"The man," said he, “found fault with the price and wished some discount made,

So I took off four thirty-five, was that too much?" he said. "Too much! why John, but let me see-t -the jalap cost a cent, And half a cent for calomel, and something more for rentThe box and label-well, not much, I guess I'm a leetle ahead

Five cents will cover all the cost, so we've made ten," he said.

THE SPINNING-WHEEL SONG.*-JOHN F. WALLER,

Mellow the moonlight to shine is beginning;
Close by the window young Eileen is spinning;
Bent o'er the fire, her blind grandmother, sitting,

Is crooning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting,

Eileen, achora, I hear some one tapping.”

""Tis the ivy, dear mother, against the glass Happing."

66

Eileen, I surely hear somebody sighing."

""Tis the sound, mother dear, of the summer wind dying."

Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring,

Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing,

Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.

“What's that hoise that I hear at the window, I wonder?" "'Tis the little birds chirping the holly-bush under." "What makes you be shoving and moving your stool on, And singing all wrong that old song of 'The Coolun '?" There's a form at the casement,—the form of her true-love,— And he whispers, with face bent, "I'm waiting for you, love; Get up on the stool, through the lattice step lightly, We'll rove in the grove while the moon's shining brightly."

Merrily, cheerily, noisily whirring,

Swings the wheel, spins the reel, while the foot's stirring; Sprightly, and lightly, and airily ringing,

Thrills the sweet voice of the young maiden singing.

The maid shakes her head, on her lip lays her fingers,
Steals up from her seat,-longs to go, and yet lingers;
A frightened glance turns to her drowsy grandmother,
Puts one foot on the stool, spins the wheel with the other.

* In rendering this poem, a fine effect may be produced by imitating the whirr ing of the spinning-wheel.

Lazily, easily, swings now the wheel round;
Slowly and lowly is heard now the reel's sound;
Noiseless and light to the lattice above her

The maid steps,-then leaps to the arms of her lover.
Slower-and slower-and slower the wheel swings;
Lower-and lower-and lower the reel rings;

Ere the reel and the wheel stop their ringing and moving-
Through the grove the young lovers by moonlight are roving,

HE CAME TOO LATE! A PARODY.

He came too late! the toast had dried
Before the fire too long;

The cakes were scorched upon the side,
And everything was wrong!
She scorned to wait all night for one
Who lingered on his way,

And so she took her tea alone,

And cleared the things away!

He came too late! at once he felt
The supper hour was o'er;
Indifference in her calm smile dwelt,
She closed the pantry-door:

The table-cloth had passed away,-
No dishes could he see:

She met him, and her words were gay,

She never spoke of tea!

He came too late! the subtle chords

Of patience were unbound;

Not by offense of spoken words,

But by the slights that wound.
She knew he would say nothing now
That could the past repay;

She bade him go and milk the cow,
And coldly turned away!

He came too late! the fragrant steam
Of tea had long since flown;

The flies had fallen in the cream,

The bread was cold as stone.

And when, with word and smile, he tried
His hungry state to prove,

She nerved her heart with woman's pride,
And never deigned to move!

LITTLE BAREFOOT.

The Christmas is coming, the fairies are humming
And singing and whispering soft in my ear;
The bright Christmas morning, so sweetly adorning
The frost-woven crown of the poor dying year.
The bells will be chiming their glad, merry rhyming,
Gay feet will be dancing, the halls will be bright,
The rich roll in splendor, so dainty and tender,

But poor Little Barefoot, where art thou to-night?
Oh! little ones flocking to hang up their stocking,
Puffed out with the pressure of dear, dimpled feet,
Will rouse from their dreaming to find them all teeming
With treasures so costly, so rare, and so neat;
Bright eyes will be brighter, light hearts will be lighter,
But oh! 'mid the tumult of each new delight,
Remember-forget not-that poor Little Barefoot
Hath never a stocking to hang up to-night.

