A sudden splash and shiver told them he had reached water, and a shout of triumph declared that the teapot was rescued.

As Tom shouted, all the children let go the rope and rushed to the side of the well to look at the victorious hero.

It was a most fortunate circumstance that the water in the well was low. As it was, he stood in the cold water up to his shoulders.

"What made you let go?" roared Tom.

"Oh, Tom, have you got it? Have you, really? Ain't it cold? Are you hurt? Were you scared? Is the teapot

broken?

"Draw me up! You silly children! You goose of a Bess! Why don't you draw me up?"

"I will, Tom; I'm going to," answered Bess.

But all the united efforts could not raise Tom.

"I'll run next door and call Mr. Wilson," said Bess, hopefully, and started.

As Bess ran, she was suddenly stopped at the gate by the sight of a carriage which had just driven up, and out of which now stepped aunt Maria and aunt Maria's husband, uncle Daniel. These were the very grimmest and grandest of all the relations.

For one awful moment Bess stood stunned. Then her anxiety for Tom overcame every other consideration, and before aunt Maria could say, "How do you do, Elizabeth?" she had caught her uncle by his august coat-tail, and, in a piteous voice, besought him to come and pull on the rope.

"Pull on a rope, Elizabeth!" said uncle Daniel, who was a very slow man; 66 why should I pull on a rope, my dear?” "Oh, come quick! hurry faster! Tom's down in the well!" cried Bess.

"Tom down a well! How did he get there?"

"He went down for the teapot," sobbed Bess; "the silver teapot, and we can't pull him up again; and he's cramped with cold. Oh, do hurry!"

Then he slowly

Uncle Daniel leisurely looked down at Tom. took off his coat, and as slowly carried it into the house, stopped to give an order to his coachman, came with measured pace to the three frightened children; then took hold of the rope, gave a long, strong, calm pull, and in an instant Tom, Dripping with coolness, arose from the well."

66

JAN STEENER'S RIDE.

A STORY is it, you want, little man?

Well, come and sit on your grandfather's knee, And I'll do the best that ever I can

It's one my grandfather told to me.

Folks think me young for eighty; well,

He was almost ninety, and hale and bright,
And I was sitting, as you are now,
Snug in his arms one winter night.

Said he "When I was a smart young man
Before the Dutch had the country lost-
There stood a church on the village-green,
Right in the middle where two roads crossed.

It stood as flush with the village street

As the top o' your head with the palm o' my hand; So; and running from east to west,

Open each end to the pleasant land,

Spread out like a picture, the broad-aisle ran,
With the dominie's pulpit a bit one side
Of the upper end; and there he stood,
Sounding his trumpet far and wide,

One Sabbath morning, as pretty a day
As ever the Lord God chose to make
And what do you think was the Bible-text
The dear old dominie chanced to take

That morning, but one from the 'Pocalypse

'Bout the great white horse and his rider Death?

He was just beginning on ninthly,' and

The people were most of them holding their breath,

When, all at once, in at the open door,

And up the aisle with a thunderous sound,

Riding as white a horse as a man

Could find in all the country round,

There came a horseman galloping fast -
he had come and gone,

A single flash
Leaving a hundred Dutch-folk there,

With their hearts in their breasts like an icy stone.

And the dominie he was scared the worst

Of 'em all; he trembled and shivered and shook, And gripped the pulpit as if he thought

The dreadful day of the Holy Book

Had come for sure; and, at last, he said: 'What we have seen I dare not say; But, if it be a sign of the end,

There is need for us all to watch and pray.'

So with prayer and blessing the frightened folk
Were all to their various homes dismissed;
But one old burgher said, and swore,

As he shook like a hammer his grimy fist,

He'd bet a thousand thalers to one

That the man who rode and the clattering steed Were just a younker of flesh and blood

And a handsome horse of the Flemish breed.'

And, in truth, he wasn't much out, my lad!
I ought to know, for the horse was mine,
And I was the younker that struck aghast
The dominie preaching his number nine.

Don't look so solemn! You see, that day
I was bound to see the prettiest girl
That ever looked in a looking-glass

To conquer a wilful and wandering curl.

