light about the head is shining on me as I go!"

The golden ripple on the wall came back again, and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old fashion! The fashion that came in with our first garments, and will last unchanged until our race has run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old, old fashion-Death!

Oh! thank God, all who see it, for that older fashion yet, of Immortality! And look upon us, angels of young children, with regards not quite estranged, when the swift river bears us to the ocean!

CHARLES DICKENS.

FLASH-THE FIREMAN'S STORY.

From Harper's Magazine.

FLASH

was a white-foot sorrel, an' run on No. 3;

Not much stable manners-an average horse to see; Notional in his methods-strong in loves an' hates; Not very much respected, or popular 'mongst his mates;

Dull an' moody an' sleepy on "off" an' quiet days,
Full of turb'lent sour looks, an' small sarcastic ways;
Scowled an' bit at his partner, and banged the stable
floor-

With other tricks intended to designate life a bore.

But when, be't day or night time, he heard the alarmbell ring,

He'd rush for his place in the harness with a regular tiger spring;

An' watch with nervous shivers the clasp of buckle and band,

Until it was plainly ev'dent he'd like to lend a hand.

An' when the word was given, away he would rush an’ tear,

As if a thousan' witches was rumplin' up his hair,
An' wake his mate up crazy with his magnetic charm;
For every hoof-beat sounded a regular fire alarm!

Never a horse a jockey would worship an' admire
Like Flash in front of his engine, a-racin' with a fire;
Never a horse so lazy, so dawdlin' an' so slack

As Flash upon his return trip, a-drawin' the engine back.

Now when the different horses gets tender-footed an'

old,

They aint no use in our business; so Flash was finally

sold

To quite a respectable milkman; who found it not so fine A-bossin' of God's creatures outside o' their reg'lar line

Seems as if I could see Flash a-mopin' along here now. A-feelin' that he was simply assistant to a cow;

But sometimes he'd imagine he heard the alarm-bell's din, An' jump an' rear for a minute before they could hold him in.

An' once, in spite o' his master, he strolled in 'mongst us chaps,

To talk with the other horses, of former fires, perhaps; Whereat the milkman kicked him; wherefore us boys to please,

He begged that horse's pardon upon his bended knees.

But one day, for a big fire as we was makin' a dash; Both o' the horses we had on somewhat resemblin' Flash, Yellin' an' ringin' an' rushin', with excellent voice an' heart, [cart. We passed the poor old fellow, a-tuggin' away at his

If ever I see an old horse grow upward into a new, If ever I see a driver whose traps behind him flew, 'Twas that old horse, a-rompin', an' rushin' down the

track,

[back. An' that respectable milkman, a-tryin' to hold him

Away he dashed like a cyclone for the head of No. 3, Gained the lead, an' kept it, an' steered his journey free Dodgin' the wheels an' horses, an' still on the keenest "silk,"

[milk. An' furnishin' all that district with good respectable

Crowds a-yellin' an' runnin', and vainly holleria' "Whoa"

Milkman bracin' an' sawin', with never a bit o' show;

Firemen laughin' an' chucklin, and hollerin', “Good i

go in!"

Hoss a-gettin' down to it, an' sweepin' along like sin.

Finally come where the fire was, halted with a "thud,"
Sent the respectable milkman heels over head in mud;
Watched till he see the engine properly workin' there—
After which he relinquished all interest in the affair.

Moped an' wilted an' dawdled-faded away once more;
Took up his old occ'pation of votin' life a bore;
Laid down in his harness, and-sorry I am to say-
The milkman he had drawn there drew his dead body

away.

That's the whole o' my story; I've seen more'n once or

twice,

That poor dumb animal's actions are full of human advice;

An' if you ask what Flash taught, I simply answer you,

THIN and graceful like a clipper Thora was from top

to toe,

Though her dress was very scanty and perhaps not comme il faut;

Bare and brown her little feet were, and her cheeks were

sunburnt too,

But her lips were very rosy and her eyes were very

blue.

One black skirt with red embroidery and a snowy white chemise

Were her wonted dress on week-days, when she felt herself at ease.

Hats she only wore in winter, when with snow the air was dim,

But her eyes peeped forth full brightly 'neath the big sou'wester's brim.

For who thinks that a sou'wester, e'en if e'er and e'er

so wide,

[hide. From the boys' admiring glances could a pretty maiden And 'tis known how such attention every pretty maid [boys; And it was a thousand pities!-Thora did not like the

annoys;

They were either rude and noisy, or too bashful and confused:

As for loving them! No, thank you; she would rather be excused!

And, besides, there were so many-stout and slender, short and tall

How should she her choice determine, since she could not love them all?

Thus she spoke unto her mother, sitting in the evening's

glow,

In the shadow of the fish-nets, which were drooping, row

on row,