M

Didn't Know

RS. PICKETT, the widow of General Pickett, is a charming southern woman. Soon after the war she was riding on a train in the South and could not help overhearing two northern women in a nearby seat, who continually made ugly comments, finding fault with the service, the country, the people and everything in general.

When dinner time came, Mrs. Pickett had a dainty lunch, which southern women always carried to avoid entering the eating houses.

The northern women complained of no meal and Mrs. Pickett shared with them her lunch.

This made them complain all the more, and with the fault finding managed to boast of the superiority of the north and the northern people. Mrs. Pickett's opinion was asked and they got it: "Ladies, I was born in the South, reared in the South, knew little of the North, and not until I was grown did I know 'damned Yankee' was two words!"

Ragtime Philosophy

It is better to laugh than to cry:
It is better to live than to die;
So give all the "glad hand,"
Join the "Do It Now" band-

And not wait for "the sweet by-and-bye."

-Ralph A. Lyon.

No Wonder

I met an old friend of mine the other day, who is the father of a talented family.

"Well, how goes it?" said I.

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Same old way; my son John is a Violinist; Nellie is a Harpist; Susie a Pianist; Evangeline a Cornetist; my oldest boy is a Prohibitionist, and my wife is a Female Suffragist."

"And you."

"Oh, I am a Pessimist."

-A. W. Hawks.

Big 'Fraid and Little 'Fraid

My father used to tell me a story when I was a boy that he located up in Massachusetts. He told it to me, I have told it to my children and grandchildren, and I have never heard anybody else tell it, so I suppose I have a right to call it a family story.

"An old Massachusetts farmer had a little boy working for him. This little fellow was very brave, and the old farmer thought he would test him. Every evening the boy had to bring the cows home some three or four miles. Part of the way lay through the woods; so one night the old farmer said to him, 'Aren't you afraid?' 'No,' said the boy; 'what is a afraid? I never saw one.' Well,' said the farmer, 'you'll see one to-night on your way home.' So that night, after the boy had gone to the woods, the farmer wrapped a sheet around him, and took his seat on a log, knowing that the boy would have to pass him on his way home. An imitative monkey wrapped a table-cloth around himself, and, following the farmer, took his seat on the other end of the log unperceived by the farmer. The boy came along, and, as soon as he saw the farmer, stopped and cried out gleefully, "There's an afraid sitting on a log and there's a little 'fraid sitting on the other end of the log."

The farmer turned, and, seeing the ghostly object, struck for home on a run, the monkey following him, while the little boy stood in the road, clapped his hands and shouted with glee, "Run, big 'fraid, little 'fraid will catch you." -A. W. Hawks.

An Overworked Elocutionist

BY CAROLYN WELLS.

(In St. Nicholas.)

Once there was a little boy, whose name was Robert
Reece;

And every Friday afternoon he had to speak a piece.
So many poems thus he learned, that soon he had a store
Of recitations in his head, and still kept learning more.

And now this is what happened: He was called upon, one week,

And totally forgot the piece he was about to speak! His brain he cudgelled. Not a word remained within his head!

And so he spoke at random, and this is what he said:

"My Beautiful, My Beautiful, who standest proudly by, It was the schooner Hesperus-the breaking waves dashed high!

Why is the Forum crowded? What means this stir in Rome?

Under a spreading chestnut tree there is no place like home!

When Freedom from her mountain height cried, 'Twinkle, little star,'

Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, King Henry of Navarre!

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue castled crag of Drachenfels,

My name is Norval, on the Grampian Hills, ring out, wild bells!

If you're waking, call me early, to be or not to be. The curfew must not ring to-night! Oh, woodman, spare that tree!

Charge, Chester, charge! On, Stanley, on! and let who will be clever!

The boy stood on the burning deck, but I go on forever!"

His elocution was superb, his voice and gestures fine; His schoolmates all applauded as he finished the last line. "I see it doesn't matter," Robert thought, "what words

I say,

So long as I declaim with oratorical display!"

The Brave Man

FROM THE GERMAN OF BURGER.

Loud let the Brave Man's praises swell
As organ blast, or clanging bell!

Of lofty soul and spirit strong,

He asks not gold-he asks but song!

Then glory to God, by whose gift I raise

The tribute of song to the Brave Man's praise!

The thaw-wind came from the southern sea,
Dewy and dark o'er Italy;

The scattered clouds fled far aloof,

As flies the flock before the wolf;

It swept o'er the plain, and it strewed the wood,
And it burst the ice-bands on river and flood.

The snow-drifts melt, till the mountain calls.
With the voice of a thousand waterfalls;
The waters are over both field and dell-
Still doth the land-flood wax and swell;
And high roll its billows, as in their track
They hurry the ice-crags-a floating wrack.

On pillars stout, and arches wide,
A bridge of granite stems the tide;
And midway o'er the foaming flood,
Upon the bridge the toll-house stood,

There dwelleth the toll-man, with babes and wife,
O, toll-man! O, toll-man! quick! flee for thy life.

Near and more near the wild waves urge;
Loud howls the wind, loud rolls the surge;
The toll-man sprang on the roof in fright,

And he gazed on the waves in their gathering might. "All-merciful God! to our sins be good!

We are lost! we are lost! The flood! the flood!"

High rolled the waves! In headlong track
Hither and thither dashed the wrack!

On either bank uprose the flood;

Scarce on their base the arches stood!

The toll-man, trembling for house and life,
Outscreams the storm with his babes and wife.

High heaves the flood-wreck, block on block
The sturdy pillars feel the shock;

On either arch the surges break,

On either side the arches shake,

They totter! they sink 'neath the whelming wave! All-merciful Heaven, have pity and save!

Upon the river's further strand

A trembling crowd of gazers stand;
In wild despair their hands they wring,

Yet none may air or succor bring;

And the hapless toll-man, with babes and wife,
Is screaming for help through the stormy strife.

When shall the Brave Man's praises swell
As organ blast or clang of bell?

Ah! name him now, he tarries long;
Name him at last, my glorious song!

O! speed, for the terrible death draws near;
O, Brave Man; O, Brave Man! arise, appear!