house, an', as luck would have it, whose should it be but Dennis's ?

He gave me a raal Irish welcome, an' introduced me to his two daughters-as purty a pair of girls as iver ye clapped an eye on. But whin I tould him me adventure in the woods, an' about the fellow who made fun of me, they all laughed an' roared, an' Dennis said it was an owl.

"An ould what?" sez I.

66

Why, an owl, a bird," sez he. "Do ye tell me now?" sez I.

and a quare bird.”

"Sure, it's a quare country

An' thin they all laughed again, till at last I laughed meself that hearty like, an' dropped right into a chair between the two purty girls; an' the ould chap winked at me, an' roared again.

Dennis is me father-in-law now, an' he often yet delights to tell our childer about their daddy's adventure wid the owl. ANONYMOUS

A MODERN HEROINE.

"THERE are no heroes now, the race is dead,"
The gay and happy Julia, smiling, said,

Betwixt the changes of the dance. “I know
The last were killed by cannon long ago.

"And as for heroines,

my friend, like you,
They science 'stead of sentiment pursue.”

Across the southland swept a bitter cry,
Help us! Have pity, for we die, we die !

66

"In every house one lieth sick or dead.
For grief our hearts cannot be comforted."

i

Like a great sob that prayer shook all the land;
And gold, and strength of skilful brair, and hand,

Were offered as to God, to stay the woe
That o'er the land was going to and fro.

Among the women-nurses one most fair
There was, blue-eyed, with honey-colored hair,

"Where help is needed most, send me," she said.
They sent her to a spot whence all had fled,

Save the plague-stricken. Poverty and sin
Had wrestled there with all their frightful kin.

But brave, unflinching, went the blue-eyed nurse,
To tend and watch sick beggars, thieves, and worse.

Day after day the dank, warm fog and rain
Made carnival for Death, and grief and pain

Wailed up to God; yet calm, from bed to bed,
She walked betwixt the dying and the dead.

The hot sun, like a golden flame, shone down
Upon the silent, fever-stricken town,

And men took heart; but in an attic lay
The fair-haired stranger-woman all the day;

Nor spake to all the weeping folk who came
To sob a fervent blessing on her name.

And long before a new day dawned, they hid
Her body 'neath a rough-hewn coffin-lid,

And quickly buried it, crying, "Alas!
The brave, true soul has filed, Alas! alas!

"For sorrow all our hearts are like to break:
We hold all women higher for her sake."

And on the tablet set above her breast
Was written, "Julia: entered into Rest."
ELIZABETH CUMINGS.

I needn't tell you his name,

But he took a turn at the whiskey-can,
And you see the end that came.

First an occasional little spree

That didn't amount to much,
Followed by weeks, maybe months, when he
Liquor would scarcely touch;
And now you see how he takes off, boys,
The last drop left in the cup;

He's going down hill with the brakes off, boys,
Won't some of you pull him up? **

Back of the Blank Street Theatre

You've met him? I knew you had;

And his wife? I see you remember her
Ah, that was nearly as sad.

A little story of "Led Astray,"

A new Lady Isabel;

A newspaper paragraph-this
Is all that there is to tell.

one day

She treated him badly enough, of course,
But he blamed himself for this;

And I think it's grief, and perhaps remorse,
That have made him what he is.

It's a sorrow that no man shakes off, boys,
But he tries to drown it in gin;

He's going down hill with the brakes off, boys,
Can't some of you pull him in?

You see the wreck that he is to-day,
I hardly know how he lives,

Except on the dimes that, once in a way,
Some pitying comrade gives.

And even that money he takes off, boys,
And spends it all for a drop;

He's going down hill with the brakes off, boys,
Will nobody make him stop?

It's not too late, it's never too late,
Never, this side of the grave;

Though I own a man who travels this gait
Is a difficult man to save;

But there's sometimes a fellow shakes off, boys,
The bondage that holds him low;

He's going down hill with the brakes off, boys,
Will nobody tell him so?

He was as clever as any of you;

Kind, good-hearted, and brave
A man who used to be stanch and true
Cannot be too late to save.

Clear his life's many mistakes off, boys,
And he'll stand up to the rack –

He's going down hill with the brakes off, boys,
But I'm going to fetch him back.

G. H. JESSOP.

ON THE CHANNEL BOAT.

"WHAT! Fred, you here? I didn't see
You come aboard at Dover.

I met the Browns last week; they said
That you were coming over,

But didn't say how soon."

"Oh, yes;

I came by the Britannic;

And what a rush there was for berths ! "Twas almost like a panic.

I'm mighty glad to meet you, Will. Where are you going?"

"Paris."

44

"Good! so am I. I've got to meet
My cousin, Charley Harris,

To-morrow. He and I have planned
A little trip together

Through Switzerland on foot; I hope
We'll have some decent weather."

"Take care there! hold your hat; it blows."

"Yes; how this steamer tosses! I'm never sea-sick; Charley is Though, every time he crosses. Who's with you, Will ?”

"I'm travelling with

My sister and my mother

They're both below.

I came on deck;

It's close enough to smother

Down there. These chaps don't care a snap For ventilation, hang 'em!

Where did you stop in London? We

Were stopping at the Langham."

"You were? why, so was I. But then
I only got there Sunday,

At breakfast time, and went away
The afternoon of Monday.
And yet, within the short sojourn

I lost my heart completely;

Such style! such eyes! such rosy cheeks!
Such lips that smiled so sweetly!

I only saw her twice, and then

at a distance.

Don't laugh'twas a

But Will, my boy, I tell you what,
In all my blest existence
I ne'er before sat eyes upon
A girl so really splendid.
But, pshaw! I couldn't stay, and so
My short-lived visions ended.
I don't suppose she'll ever know
How I, a stranger, love her."