head so softly that 8 am laid it on his knee, 
and felt secure. 
They all began to sing, 
“ I’m dreaming of Hally." 
The music floated over the water, even to 
the shadowy shore. 8am thought it very 
sweet. Ho wondered, ns ho glanced from 
face to face, if Fritz and t he young lady 
before him were dreaming ot-JhUly. Again 
ho felt as if ho should burst, ho wanted so 
to sing of t he time when 
11 The 'possum sat in a ’simmons tree, 
Looking cunning down on me.” 
They touched at the shore a minute. Sam 
forgot his past, troubles, and bounded out, 
and roamed about the island seeking his 
pleasure—just us people sometimes do—and 
when he returned, lo! the boat was gone! 
He looked at the water and shuddered, and 
then the strength within him came up 
again, and ho thought, "served me right t<> 
leave—so here goes!” He plunged in and 
plowed lustily through the waters. 
The kind young lady exclaimed, “There 
comes our fearless 8am. Do stop for him, I 
beg!" 
“Oh!” screamed the starched lady, 
“ don’t! He is nasty and wet.” 
“Never mind; T will hold him,” said 
Fritz. Ho he rowed up to poor, t ired Sam, 
who scrambled up, but missed and fell 
back, giving the boat a great lurch. Tho 
starched lady shrieked ami jumped, Sam 
sprang up again, and, somehow, together, 
over they turned tho boat. 
Not one of the party can tell junt how it 
happened—not even Ham. They cun only 
tell that they were all struggling together in 
the water, thinking a life-time of I houghts 
in a minute, aud that Fritz caught the kind 
girl by tho dress, and swam to shore, and 
tho other young man came near being 
drowned with helping tho frightened girl 
near him. He caught her by the hair and 
it camo off, then she grasped his arm, and 
by a master effort he reached shore; and 
the ilrst. thing they saw, on wiping the water 
from their eyes, was Ham towing in the lady 
who was starched; but, now. alas! was limp 
enough. 8o while they all were restoring 
her Sam shook his dripping coat and sat 
down and wagged his tail complacently; and 
viewing the scene, quietly said to himself: 
“ It is a good thing for dogs to practice 
swimming, if they do live on land, and can 
afford to live without it. Then perhaps they 
oau do good to even those who despitefully 
use them. e. b. 
up the first little vagabonds they meet;— 
then, with soapsuds and love they could 
make them beautiful, merry children, to 
make musical their silent balls, and warm 
their hearts with their childish love. They 
then would save some little souls from a 
career of crime, which is begun by learning 
little sins in tho streets. Oh ! if every 
homeless little wanderer could be saved in 
this way! If fathers and mothers, who 
have happy homes filled with loving chil¬ 
dren, only thought how many little out¬ 
casts, with faces as fair aud hearts as inno¬ 
cent as their own dear ones, were forced, by 
no fault of their own, to enter, as soon as 
they came into the world, in the lowest 
school of vice and infamy—who never knew 
the blessed influence of a happy home, tho 
sweetness of a mother’s smile, and never 
were taught at her knee night after night 
to say “ Our Father ”—if t hey did but think 
of this, they would wish to bring them to 
the safe, warm shelter of their own homes. 
A few days ago, when passing down one 
of the crowded thoroughfares in our great 
city of New York, I met one of these out¬ 
casts. It was a little girl not more than 
six years old. Her face would have been 
pretty if it was not pale, pinched and dirty, 
—aud her matted hair could be combed into 
beautiful ringlets, if kind, loving bands 
would do tho work. Her dress — if such 
tatters could be called by that name— was 
no covering at all against the bitter cold. 
As sho stood there she was rudely jostled 
by the careless crowd, who took no notice 
of that litt le outstretched hand, and scarce¬ 
ly heard that pleading voice that asked fov 
“only a penny.” I paused, as 1 was going 
by, and asked her why she staid out in the 
piercing cold instead of going home. She 
looked up wonderiflgly, as if the word homo 
was a new one to her. Then 1 asked her 
why she did not go to her mother. 
“ Oh! ’’ she said, sadly, “ I have no moth¬ 
er;” and added, with a shudder, “I dare 
not go to my father; he gets drunk, and he 
would send me out again, to stay all night, 
if I did not bring him somo money.” 
