now. And along through those years of childish sunshine and shadow, she was ready to cure, by the magic of a mother's kiss, the little, dirty, chubby hands whenever they were injured in those first skirmishes'with the rough world. And then the midnight kisses'with which she has routed so many bad dreams, as she leaned above your restless pillow, have all been on interest these long, long years. Of course, she is not pretty and kissable as you are, but if you had done your share of the work'during these last ten years the contrast would not be so marked. Her face has more wrinkles than yours, far more, and yet if you were sick that face would appear to you to be more beautiful than an angel's as it hovered over you, watching every opportunity to minister to your comfort, and every one of those wrinkles would be bright wavelets of sunshine, chasing each other over the dear old face. She will leave you one of these days. Those burdens, if not lifted from her, shoulders, will break her down. Those rough, hard hands that have done so many unnecessary things for you will be crossed upon her lifeless breast. Those neglected lips that gave you your first baby-kiss will be forever closed, and those sad, tired eyes will have opened in eternity, and then you will appreciate your mother, but it will be too late. There, there, don't cry; she has not left you yet. She is down in the kitchen, stringing beans for dinner. And after dinner you might do up the dishes while she takes a little nap. Then you might take down her hair and do it up for her. You need not wind it over your finger and fuss to make little spit-curls as you used to do with yours, but give it a good brushing, and wind it up gently and tenderly, as if you enjoyed doing it for her. The young man down in the parlor can wait until you have performed these duties. If he expresses any impatience, you may explain to him that you feel under more obligation to your mother than you do to him. If this does not seem to satisfy him, ask him how many times has got up in the middle of the night to warm peppermint for you when you were dying with the colic, or how many hours he has carried you up and down the room just because you would not be quieted any other way. Ask him to repeat Mother Hubbard backwards, and, if he is unable to do it, it will be proof positive that he is not the one who has repeated it and explained it to you seventeen hundred times. Catechize him to find blues if he is the one who gave you the black silk dress, and sat up at night to make it while you w were off having a good time. Corner him up and make him admit that he went without a new bonnet last winter that you might enjoy a twelve-dollar one that you admired so much. Wring from him a confession that he has a stitch in his side brought there by doing up your finery week after week. Then show him out the front door, put on a calico apron, and help your mother pick currants for jelly, and I guarantee you will think more of yourself, the world will think more of you, and you will be happier and better for having done so. PECK'S SUN. By his great pump out of gear, Angry tones that called his name, Woke to hear this, and waking, turned and fled! 66 To the man who'll bring to me," Cried Intendant Harry Lee· Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine- 66 I will give to him," he said, Deserves the man whose deed Stops the pumps that give us breath, From the poisoned lower levels of the mine!" No one answered, for a cry As the weaker gasped and fell 66 To the man who sets them free," Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine- 66 Twice that sum, who with a rope, Face to face with death shall cope, Let him come who dares to hope!" "There has one already gone, whoe'er he be!" Fainting figures reappear, On the black rope swinging clear, Fastened by some skilful hand from below; Till a score the level gained, And but one alone remained He the hero and the last, He whose skilful hand made fast The long line that brought them back to hope and cheer. Haggard, gasping, down dropped he At the feet of Harry Lee Harry Lee, the English foreman of the mine: THE VAY RUBE HOFFENSTEIN SELLS. 66 HERMAN," said a Poydras street merchant clothier, addressing his clerk, "haf ye sold all of dose overgoats vat vas left over from last vinter? 66 No, sir; dere vas dree of dem left yet." "Vell, ye must sell 'em right avay, as de vinter vill not last, you know, Herman. Pring me one uf de goats and I vill show you somedings about de pisness. I vill dell you how ve vill sell dem out, und you must learn de pisness, Herman; de vinter vas gone, you know, und ve hav had dose goats in de store more as seex years." An eight-dollar overcoat was handed him by his clerk, and smoothing it out, he took a buckskin money purse from the showcase, and, stuffing it full of paper, dropped it into one of the pockets. 66 How, Herman, my poy," he continued, "vatch me sell dat coat. I haf sold over dirty-fife uf dem shust de same vay, und I vant to deech you de pisness. Ven de next gustomer comes in de shop I vill show de vay Rube Hoffenstein, my broder in Detroit, sells his cloding and udder dings." A few minutes later a negro, in quest of a pair of suitable cheap shoes, entered the store. The proprietor advanced smiling, and inquired: "Vat is it you vish?" 66 Yer got any cheap shoes hyar?" asked the negro. "Blenty of dem, my frent, blenty; at any price you vant." The negro stated that he wanted a pair of brogans, and soon his pedal extremities were encased in them, and a bargain struck. As he was about to leave, the proprietor I called him back. "I ain't gwine ter buy nuffin else. I'se got all I want," said the negro, sullenly. "Dot may be so, my dear sir,” replied the proprietor, "but I shust vants you to look at dis goat. It vas de pure Russian vool, und dis dime last year you doan got dot same goat for dwenty-five dollars. Mine gracious, clothing vos gone down to noding, and dere vas no money in de pisness any longer. You vant someding dot vill keep you from de vedder, und make you feel varm as summer dime. De gonsumption vas goin round, und de doctors dell me it vas the vedder. More dan nine beoples died roun vere I lif last veek. Dink of dot. Mine frent, dot goat vas Russian vool, dick and hevy. Vy, Misder Jones, who owns de pank on Canal streed, took that goat home mit him yesterday, and vore it all day, but it vas a leetle dight agross de shoulders, und he brought it pack shust a vile ago. Dry it on, my dear sir. Ah! dot vas all right. Mister Jones vas a rich man, and he liked dot goat. How deep de pockets vas, but it vas a leetle dight agross de shoulders." The negro buttoned up the coat, thrust his hands in the pockets, and felt the purse. A peaceful smile played over his face when his touch disclosed to his mind the contents of the pockets, but he choked down his joy and inquired: Who did you say wore this hyar coat?" 66 "Vy, Mister Jones vot owns de bank on Canal streed." "What yer gwine to ax fur it?" "Dwenty dollars." 66 Dat's powerful high price fur dis coat, but I'll take it.” Herman, here, wrap up dis goat fur the schentleman, and throw in a cravat; it will make him look nice mit de ladies." 66 Nebber mind, I'll keep the coat on," replied the negro, and pulling out a roll of money, he paid for it and left the store. While he was around the next corner moaning over the stuffed purse, Hoffenstein said to his clerk: Herman, fix up anudder von of dose goats de same vay, and doan forget to dell dem dot Mister Jones vot runs de pank on Canal streed vore it yesterday." WILD WEATHER OUTSIDE. WILD weather outside where the brave ships go, They dash the decks with an icy spray, |