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posed, and somebody had black-balled me. Did it himself, Didn't want me around knowing about his goings

of course.
on. Of course he didn't and I told him so.

"Then he jined the Sons of Malter. Didn't say nothing to me about it, but sneaked off one night, pretendin' he'd got to sit up with a sick Odd Fellow, and I never found it out, only he come home lookin' like a man who had been through a threshing machine, and I wouldn't do a thing for him until he owned up. And so it's gone from bad to wus, jinin' this and that and t'other, till he's worship minister of the Masons, and goodness of hope of the Odd Fellows, and sword swallower of the Finnegans, and virgin cerus of the Grange, and grand Mogul of the Sons of Indolence, and twoedged tomahawk of the United Order of Red Men, and tale bearer of the Merciful Manikins, and skipper of the GuildCaratrine Columbus, and big wizard of the Arabian Nights, and pledge passer of the Reform club, and chief bulger of the Irish Mechanics, and purse keeper of the Order of Canadian Conscience, and double-barreled dictator of the Knights of the Brass Circles, and standard bearer of the Royal Archangels, and sublime porte of the Onion League, and chief butler of the Celestial Cherubs, and puissant potentate of the Petrified Pollywogs, and goodness only knows what else. I've borne it and borne it, hopin' he'd get 'em all jined after awhile, but 'tant no use, and when he'd got into a new one, and been made grand guide of the Nights of Horror, I told him I'd quit and I will."

Here the Mayor interrupted, saying:

"Well, your husband is pretty well initiated, that's a fact; but the court will hardly call that a good cause for divorce. The most of the societies you mention are composed of honorable men with excellent reputations. Many of them, though called lodges, are relief associations and mutual insurance companies, which, if your husband should die, would take care of you and would not see you suffer if you were sick."

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'See me suffer when I'm sick! Take care of me when he's dead! Well, I guess not; I can take care of myself when he's dead, and if I can't I can get another! There's plenty of 'em! And they needn't bother themselves when I am

sick, either. If I want to be sick and suffer, it's none of their business, especially after all the suffering I've had when I ain't sick, because of their carryin's on. And you needn't try to make me believe it's all right, either. I know what it is to live with a man that jines so many lodges that he don't never lodge at home."

"Oh, that's harmless amusement," quietly remarked the Mayor.

She looked him square in the eyes and said: "I believe you are a jiner yourself."

He admitted that he was to a certain extent, and she arose and said: “I would not have thought it. A man like you, chairman of a Sabbath school,—it's enough to make a woman take pisen! But I don't want anything of you. I want a lawyer that don't belong to nobody or nothin'." And she bolted out of the office to hunt up a man that wasn't a jiner.

MY LOVE.-W. F. Fox.

I have a love, a bright-eyed love,
The fairest of the fair;

With dimpled cheek and winning smile,
And flowing dark-brown hair.

Her heart is light, and warm, and true
As ever throbbed with life;

Her voice is low and soft, as ever
That of gentle wife.

She stands a queen in form and grace,
Her beauty none may vie,

While the witchery of her charms
Gleams in her dark, bright eye.
Her step is bounding, light and free,
Her greeting warm and true,
Her lips are like the crimson rose,
And her kiss like morning dew.

No flower of earth is half so fair
As my dear love to me,

No voice is half so sweet to hear
Nor full of melody;

I'd rather live an hour with her

This dark-eyed love of mine,

Than reign a king upon a throne
Where royal splendors shine.

But dearer far than all the charms
That live in form and grace,
Is the purity of her young heart

Which beams in her handsome face.
I love my queen, and she loves me,
No truer is the sun;

And through the circle of life's years
Our hearts will beat as one.

KING VOLMER AND ELSIE.-JOHN G. WHITTIER.

Where, over heathen doom-rings and gray stones of the Horg,
In its little Christian city stands the church of Vordingborg,
In merry mood King Volmer sat, forgetful of his power,
As idle as the Goose of Gold that brooded on his tower.

Out spake the king to Henrik, his young and faithful squire:
"Dar'st trust thy little Elsie, the maid of thy desire?"
"Of all the men in Denmark she loveth only me:
As true to me is Elsie as thy Lily is to thee.”