And the shortest way to her side was through
The meeting-house aisle; so through I went.
A minute's difference, more or less;

But life at the longest will soon be spent.

And the love of a girl who is sweet and true
Is a thing so precious beneath the sun,
That one of its minutes is worth an age
Of hearts that never such bliss have won."

This is the story my grandfather told
To yours; it was fourscore years ago.
That is my grandmother's picture there;
Do you wonder much that he loved her so?

JOHN W. CHADWICK.

66

SETTING A HEN.

66

I SEE dot most efferpody wrides someding for de shicken bapers nowtays, und I tought praps meppe I can do dot too, so I wride all apout vat dook blace mit me lasht summer. You know oder uf you dond know, den I dells you dot Katrina (dot is mein vrow) und me, ve keep some shickens for a long dime ago, und von tay she sait to me: "Sockery (dot is mein name) vy dond you put some of de aigs under dot old plue hen shickens? I dinks she vants to sate." Vell," I sait, meppe I guess I vill." So I picked out some uf de pest aigs und dook um oud to de parn fare de olt hen make her nesht in de side uf de hay-mow, poud five or six veet up. Now you see I nefer vas ferry pig up und town, but I vas booty pig all de vay around in de mittle, so I koodn't reach up dill I vent und got a parrel do stant on. Vell, I klimet me on de parrel, und ven my hed risht up by de nesht, dot old hen she gif me such a bick dot my nose runs all ofer my face mit plood, und ven I todge pack dot plasted old parrel he preak, und I vent town kershlam; py cholly, I didn't tink I kood go inside a parrel pefore; but dere I vos, und I fit so dite I koodn't get me oud efferway; my fest vas bushed vay up under my arm-holes.

Ven I fount I vas dite shtuck, I holler, "Katrina! Katrina!" und ven she koom und see me shtuck in de parrel up to my armholes, mit my face all plood und aigs, by cholly, she shust lait town on de hay und laft und laft, till I got so mat I said, "Vot you lay dere und laf like a olt vool, eh? Vy dond you koom bull me oud?" Und she sat up und said, "Oh, vipe off your chin, und bull your fest town;"'den she lait back und laft like

she voot split herself more as effer. Mat as I vas, I tought to myself, Katrina, she shbeak English booty goot, but I only sait, mit my greatest dignitude, "Katrina, vill you bull me oud dis parrel?" und she see dot I look booty red, so she sait, "Of course I vill, Sockery;" den she laidt me und de parrel town on our side, und I dook holt de door-sill, und Katrina she bull on de parrel; but de first bull she mate I yelled, "Donner und blitzen! sthop dat, by cholly, dere is nails in de parrel!" You see de nails pent town ven I vent in, but ven I koom oud dey schticks in me all de vay rount.

Vell, to make a short shtory long, I told Katrina to go und dell naper Hansman to pring a saw und saw me dis parrel off. Vell, he koom und he like to shblit himself mit laf, too; but he roll me ofer, und saw de parrel all de vay around off, und I git up mit haf a parrel round my vaist; den Katrina she say, "Sockery, vait a little till I get a battern of dot new ofer-skirt you haf on;" but I didn't sait a vort. I shust got a knife oud und vittle de hoops off, und shling dot confountet old parrel in dot voot-pile. Pimeby, ven I koom in de house, Katrina she sait, so soft like, " Sockery, dond you goin to put some aigs under dot olt plue hen?" Den I sait, in my deepest woice, "Katrina, uf you uffer say dot to me again, I'll git a pill from you help me chiminy gracious!" und I dell you, she didn't say dot any more! Vell, ven I shtep on a parrel now, I dond shtep on it; I git a pox.

THE MARKED GRAVE.

BOWIE's rangers, out on the trail,
Had galloped from early dawn;
But the prairie-road was cool and sweet,
And green as a garden lawn.

And the strong air stirred the blood like wine
The strong air, scented with flowers and pine.

Silent and stern, and ready to fight,
They followed the Indian foe,
Till Bowie cried, "Let the bridles fall,
For the sun is sinking low.

We must feed and rest or we shall fail,
Though fifty miles on the Lipan trail."