"Boys may whistle, but girls must sing."
Now, I call that a curious thing.

If boys can whistle why can't girls, too?
It's the easiest thing in the world to do.

First you do that, then you do this—
Just like you were fixing up for a kiss;
It's a very poor girl, that's all I say,
Who can't make out to do that way.

"Boys may whistle," but girls may not;
A whistle's a song with the noise knocked out,
Strayed off somewhere down the throat,
Everything lost but the changeful note.

So if boys can whistle and do it well,
Why cannot girls, will somebody tell?
Why can't they do what a boy can do?
That is the thing, I should like to know.
I went to father and asked him why

Girls couldn't whistle as well as I,

And he said, "The reason that girls must sing
Is because a girl's a sing-ular thing.”

And grandma laughed 'till I thought she'd ache,
When I said I knew it was all a mistake.

"Never mind, little man," I heard her say, "They will make you whistle enough some day.”

"GWINE AWAY."

"De Lake Sho' train am de one we is lookin' fur, boss, kase I'ze gwine to send de ole woman to Toledo. Poo' ole soul! She's been cryin' all de mawnin', kase she's gwine away from me, an' to tell de truf, I can't

keep de tears outer my own eyes long 'nuff to see 'cross de depot."

It was an old, old, colored man, stoop-shouldered, trembling with age. He was accompanied by his aged wife, who had on her Sunday-best and carried a bundle in her hand. She was wiping her eyes with a handkerchief, and in lieu of something better he was using his coat-sleeve.

"Is your wife going on a visit ?"

"Bless you, no!

We would be feelin' like chill'in

if it war only a visit. You see, sah, we's got so ole an' poo' dat we can't keep house nor airn a libin' any mo'. We's felt it comin' on fur a long time past, but neber 'spected de day would come when we'd have to separate."

"Then she won't come back?"

"Dat's what ails us. You see, I'ze got a son heah who will gib me a home, an' she's got a darter down in Toledo who will take keer of her. She'sshe's gwine away dis mawnin', an' I spect I'll neber set eyes on her no mo'. 'Tain't fur down dar, but we is poo' an' ole, an' I'ze gwine to kiss her good-bye fur de las' time. Hold up yer face, Mary, till I kiss ye! You an' me has trabbled in de same path risin' of sixty y'ars, an' now when we am grown ole an' poo', an' am waitin' fur de call, we has got to separate! Dar', dar', chile, don't take on so! It's sumthin' we can't help, an' if you sob dat way you'll broke de ole man right down. Dat's de train ober dar', an'—an’—”

He put his arms around her and his tears fell on her cheek, as he said:

"We slaved together, an' we has starved an' shibbered an' met trouble wid de same speerit."

'Hush, chile-it's all fur de best! Maybe de Lawd will bring us together agin. If-if he doan' do it, you'll meet me up dar in heaben. We kin trust de Lawd fur dat. If I git dar fust I'll wait fur you right at de gate, an' if you am fust taken, I know you'll watch fur me."

She kissed him and clung to him like a child, and it was only when the train was ready to go that he disengaged her arms, kissed her once more, and led her to the gate, with the words:

"I'll be prayin' de Lawd to be good to ye, an' I'll fink of ye ebery hour in de day."

"Keep down yer sobs, chile-we can't be chill'in no mo'. Here you am-good-bye-good-bye."

She went away sobbing like a child, and he passed out of the depot with big tears in his eyes and a heart almost breaking with sorrow.

"I'll trust-I'll trust in de Lawd," he whispered, as he went his way. "Tell ye what, it's powerful sad on two ole folkses like us to be all broke up an' separated like dis, but we couldn't do better. Bress her dear soul! but de poo' body was well nigh done fur wid grief when I turned away de las' time!"

THE KITCHEN POKER.

Swate widow Fagg, one winter's night

Invited a tea party,

Of elegant gentility,

And made the boys quite hearty;
But just as they were breaking up,

She missed her kitchen poker,

And delicately hinted, that

The thief was Paddy Croker.

Now, Pat, he was a Grenadier,

In what is called the Grey Light Horse; A stouter, cleaner, tighter lad

Upon my sowl there never was.

Says he unto the widdow:

66

Do you take me for a joker ?

Do you think I'd come into your house
And steal your dirty poker?
Your nasty, dirty poker,

Your dirty kitchen poker!

Do you think an Irish gintleman
Would steal your dirty poker ?"

But all that he could say or do

Had no effect upon her.

At length, says she: "Now, Pat, will you
Declare upon your honor ?"

Arrah! Pat stared and started back,
His hand behind his cloaker!!
"Ye touch my honor, touch my life;—
There is your dirty poker!-

Your nasty kitchen poker;

Your dirty, ugly poker.

Touch my honor-touch my life;

Here! Take your dirty poker!"

ENGINEERS MAKING LOVE.

R. J. BURDETTE.

It's noon when Thirty-five is due,

An' she comes on time like a flash of light, An' you hear her whistle "Too-tee-too!" Long 'fore the pilot swings in sight.

Bill Maddon's drivin' her in to-day,
An' he's callin' his sweetheart far away-
Gertrude Hurd lives down by the mill;

You might see her blushin'; she knows it's Bill, "Tudie! Toot-ee! Tu-die! Tu!"

Six-five A. M. there's a local comes,

Makes up at Bristol, running east ;
An' the way her whistle sings an' hums
Is a livin' caution to man and beast.

Every one knows who Jack White calls,—
Little Lou Woodbury, down by the Falls;
Summer or winter, always the same,
She hears her lover callin' her name-
"Lou-ie! Lou-ie! Lou-iee!"

But at one-fifty-one, old Sixty-four-
Boston express, runs east, clear through-
Drowns her rattle and rumble and roar
With the softest whistle that ever blew.

An' away on the furthest edge of the town
Sweet Sue Winthrop's eyes of brown
Shine like the starlight, bright and clear,
When she hears the whistle of Abel Gear,

"You-ou, Su-u-u-u-e!"

Along at midnight a freight comes in

Leaves Berlin sometime-I don't know when;

But it rumbles along with a fearful din

Till it reaches the Y-switch there, and then

The clearest notes of the softest bell

That out of a brazen goblet fell

Wake Nellie Minton out of her dreams;
To her like a wedding-bell it seems-

"Nell, Nell, Nell!

Nell, Nell, Nell!"