I dropped a few coins in her hand, and 
reluctantly went by. A little further on, I 
saw a group of boys at a street, comer; they 
were scarcely older than the girl I had just 
left, and yet their young faces had a sharp, 
cunning, and I might say, wicked look, as 
they stood there talking aud swearing lu a 
manner fearful to hear from such young lips. 
Oh! it is frightful; aud yet every great 
city is full of such little outcasts. If wo 
could only snatch them from the dark career 
of vice aud infamy they are just beginning, 
and make them, like our own curly-headed, 
laughing, little darlings at home, we would 
have something worthy of acceptance to 
render up to the child-loving CuitiST. 
SNOW DROPS 
SINCE YOU AND I WERE YOUNG, JOHN 
RUDDY aud gleeful children. 
Seeing the snow-drops Mow, 
Shout to each glad new-comer, 
“ Lohere are the eyes of summer, 
Peeping from under the snow.” 
But the tender mother lingers 
To kiss them where they grow; 
For they 'mind her of baby fingers, 
Of waxen, baby fingers 
'Neath ibelr coverlet of snow. 
The times have strangely changed, John’, 
Since you and I were young, 
And Parson Wellmouk spoke the words 
That made opr lives as one. 
Our two wee rooms were sparsely filled; 
1 smile as t recall 
Your wedding coat, of homespun blue, 
That hung upon the wall,— 
But then it was the fashion. 
The years passed on-you plowed and hoed, 
l churned and baked and spun, 
While JOHNX v played about the yard, 
With Kern, the tittle one. 
Oh. those were happy days, John, 
But yet for fancied gain, 
We left the dear old homestead 
For liiai small village lane— 
For ’twits, you know, the fashion. 
The village grew and put on airs; 
1 would not be behind, 
And often did things that I'll own 
Were not Just, to my mind. 
But Squirt! Buhnap lived right across, 
And rich folks down the street. 
The children must do like the rest, 
As they would daily moot— 
And so l followed fashion. 
SAM IN ADVERSITY 
Both John and Will soon left our home, 
They’re money-making men. 
Oh, could 1 have hut for one hour 
My merry boys again. 
Sabah and Ruru—perhaps 'tis best. 
They live In style I know. 
And yet I wish that life for them 
Was nut all dross and show, 
And running after fashion. 
Eva was tnnrrted long ago, 
Our youngest and tny pride,— 
I heeded not your wishes, .John, 
But put them all aside.— 
And toiled, nh yes, beyond my strength, 
That she my pet might shine, 
A brilliant star among her set;— 
Alas, this child of mine. 
Leaves me now for the fashion. 
And Sunday mornings, John, you know, 
When they were fair and young, 
Our children filled the corner pew, 
Folks said " how well they sung." 
We never dreamed we'd sit alone. 
Because far up the street, 
The rich and stylish led tho way. 
And took each highest seat 
Must Faitlt yield to tho fashion? 
Our home is grand, but lonely now; 
John, do the children think 
That old folks can have other wants 
Than clothes and food and drink ? 
How pleasant if they’d sometimes ask 
Tlieir parents out to tea, 
With half tho smiles they gave to-day 
To that weak General B.— 
But Generals arc the fashion. 
The times have strangely changed, John, 
Since you aud I were young, 
And Part-on Wkllmoue spoke the words 
That made our lives as one. 
We’re old and feeble. John, you know. 
And to the times must bow, 
But one thing 1 cun plainly see— 
We should he cared for now. 
Could it If at- he, the fashion, 
Vtrden, 111., 1ST?. 
ILLUSTRATED REBUS. No. 14 
AUSTRIAN WOMEN 
Women in Austria perform the duties of 
bricklayers, laborers, and may be seen car¬ 
rying bods of mort ar and baskets of brick 
up high ladders. More than this, they ac¬ 
tually supply the place of navvies, and dig 
and wheel barrows of " ballast;” almost as 
nimbly as their lords. They chop wood, 
they carry water, they Offer to black your 
boots in the street, and perform many ot her 
little offices, which, according to our no¬ 
tions, hardly come under the denomination 
of “ women’s work.” Perhaps this state of 
things in considered necessary to keep a 
standing army of 800,000 men. The women 
work inordinately hard, while hundreds of 
idle men are constantly sauntering about in 
various uniforms, doing nothing at all, ex¬ 
cept, perhaps, blowing a cloud of tobacco 
smoke. 