Rich gifts will be lavished, bright eyes will be ravished,
And fashion, false goddess, so fickle and vain,

Will bear with her sweet smiles and hide with her gay wiles
The head of the “Hydra" that lurks in her train ;
Sweet lips will be pressing, white arms soft caressing,
Rich banquets will glitter with silver and gold,
Warm garments will cover, but oh! who will cover
The poor little barefooted ones from the cold?
The pale, drooping mother, with love like no other,
Is striving to warm, with her own feeble breath,
The little ones hovering, with no other covering

Than rags, oh! so scant, freezing, starving to death;
O God, will Thy peoples build churches and steeples,
And deck them like Solomon's Temple of old,
And know not nor care not that poor Little Barefoot
Is freezing and starving with hunger and cold?
Will Christians remember this eve of December,
When Jesus, the dear little Bethlehem Babe,
Was pillowed by stranger, in humblest manger –
No fashion was there, neither pride nor parade;
No robes richly molded around Him were folded,
Yet angels from heaven's own mansions so bright
Were there in that manger, by that little stranger,

Who was poor as the barefoot that wanders to-night.

THE AUTOMATIC CRADLE.

Major Schottguhn had been prowling around the stores and had prospected all the places on his way to the office for more than a week, looking for a cradle. He saw none of the old-fashioned ones which rock on rockers; they were all of the new-fangled kind, with the bodies suspended on pivots and swinging between two uprights at the ends. The only thing the Major was in doubt about was whether he should buy a plain swinger or a swinger with a clockwork attachment, and finally he decided to buy one with clockwork.

The cradle came home on Friday night. It was a very pretty cradle, but the clockwork was not an ornamental appendage. The machinery was encased in a circular box of the circumference of a cheese-box and half the thickness of an ordinary cheese. Along with the cradle came a clockkey,which was about the size and shape of the bed wrenches they used in the days when bedsteads were corded and put together with immense screws. The Major wound up the clockwork. Mrs. Schottguhn laid in the baby, and off went the cradle, click-click, click-click, click-click, click-click—

'There," said the Major, "there's a cradle, Cynthia, that will rock the baby without taking up your time. All you've got to do is to put in the baby and start the machinery, and then you can keep right along with your sewing or reading."

"Yes, Philip," said Mrs. Schottguhn, "yes that's a very pretty cradle;" and yet somehow she didn't seem to like it.

Early yesterday morning the Major was aroused by a tremendous clatter that sounded like the going off of a monster alarm clock. It was rattlety-slam-bang-jangerang-debangbang-whang

The Major was out of bed in an instant to find the watchful Mrs. Schottguhn already up and staring horrified at the cradle, which was performing the most extraordinary antics. The clockwork had got loose somehow in the night and was going off at a most alarming gait, swinging the cradle over and over, about one complete revolution a second, round and round and round on the pivots with such astounding velocity that it held the baby safely glued to the bottom of the cradle by centrifugal force, reminding the Major, for one

brief instant, of the great discovery he made when a small boy, that he could keep water in a pail with the pail bottom up by swinging it rapidly over and over at the end of a string, but even this brief reminiscence was blurred in his mind by the startling spectacle before him and the whir-r-r of the revolving cradle and the clock work's slam-bang burrr-r-rang-flamde-whang-jang-jang-flopperty-whoopty-bang"Oh! Philip! Stop it! stop it!"

The Major jumped in gallantly, but at exactly the wrong moment, and the cradle struck him square on the forehead and laid him sprawling on the floor. He was on his feet again in an instant, but just before he reached the cradle one of the pivots gave way, the end of the cradle broke from the upright and the baby shot through the air, followed closely by the alert Major, who caught it safely in his arms as it ricocheted from the mantelpiece and answered its morning crow with an exultant shout:

It was the Major's voice, low, but solemn. He had crept noiselessly down stairs and was exploring the cellar.

"Here it is," said John, "but I don't believe there's much edge on it."

"Never mind about the edge, John," said the Major," what it lacks on the edge I'll make up on the handle;" and he crept up stairs as noiselessly as he had gone down.

Wh-ish! Wh-ish!

Two blows of the axe were enough to send the clockwork flying.

There, Cynthia, I don't believe we want any more cradles with clock work."

"No, Philip, we do not ;" and then the Major discovered why she hadn't exactly liked it—she didn't want to confide to any dumb clockwork the loving task of rocking her own baby; and she tucked the blanket snugly around it, laid her hand softly on the rail and gently swayed the cradle, singing as she rocked the sweet song that will be fresh and tuneful long after all the cogged wheels of Yankeeland are worn out and toothless:

Hush, my babe, lie still and slumber,

Holy angels guard thy bed!