who seemed by no means flattered. “We "We divide the province, as in the almanac, into circuits, in each of which we separately carry on our business of manufacturing and selling clocks. There are few, I guess," said the clockmaker, "who go upon tick as much as we do who have so little use for lawyers; if attorneys could wind a man up again after he has been fairly run down, I guess they'd be a pretty harmless sort of folks."

This explanation restored my good-humor, and, as I could not quit my companion and he did not feel disposed to leave me, I made up my mind to travel with him to Fort Lawrence, the limit of his circuit.

JUDGE THOMAS CHANDLER HALIBURTON.

MRS. MAYTON INTERVIEWED.

THE

HE course of Budge's interview with Mrs. Mayton was related by that lady as follows:

She was sitting in her own room (which was on the parlor floor and in the rear of the house), and was leisurely reading Fated to be Free, when she accidentally dropped her glasses. Stooping to pick them up, she became aware that she was not alone. A small, very dirty, but good-featured boy stood before her, his hands behind his back and an inquiring look in his eyes.

"Run away, little boy," said she. "Don't you know it isn't polite to enter rooms without knocking?"

'I'm looking for my uncle," in most melodious accents," an' the other ladies said you would know when he would come back."

"I'm afraid they were making fun of you

"She isn't a very little girl," said Budge, honestly anxious to conciliate-“that is, she's bigger'n I am-but they said you was her mother, an' so she's your little girl, isn't she? I think she's lovely, too.'

"Do you mean Miss Mayton ?" asked the lady, thinking she had a possible clue to the cause of Budge's anxiety..

"Oh yes; that's her name. I couldn't think of it," eagerly replied Budge. "An' ain't she awful nice? I know she is."

"Your judgment is quite correct, considering your age," said Mrs. Mayton, exhibiting more interest in Budge than she had heretofore done. "But what makes you think she is nice? You are rather younger than her male admirers usually are."

ton.

What is your name?" asked Mrs. May

"John Burton Lawrence," promptly answered Budge.

'I'm awful sorry you feel bad," said he. "Are you 'fraid to have your little girl ridin' so long?"

Yes," exclaimed Mrs. Mayton, with great

46

Humph!" remarked the lady, with so much emphasis that Budge ceased talking. A moment later she said, "I didn't mean to interrupt you, little boy; go on.'

"An' he rides with just the loveliest lady that ever was. He thinks so, an' I know she is. An' he 'spects her."

What?" exclaimed the old lady. "Spects her, I say; that's what he says. I say 'spect means just what I call 'love.' 'Cos if it don't, what makes him give her hugs an' kisses?"

Mrs. Mayton caught her breath, and did not reply for a moment. At last she said, "How do you know he gives her hugs and kisses?"

66

'Cos I saw him the day Toddie hurt his finger in the grass-cutter. An' he was so happy that he bought me a goat-carriage next morning; I'll show it to you if you come down to our stable, an' I'll show you the goat too. An' he bought-"

Just here Budge stopped, for Mrs. Mayton put her handkerchief to her eyes. Two or three moments later she felt a light touch on her knee, and, wiping her eyes, saw Budge looking sympathetically into her face.

"Well, you needn't be," said Budge, "for Uncle Harry's awful careful an'

smart."

"He ought to be ashamed of himself," exclaimed the lady.

"I guess he is, then," said Budge, "'cos he's everything he ought to be. He's awful careful. Tother day, when the goat ran away, an' Toddie an' me got in the carriage with them, he held on to her tight, so she couldn't fall out."

Mrs. Mayton brought her foot down with a violent stamp.

"I know you'd 'spect him if you knew how nice he was," continued Budge. "He sings awful funny songs an' tells splendid stories."

Nonsense!" exclaimed the angry mother. "They ain't no nonsense at all," said Budge. "I don't think it's right for to say that, when his stories are always about Joseph, an' Abraham, an' Moses, an' when Jesus was a little boy, an' the Hebrew children, an' lots of people that the Lord loved. An' he's awful 'fectionate, too."

"Yes, I suppose so," said Mrs. Mayton.

When we says our prayers, we prays for the nice lady what he 'spects, an' he likes us to do it," continued Budge.

"How do you know?" demanded Mrs. Mayton.

"'Cos he always kisses us when we do it, an' that's what my papa does when he likes what we pray.

Mrs. Mayton's mind became absorbed in

earnest thought, but Budge had not said all that was in his heart:

"An' when Toddie or me tumbles down an' hurts ourselves, 'tain't no matter what Uncle Harry's doin', he runs right out an' picks us up an' comforts us. He frowed away a cigar the other day, he was in such a hurry when a wasp stung me, an' Toddie picked the cigar up an' ate it, an' it made him awful sick."

