Old D.-Nay, ye mun wait a bit, mister. Bless my life, where hev I put it. Nay, I thout I hed it e my glove. It's here; nay, it isn't, that's me thimble. Oh deer me, I'm so pottered. G. K.-Come, missis, we're all waiting for you. These women, these women, there's more bother with them than if you can't look sharp, look as sharp as you can. Old D.-If yo'd nobbut hod yer din I could find it a deal sooner. I'm sewer I gat one, 'cause ar James' wife's father were getting one at t'same time. Yo woddn't happen knaw ahr James' wife's father, wod you, mister? 'cause yo could ax him if he didn't see me get one. G. K.-We shall require your fare-fourteen pence, please. Old D.-Nay, I shannot, I shannot, pay again; go on, it's all right. The idea; it's worse nor highway robbery; it's daan right steyling; you ought to be ashamed of yourself. I don't knaw ha yo can for shame to take it. But I'm sewer I gat one. Nay I didn't; yes I did; it's here; nay it isn't. Well, I'll be felled if it isn't here, croppen dahn into me umbrella. Nah did iver ony body see ought like that, it mud hey gotten in there a purpose to plague me. G. K.-I say, Jack, did you see what that old woman turned out of her pocket when she was looking for her ticket? Very near a cart load of stuff; she'd two pocket handkerchiefs, and a thimble, three bobbins and a knife, a pair of spectacles, a lot of mint lozenges, and humbugs, and a gallas button, a happle, a nutmeg, a bit of ginger, three or four biscuits, a porken pie, a lash comb and a snuff box. Sport.-I say, porter, is that clock right? Por. Yes, sir, for anything I know. S.-Ahm, I'm a quarter of a minute behind. Porter, I think your clock is wrong. Boy. Manchester Examiner, Manchester Guardian, &c. Por.-Leeds train in front. Bradford behind. Stand back there, please, stand back. Right guard? G. K.-Right. [Whistle.] Various voices.-Good-bye. God bless you. Take care of yourself. Write soon. Remember me to uncle John, aunt Sarah, cousin Polly. We'll all come at Christmas. Good-bye. A MOTHER'S DIARY. Morning! Baby on the floor, Noon! A tangled, silken floss, Aprons that will not keep clean, One blue shoe untied, and one Chairs gone mad, and blocks and toys, Well as they are able; Baby in a high chair, too, Yelling for his dinner, Spoon in mouth; I think-don't you Baby "is a sinner"? Night! Chairs all set back again, Blocks and spools in order; One blue shoe beneath a mat, Apron folded on the chair, Plaid dress torn and wrinkled, Two pink feet kicked partly bare, In his crib, and conquered, too, Now I surely think-don't you- QLD HULDAH.-E. NORMAN GUNNISON. A BALLAD OF MARBLEHEAD. The fisherman stood all day by the beachStood where the breakers thundered in, And heard the sound of the sea-bird's screech, And dash of waves on the rocks of Lynn. "The storm is fierce," said the fisher old; "And the wind is wild," the fisher said; "The rocks are sharp, and the shore is bold, Where the p'int makes out from Marblehead, "And ev'ry ship that is now at sea, Bound in to Lynn or to Marblehead, Must keep the light three p'ints on the lee, Or be wrecked." So the fisher said. But not a pilot ventured out— The storm was fierce and the wind was wild, And the daring pilot, swart and stout, Still thought of home and his wife and child Thought of them both as the wind made moan, The wind made moan to the breaker's shock; For the world is hard to the left-alone Harder than any New England rock. So the fisher waited by the shore, Hearing the waves and the breakers' din, Staysails set and her courses furled, Plain no longer, for mountain waves Up spoke Huldah, the fisher's wife; "Where's the pilot? Every life Is saved if he keeps his post." "There is no pilot at sea to-night," Said Abner Jackson, the skipper's son, While over the water came the light And booming crash of a signal-gun. "Heavens! They are fetching past the landPast the p'int; they will strike the rock!" Said Jotham Davis. Close at hand Came a crash and a rending shock. "Man the life-boat!" No man stirred. Over the din of wind and wave, Over the tempest's strife was heard "Save!" but no human hand could save. Clinging to the wave-washed deck, Then spoke Huldah, the fisher's wife: While they cry in their wild despair? "Shame on ye, men! A woman's hand There they stood in the dying light, Up spoke gruffly Old Fisher Ben, "All we can do at worst is die. Better die," the old Triton said, Out past the point, where mountain-high Sometimes hidden, and sometimes lost. Round the point on the stormy wave Safe is taken from off the deck. And now strain hard, the goal is near, That was many a year agone- Who saw the ship come sailing on NUMBER FOURTEEN. Many a man who saw her sail, Foam on her prow and rocks a-lee, Sails the waves of a shoreless sea. Tells how the ship came sailing in, Close to the point the rocks still lie, RESISTING A MOTHER'S LOVE. The following affecting narrative purports to have been given by a father to his son, as a warning derived from his own bitter experience of the sin of grieving and resisting a mother's love and counsel. What agony was visible on my mother's face when she saw that all she said and suffered failed to move me! She rose up to go home and I followed at a distance. She spoke no more to me till she reached her own door. "It's school time now," said she. "Go my son, and once more let me beseech you to think on what I have said.” I shan't go to school," said I. She looked astonished at my boldness, but replied firmly, "Certainly you will go, Alfred. I command you." "I will not!" said I, in a tone of defiance. "One of two things you must do, Alfred-either go to school this moment, or I will lock you in your room, and keep you there till you are ready to promise implicit obedience to my wishes in future." "I dare you to do it," said I, " you can't get me up stairs." "Alfred, choose now," said my mother, who laid her hand She trembled violently, and was deadly upon my arm. pale. "If you touch me I will kick you," said I, in a terrible rage. God knows I knew not what I said. "Will you go, Alfred ?" |