Loud laughed the king: "To-morrow shall bring another day,*

When I myself will test her; she will not say me nay;"

Thereat the lords and gallants, that round about him stood, Wagged all their heads in concert and smiled as courtiers should.

The gray lark sings o'er Vordingborg, and on the ancient town

From the tall tower of Valdemar the Golden Goose looks

down:

The yellow grain is waving in the pleasant wind of morn, The wood resounds with cry of hounds and blare of hunter's horn.

In the garden of her father little Elsie sits and spins,
And, singing with the early birds, her daily task begins.
Gay tulips bloom and sweet mint curls around her garden-

bower,

But she is sweeter than the mint and fairer than the flower.

* A common saying of Valdemar; hence his sobriquet ALTERDAY.

About her form her kirtle blue cli: gs lovingly, and, white As snow, her loose sleeves only leave her small, round wrists

in sight;

Below the modest petticoat can only half conceal

The motion of the lightest foot that ever turned a wheel.

The cat sits purring at her side, bees hum in sunshine warmı; But, look! she starts, she lifts her face, she shades it with

her arm.

And, hark! a train of horsemen, with sound of dog and horn, Come leaping o'er the ditches, come trampling down the

corn!

Merrily rang the bridle-reins, and scarf and plume streamed gay,

As fast beside her father's gate the riders held their way; And one was brave in scarlet cloak, with golden spur on heel, And, as he checked his foaming steed, the maiden checked her wheel.

"All hail among thy roses, the fairest rose to me!

For weary months in secret my heart has longed for thee!" What noble knight was this? What words for modest maiden's ear?

She dropped a lowly courtesy of bashfulness and fear.

She lifted up her spinning-wheel; she fain would seek the door,

Trembling in every limb, her cheek with blushes crimsoned

o'er.

Nay, fear me not," the rider said, "I offer heart and hand, Bear witness these good Danish knights who round about me stand.

"I grant you time to think of this, to answer as you may,
For to-morrow, little Elsie, shall bring another day."
He spake the old phrase slyly as, glancing round his train,
He saw his merry followers seek to hide their smiles in vain.

"The snow of pearls I'll scatter in your curls of golden hair,
I'll line with furs the velvet of the kirtle that you wear;
All precious gems shall twine your neck; and in a chariot

gay

You shall ride, my little Elsie, behind four steeds of gray.

"And harps shall sound, and flutes shall play, and brazen lamps shall glow;

On marble floors your feet shall weave the dances to and fro,

At frosty eventide for us the blazing hearth shall shine, While, at our ease, we play at draughts, and drink the bloodred wine."

Then Elsie raised her head and met her wooer face to face; A roguish smile shone in her eye and on her lip found place. Back from her low white forehead the curls of gold she threw, And lifted up her eyes to his steady and clear and blue.

"I am a lowly peasant, and you a gallant knight;

I will not trust a love that soon may cool and turn to slight.
If you would wed me henceforth be a peasant, not a lord;
I bid you hang upon the wall your tried and trusty sword."

"To please you, Elsie, I will lay keen Dynadel away,
And in its place will swing the scythe and mow your father's
hay.”

"Nay, but your gallant scarlet cloak my eyes can never bear; A Vadmal coat, so plain and gray, is all that you must wear."

"Well, Vadmal will I wear for you," the rider gayly spoke, "And on the Lord's high altar I'll lay my scarlet cloak.” "But mark," she said, "no stately horse my peasant love must ride,

A yoke of steers before the plough is all that he must guide."

The knight looked down upon his steed: "Well, let him wander free:

No other man must ride the horse that has been backed by

me.

Henceforth I'll tread the furrow and to my oxen talk,

If only little Elsie beside my plough will walk."

"You must take from out your cellar cask of wine and flask and can;

The homely mead I brew you may serve a peasant-man." "Most willingly, fair Elsie, I'll drink that mead of thine, And leave my minstrel's thirsty throat to drain my generous wine."

"Now break your shield asunder, and shatter sign and boss, Unmeet for peasant-wedded arms, your knightly knee across, And pull me down your castle from top to basement wall, And let your plough trace furrows in the ruins of your hall!" Then smiled he with a lofty pride; right well at last he knew The maiden of the spinning-wheel was to her troih-plight true.

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