THE BALLOTVILLE FEMALE CONVENTION.

HOW IT WAS DEMORALIZED.

It was as fine a spectacle as any one could see,
The meeting of the Ballotville Female Society;

For the sisters they wore spectacles, except a trifling few, And some of them (the spectacles) were green, and some were blue.

But women are not properly respected everywhere,
And so it was a low design that was concocted there,
An infamous conspiracy for to demoralize

That splendid convocation and to break it up, likewise.

Miss Blinks arose and said it was enough to vex a saint, The way some women carry on, and how some creatures

paint;

She also was ashamed to see 'em wearing sailor hats,

And thought the sisters should not come accompanied by cats. Then Mrs. Brown remarked that she could not pretend to

say

How old the previous speaker was, exactly to a day;

But she would like to know (and here she made a scornful face,).

How cats could be avoided while Miss Blinks was in the place.

Then Sarah Smith got up and said that Mrs. William Brown, Because she was a wife could not put other people down; The man that she had married was a mean old stingy clown, Who first had been refused by almost every girl in town.

Those bitter words brought on a dreadful storm, and pretty

soon

Each sister at that meeting seemed as crazy as a loon; The chairman she rapped hard and tried some order to restore,

But the row had got too lively, and at last she tried no more.

The way the fixings flew, then, was a caution to behold,
It were in vain to tell it, for the half could not be told,
But the secretary's documents were scattered all around,
And the chairman lost a chignon that has never since been
found.

Then suddenly, and while the conflict raged most furiously,
A delegation entered that was shocking for to see;

For the husbands of the sisters who were married were all

there,

And each man had a baby that was hungry as a bear.

And they pinched those little infants with a view to make 'em yell;

And how the mothers went for 'em I won't pretend to tell;
But there was no more discussion about anything that day,
And the meeting was adjourned in quite an unexpected way.
Since that disgraceful game was played on the society,
The members have pursued their avocations quietly;
Assembling in convention is a thing they do no more,
And upon that simple subject they now feel extremely sore,

THE FIRST PARTY.-JOSEPHINE POLLARD.

Miss Annabel McCarty

Was invited to a party,

"Your company from four to ten," the invitation said; And the maiden was delighted

To think she was invited

To sit up till the hour when the big folks went to bed.

The crazy little midget

Ran and told the news to Bridget,

Who clapped her hands, and danced a jig, to Annabel's delight,

And said, with accents hearty,
"Twill be the swatest party

If ye're there yerself, me darlint! I wish it was to-night!"

The great display of frilling

Was positively killing;

And, oh, the little booties! and the lovely sash so wide!
And the gloves so very cunning!

She was altogether "stunning,"

And the whole McCarty family regarded her with pride.

They gave minute directions,

With copious interjections

Of "sit up straight!" and "don't do this or that 'twould

be absurd!"

But, what with their caressing,

And the agony of dressing,

Miss Annabel McCarty didn't hear a single word.

There was music, there was dancing,
And the sight was most entrancing,

As if fairyland and floral band were holding jubile⚫;
There was laughing, there was pouting;

There was singing, there was shouting;

And old and young together made a carnival of glee.

Miss Annabel McCarty

Was the youngest at the party,

And every one remarked that she was beautifully dressed; Like a doll she sat demurely

On the sofa, thinking surely

It would never do for her to run and frolic with the rest.

The noise kept growing louder;

The naughty boys would crowd her;

"I think you're very rude indeed!" the little lady said; And then, without a warning,

Her home instructions scorning,

She screamed: "I want my supper-and I want to go to bed!"

Now big folks who are older,

Need not laugh at her, nor scold her,

For doubtless, if the truth were known, we've often felt in

clined

To leave the ball or party,

As did Annabel McCarty,

But we hadn't half her courage and we couldn't speak our

mind!

-St. Nicholas.

THE LAST HYMN.-MARIANNE FARNINGHAM.

The Sabbath day was ending in a village by the sea,
The uttered benediction touched the people tenderly,

And they rose to face the sunset in the glowing, lighted

west,

And then hastened to their dwellings for God's blessed boon

of rest.

