Many times, you know, we missed them-for the post-man

never came

Then, not knowin' what had happened, we did each the other blame;

Long those lover quarrels lasted, but the God who melts the proud

Brought our strayin' hearts together and let sunshine through the cloud.

Then at last the tidings reached us that the faithful postman fell

Before the forest savage with his wild terrific yell,

And your letters lay and moldered, while the sweet birds sang above,

And I was sayin' bitter things about a woman's love.

Long and tedious were the journeys-few and far between, the mails,

In the days when we were courtin'-when we thrashed with wooden flails;

Now the white winged cars are flyin' 'long the shores of inland seas,

And younger lovers read their letters 'mid luxury and ease.

We have witnessed many changes in our three-score years and ten;

We no longer sit and wonder at the discoveries of men;
In the shadow of life's evenin' we rejoice that our boys
Are not called to meet the hardships that embittered half
our joys.

Like the old mail through the forest, youthful years go slowly by ;

Like the fast mail of the present, manhood's years how swift

they fly;

We are sitting in the shadows; soon shall break life's brittle cord

Soon shall come the welcome summons by the fast mail of the Lord.

HOW WE HUNTED A MOUSE.-JOSHUA JENKINS.

I was dozing comfortably in my easy chair, and dreaming of the good times which I hope are coming, when there fell upon my ears a most startling scream. It was the voice of

my Maria Ann in agony. The voice came from the kitchen, and to the kitchen I rushed. The idolized form of my Maria was perched on a chair, and she was flourishing an iron spoon in all directions, and shouting "shoo," in a general manner at everything in the room. To my anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, she screamed, “O Joshua! a mouse, shoo-wha-shoo-a great-ya, shoohorrid mouse, and-she-ew-it ran right out of the cupboard-shoo-go way-Oh mercy!-Joshua-shoo-kill it, oh, my-shoo."

All that fuss, you see, about one little, harmless mouse. Some women are so afraid of mice. Maria is. I got the poker and set myself to poke that mouse, and my wife jumped down and ran off into another room. I found the mouse in a corner under the sink. The first time I hit it I didn't poke it any on account of getting the poker all tangled up in a lot of dishes in the sink; and I did not hit it any more because the mouse would not stay still. It ran right toward me, and I naturally jumped, as anybody would, but I am not afraid of mice, and when the horrid thing ran up inside the leg of my pantaloons, I yelled to Maria because I was afraid it would gnaw a hole in my garment. There is something real disagreeable about having a mouse inside the leg of one's pantaloons, especially if there is nothing between you and the mouse. Its toes are cold, and its nails are scratchy, and its fur tickles, and its tail feels crawly, and there is nothing pleasant about it, and you are all the time afraid it will try to gnaw out, and begin on you instead of on the cloth. That mouse was next to me. I could feel its every motion with startling and suggestive distinctness. For these reasons I yelled to Maria, and as the case seemed urgent to me I may have yelled with a certain degree of vigor; but I deny that I yelled fire, and if I catch the boy who thought that I did, I shall inflict punishment on his person. I did not lose my presence of mind for an instant. I caught the mouse just as it was clambering over my knee, and by pressing firmly on the outside of the cloth, I kept the animal a prisoner on the inside. I kept jumping around with all my might to confuse it, so that it would not think about biting, and I yelled so that the mice would not hear its

squeaks and come to its assistance. A man can't handle many mice at once to advantage.

Maria was white as a sheet when she came into the kitchen, and asked what she should do-as though I could hold the mouse and plan a campaign at the same time. I told her to think of something, and she thought she would throw things at the intruder; but as there was no earthly chance for her to hit the mouse, while every shot took effect on me, I told her to stop, after she had tried two flatirons and the coal scuttle. She paused for breath; but I kept bobbing around. Somehow I felt no inclination to sit down anywhere. "Oh, Joshua," she cried, "I wish you had not killed the cat." Now, I submit that the wish was born of the weakness of woman's intellect. How on earth did she suppose a cat could get where that mouse was?—rather have the mouse there alone, anyway, than to have a cat prowling around after it. I reminded Maria of the fact that she was a fool. Then she got the tea-kettle and wanted to scald the mouse. I objected to that process, except as a last resort. Then she got some cheese to coax the mouse down, but I did not dare to let go for fear it would run up. Matters were getting desperate. I told her to think of something else, and I kept jumping. Just as I was ready to faint with exhaustion, I tripped over an iron, lost my hold, and the mouse fell to the floor very dead. had no idea a mouse could be squeezed to death so easy.

That was not the end of trouble, for before I had recovered my breath a fireman broke in one of the front windows, and a whole company followed him through, and they dragged hose around, and mussed things all over the house, and then the foreman wanted to thrash me because the house was not on flre, and I had hardly got him pacified before a policeman came in and arrested me. Some one had run down and told him I was drunk and was killing Maria, It was all Maria and I could do, by combining our eloquence, to prevent him from marching me off in disgrace, but we finally got matters quieted and the house clear.

Now, when mice run out of the cupboard I go out doors, and let Maria "shoo" them back again. I can kill a mouse, but the fun don't pay for the trouble.

THE BROOK.--ALFRED TENNYSON.

I come from haunts of coot and hern;
I make a sudden sally,

And sparkle out among the fern,
To bicker down a valley.

By thirsty hills I hurry down,
Or slip between the ridges,
By twenty thorps, a little town,
And half a hundred bridges.

Till last by Philip's farm I flow
To join the brimming river,
For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I chatter over stony ways,
In little sharps and trebles,
I bubble into eddying bays,
I babble on the pebbles.

With many a curve my banks I fret,
By many a field and fallow,
And many a fairy foreland set
With willow-weed and mallow.

I chatter, chatter, as I flow
To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever.

I wind about, and in and out,
With here a blossom sailing,
And here and there a lusty trout,
And here and there a grayling;

And here and there a foamy flake
Upon me, as I travel,

With many a silvery waterbreak
Above the golden gravel;

And draw them all along, and flow
To join the brimming river;

For men may come and men may go,
But
go on forever.

I steal by lawns and grassy plots,
I slide by hazel covers;

I move the sweet forget-me-nots
That grow for happy lovers.

I slip, I slide, I gloom, I glance,
Among my skimming swallows:
I make the netted sunbeams dance
Against my sandy shallows.

I murmur under moon and stars
In brambly wildernesses;
I linger by my shingly bars;
I loiter round my cresses;

And out again I curve and flow
To join the brimming river,

For men may come and men may go,
But I go on forever,

MORE CRUEL THAN WAR.

A Southern prisoner of war at Camp Chase in Ohio, after pining of sickness in the hospital there for some time, and confiding to his friend and fellow captive, Colonel W. S. Hawkins, of Tennessee, that he was heavy of heart because his affianced bride in Nashville did not write to him, died just before the arrival of a letter in which the lady curtly broke the engagement. Colonel Hawkins had been requested by his dying comrade to open any epistle which should come for him thereafter, and, upon reading the letter in question, penned the following versified answer:

Your letter, lady, came too late,

For heaven had claimed its own;
Ah, sudden change-from prison bars
Unto the great white throne!

And yet I think he would have stayed,
To live for his disdain,

Could he have read the careless words
Which you have sent in vain.

So full of patience did he wait,
Through many a weary hour,
That o'er his simple soldier faith
Not even death had power;
And you-did others whisper low
Their homage in your ear,

As though amongst their shallow throng
His spirit had a peer?

I would that you were by me now,
To draw the sheet aside,

And see how pure the look he wore
The moment when he died.

The sorrow that you gave to him
Had left its weary trace,

As 'twere the shadow of the cross
Upon his pallid face.