CHILDREN IN THE CITY 
BY CECIL HRADDON 
The Children! —wlmt could we do with¬ 
out them? They are at once our trouble 
and our joy. They brighten up our homes 
with their innocent prattle and t heir merry 
laughter; they out paper dolls out of our 
parlor curtains, break our vases, and their 
little mischievous bands And their way to 
the most secret recesses of our drawers. 
Then we find in dismay our boxes have been 
opened, tlieir contents scattered, and our 
('ologne bottle almost empty. But how can 
we be angry with the little ones, when they 
look up to us with such wondering Innocent 
eyes, and cling with baby tenderness around 
our neck? Not only do they turn every¬ 
thing upside down, but they are keeping us 
in perpetual fear lest they should put their 
precious little lives iu danger by upsetting 
the tea kettle over their heads, falling do wu 
stairs, or what is worse, into the well. 
Yet, ivho of us is not happier for all this 
trouble ? What mother would not willingly 
endure anything, rather than have the pat¬ 
ter of those little feet cease, aud the merry 
voices be hushed in her home. But if they 
do cease—if the Death Angel takes her dar¬ 
lings ay ay in her arms—how tenderly and 
sadly each article, from tho broken toy to 
tbe half-worn baby shoe, is cherished by 
tho mother! If the Idle ones are taken 
away and tho music and gladness go out 
from their home, so do the cheerfulness and 
joy go out from the mother's heart; every¬ 
thing is then so changed, so dark and deso¬ 
late to her! 
When I see a childless man and woman, 
with a heart as large as the great gloomy 
house they inhabit, I always wonder why 
they do not go out into the streot and pick 
32?/" Answer in two weeks. 
PROBLEM.—No. 6 
A correspondent sends us the following 
problem, and asks for answers. We will publish 
such as we receive in two weeks, with the names 
of those who send them, A subscriber “ays: 
“ i have uu angular field, situated on a level 
plain, whose 3 sides are, respectively, 30,30 a nd 40 
rods. Let It bo required to tie threu horses at 
the three corners of tho field with the rope at¬ 
tached to each horse's nose, sulllelejit In length 
to allow him to eat one-half the contents of said 
field, provided the other two were not present. 
Required, the length of the throe ropes and tho 
amount of lurid tho horses would have In com¬ 
mon.” 
Woman’s Power.— Those disasters which 
break down the spirit of a man, and pros¬ 
trate him ill the dust, seem to call forth all 
the cnorgies of the softer sex, and give such 
intrepidity aud elevation to their character, 
that at times it approaches to sublimity. 
Nothing can be more touching than to be¬ 
hold a soft and tender female, who had beeu 
all weakness and dependence, and alive to 
every trivial roughness, while threading the 
prosperous paths of life, suddenly rising in 
mental force to be the comforter and sup¬ 
porter of her husband under misfortune, 
and abiding, with unshrinking firmness, tho 
bitterest blasts of adversity. 
BIBLICAL SQUARE-WORD.-No. 3 
A favorite flower. 
A prophet who induced tho Kiug of Judah to 
renounce idolatry. 
A celebrated Arabian city. 
A tower called the tower of the flock. 
g£T Answer In two weeks. Isola. 
Bulwkr says poverty is only an idea, in 
nine cases out of ten, and that there is real¬ 
ly more happiness among the working-men 
in the world than among those who are call¬ 
ed rich. 
PUZZLER ANSWERS.-March 2'J 
Decapitations No. 2.—Strain. 
Biblical Enigma, No. l.—Wisdom ts better than 
rubies. 
Illustrated Redus No. 12.—Envy not the rich 
nor oppress the poor. 
A young gentleman who had just married 
a little beauty, says“ She would have been 
taller, but she is made Of such precious ma¬ 
terials that Nature couldn’t afford it.” 