But they looked across the waters, and a storm was raging there;

A fierce spirit moved above them-the wild spirit of the airAnd it lashed, and shook, and tore them till they thun

dered, groaned, and boomed,

And, alas! for any vessel in their yawning gulfs entombed.

Very anxious were the people on that rocky coast of Wales, Lest the dawns of coming morrows should be telling awful tales,

When the sea had spent its passion and should cast upon the shore

Bits of wreck, and swollen victims, as it had done heretofore.

With the rough winds blowing round her a brave woman strained her eyes,

As she saw along the billows a large vessel fall and rise.

Oh! it did not need a prophet to tell what the end must be, For no ship could ride in safety near that shore on such a sea.

Then the pitying people hurried from their homes and thronged the beach.

Oh, for power to cross the waters and the perishing to reach!

Helpless hands were wrung in terror, tender hearts grew cold with dread,

And the ship urged by the tempest to the fatal rock-shore sped.

"She has parted in the middle! Oh, the half of her goes down!

God have mercy! Is His heaven far to seek for those who drown?"

Lo! when next the white, shocked faces looked with terror

on the sea,

Only one last clinging figure on a spar was seen to be.

Nearer to the trembling watchers came the wreck tossed by the wave,

And the man still clung and floated, though no power on earth could save.

"Could we send him a short message? Here's a trumpet, shout away!"

"Twas the preacher's hand that took it, and he wondered what to say.

Any memory of his sermon? Firstly? Secondly? Ah, no. There was but one thing to utter in that awful hour of woe. So he shouted through the trumpet, "Look to Jesus! Can you hear?"

And "Aye, aye, sir!" rang the answer o'er the waters loud and clear.

Then they listened, "He is singing, 'Jesus, lover of my soul," And the winds brought back the echo, "While the nearer waters roll."

Strange indeed it was to hear him, "Till the storm of life is past,"

Singing bravely o'er the waters. "Oh, receive my soul at last."

He could have no other refuge, "Hangs my helpless soul on thee."

"Leave, oh! leave me not"-the singer dropped at last into the sea.

And the watchers looking homeward, through their eyes by tears made dim,

Said, "He passed, to be with Jesus in the singing of that hyma."

PIMPKIN VERSUS BODKIN.

Jeremiah Pimpkin was an honorable citizen and a house. holder, and among his class he was an oracle. He flattered himself on his shrewdness. He often declared that he should have been a lawyer. He fancied that Solon Bodkin, Esquire, would have fared but slimly against him in forensic contest. Pimpkin raised turkeys, and upon a certain occasion it happened that a prowling dog made a raid upon his flock and killed four fine gobblers that were being fatted for the Thanksgiving market. Pimpkin made due inquiry and investigation, and satisfied himself beyond a peradventure that the marauding canine was the property of Lawyer Bodkin. Here was an opportunity he had long coveted. He waited upon the lawyer in his office, and was warmly welcomed, and invited to a seat.

"Squire," said Pimpkin, "s'pose a neighbor's dog should kill a lot of my turkeys, could I recover damages by law?” 'Certainly,"replied Bodkin, “you can recover—that is, if you can prove the fact."

"Oh, I can prove it. I've got the evidence all right and tight. And so you think there can be no doubt?"

"Not in the least. And now, what are the circumstances?" "Well, Squire, last night your dog killed four of my best turkeys. What do you think about it now?"

"Why, my dear sir, I think you can recover. That is the law. What is the amount of damage?"

"Them turkeys was worth a dollar apiece, Squire. Four dollars will settle."

“All right," said Bodkın. “I wish to deal legally. Here is the sum."

And the lawyer handed over the four dollars which Pimpkin took with a chuckle, and then departed.

Jeremiah Pimpkin had reached his home, having related his sharp practice with the lawyer to all his friends whom he had met on the way, and had just told the story to his wife, when Deputy Sheriff Reacher unceremoniously entered his domicile.

"A small bill, Mr. Pimpkin, which Squire Bodkin says I will collect or he will sue it to-day."