The last-named incident did not affect Mrs. Mayton deeply-perhaps on the score of inapplicability to the question before her. Budge went on:

"An' wasn't he good to me to-day? Just 'cos I was forlorn 'cos I hadn't nobody to play with, an' wanted to die an' go to heaven, he stopped shavin', so as to comfort me."

Mrs. Mayton had been thinking rapidly and seriously, and her heart had relented somewhat to the principal offender.

Suppose," said she, "that I don't let my little girl go riding with him any more?"

Then," said Budge, "I know he'll be awful, awful unhappy; an' I'll be awful sorry for him, 'cos nice folks oughtn't to be made unhappy."

"Suppose, then, that I do let her go," said Mrs. Mayton.

"Then I'll give you thousands of kisses for being so good to my uncle," said Budge; and, assuming that the latter course would be the one adopted by Mrs. Mayton, Budge climbed into her lap and began at once to make payment.

"Bless your dear little heart!" exclaimed Mrs. Mayton; "you're of the same blood, and it is good, if it is rather hasty."

JOHN HABBERTON.

Few flickering lamps broke in upon the gloom;

Rushes fresh plucked were strewed upon the floor,

And dogs whipt out could rush beneath the door.

Fair dames were seen in ermined robes to freeze;

No stoves dispersed a mitigated breeze; The cow'ring bloodhounds crouched beneath their feet,

And hawks together nestling kept their seat, Whilst the old harper, now grown hoarse and hoary,

Sang the old song that told his patron's glory.

From unwashed mouths that took a lingering

sup

To maiden lips was passed the undainty cup; Menials on either side, an ill-trained pack, Drained the strong ale from out the huge

black jack.

Rude as the times they lived in, and unfit
For modern ears, their ill-imagined wit,
Coarse in expression, boisterous and loud,
Were the old feasts whereof our sires were
proud.
SIR JOHN DEAN PAUL.

SELECTIONS FROM "SACONTALA,"

AN INDIAN DRAMA.

FROM THE ORIGINAL SANSCRIT OF CALIDASA.

MY

O GOD OF LOVE.

Y heart can no more return to its former placid state than water can reascend the steep down which it has fallen. O god of Love, how can thy darts be so keen, since they are pointed with flowers? Yes, I discover the reason of their keenness: they are tipped with the flames which the wrath of Hara kindled, and which blaze at this moment like the Bárava fire under the waves. How else couldst thou, who wast consumed even to ashes, be still the inflamer of our souls? By thee and by the moon, though each of you seems worthy of confidence, we lovers are cruelly deceived. They who love as I do ascribe flowery shafts to thee and cool beams to the moon with equal impropriety, for the moon sheds fire on them with her dewy rays and thou pointest with sharp diamonds those arrows which seem to be barbed with blossoms. Yet this god, who bears a fish on his banners and who wounds me to the soul, will give me real delight if he destroy me with the aid of my beloved, whose eyes are large and beautiful as those O powerful divinity, even when I thus adore thy attributes, hast thou no compassion? Thy fire, O Love, is fanned into a blaze by a hundred of my vain thoughts. Does it become thee to draw thy bow even on thy ear, that the shaft, aimed at my bosom, may inflict a deeper wound?

of a roe.

THE TIME OF THE NIGHT.

The moon

I am ordered by the venerable Canna, who is returned from the place of his pilgrimage, to observe the time of the night, and am, therefore, come forth to see how much remains of it. On one side the moon, whe kindles the flowers of the Oshadhi, has nearly sunk in his western bed, and on the other the sun, seated behind his charioteer Arun, is beginning his course. The lustre of them both is conspicuous when they rise and when they set, and by their example should men be equally firm in prosperous and in adverse fortune. has now disappeared, and the night-flower pleases no more; it leaves only a remembrance of its odor and languishes like a tender bride whose pain is intolerable in the absence of her beloved. The ruddy morn impurples the dewdrops on the branches of yonder Vadarí; the peacock, shaking off sleep, hastens from the cottages of hermits interwoven with holy grass; and yonder antelope, springing hastily from the place of sacrifice, which is marked with his hoofs, raises himself on high and stretches his graceful limbs. How is the moon fallen from the sky with diminished beams!-the moon, who had set his foot on the head of Suméru, king of mountains, and had climbed, scattering the rear of darkness, even to the central palace of Vishnu. Thus do the great men of this world ascend with extreme labor to the summit of ambition, but easily and quickly descend from it.

Translation of SIR WILLIAM JONES.