Then, Bonaparte-who was he? But he was kilt at Waterloo, Which ruined his constitution." "You're right, my boy, hould up your head, "You're right, my boy, hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, sir; Jist tell me who that Moses was, "Shure Moses was the Christian name Of good King Pharaoh's daughter; "You're right, my boy, hould up your head, And look like a jintleman, sir; Jist tell me now where Dublin is; Now tell me if you can, sir." "Och, Dublin is a town in Cork, And built on the equator; It's close to Mount Vesuvius, And watered by the 'crathur',' "You're right, my boy, hould up your head, "You're right, my boy, hould up your head, I've taught you all I can, sir. Where you got all your knowledge, JAMES A. SIDNEY. A "PAPA SAYS SO, TOO." TINY rap fell on the door ; I quickly stepped across the floor "Good morning, little one," I said; "How early you are out of bed! Is that what makes your cheeks so red?" "I'se tum a vis'tin' oo to-day, Of tourse oo tan, Aunt Nelly say; All this the little maiden said, While yet her hat was on her head, I said, "How is your Aunty Nell?" I hope to hear that she is well." She lifted up her great black eyes, "Aunt Nelly's dot de whoopin' toff, An' has a wet cloff on s'e's head, Somehow I knew she told a fib, "Oh! Uncle Don's down to de city; He say he some time dit one, maybe." "You do not want another cousin? For you have now at least a dozen : "Dis baby'll be my ve'wy own, An' t'ill be made of meat an' bone, An' I tan dive it somefin t'eat. Oo see, I'se dot no 'ittle b'over— He's daun way up to heav'n wiv mover, An' I tan't never dit no over. But papa say he don't want any; He say anuzzer be too many; He say he'll tange my name to Benny." "O Perley! how you rattle on; "Aunt Nelly is not sit," she said, "An' s'e's not lying in ze bed, Nor got no wet cloff on s'e's head." "Why, Perley, you have told a lie!" "Why did you tell me such a tale? She came and stood beside my knee- JENNIE T. HAZEN LEWIS. A PIECE OF BUNTING. ΟΝ Na Christmas morning, many years ago, I stood upon the deck of a merchantman, in the harbor of Cadiz, in Spain. The cathedral and convent bells were ringing out their carols, in commemoration of that event, which, two thousand years ago, brought the tidings of peace on earth and good-will to men ; and as I leaned on the taffrail, infused with the glamour of youth, enveloped in the Indian-summer haze of that delicious atmosphere, which predisposes the most stolid to revery, I gazed on the beautiful town, that rose like a city of pearl from the sea, and mused. I could hardly realize my own identity; that I, a boy born and reared on the margin of the Great Lakes, was floating on the same waters which had borne the Pho |