tMies 
loral iaiifiyiet timl Piciorktl 
ome 
iQBip>a-nian. 
m. 
is to call at half past ten.” The porter more of a 
boot-black than an orthographist, after studying the 
above all night, did not know whether to wake letter 
13 or to : let her be.” 
LOVE. 
Hath the Lily no sweetness when closed to its sleep? 
Have Boses when dying no fragrance to keep ? 
Love, pure as a Lily, is sweeter, and throws 
The fragrance of Roses wherever it grows. 
’Tis the gift of our Father, Ilis own sweet breath, 
Oh, what he has given, how can it have death! 
POPPING THE QUESTION. 
Said she, “ Pray tell me, if you can, 
Why men so bashful are; 
They fall in love and dream and sigh, 
And worship us afar; 
But when they strive to tell the tale, 
They stutter, hesitate and fail! 
“ We ladies like a man, you know, 
One not afraid to speak—” 
And here I thought a blush appeared 
Upon the maiden’s cheek; 
Then to myself I said, '• X see 
This maiden’s heart belongs to me. ’ 
Then out I spake—Oh, lady fair. 
My heart, my life is thine 1 
And since I boldly speak my love, 
Pray wilt thou not be mine ?’’ 
“ Ho, sir!” said she, with wondering staro, 
“Strange, how presuming some men are.” 
VERY DRY. 
Ou a sleeping-car the other night a lady 
exclaimed in a slow and solemn voice, “Oh, 
how dry I am!” There was a moment’s 
pause, aud again rung out, “ Oh, how dry I 
am!” Another moment passed, and the doz¬ 
ing sleepers were once more startled by the 
sepulchral exclamation, “ Oh, how dry I 
am!” 
“ Won’t somebody get that woman a drink ?” 
howled an old gentleman, who being rheumatic 
and occupying an upper berth could not very 
well do it himself. 
The demand was soon complied with, and 
the grateful sound of gurgling water was 
soon heard. Then there was a moment of silence, 
and following it came the same solemn tones, 
“ Oh, how dry I was 1” There appeared 
no doubt of it by the occupants of the car, 
aud if the truth could have been known, they 
wore unselfishly glad she had found relief, and 
they composed themselves- afresh for sleep. 
Then the voice again smote the air, “ Oh, 
how dry I was!’’ Everybody started and 
every eye was distended. “ Oh, how dry I 
was!” repeated the grateful woman. 
“ Then dry up!” screamed the gallant old 
gentleman in the upper berth. She did. 
“No eotin appuls in school ours!”reads a sign on 
the blackboard of a school-house in enlightened old 
Massachusetts, where Education is supposed to sit on 
the top rail and make faces at Ignorance. 
A three-year old boy asked his mother to 
let him have his building bricks to play with; 
but she told her darling it was Sunday, and 
therefore not proper for him to have them. 
“But, mamma,” said the hopeful, “I’ll build 
a church.” He got the bricks. 
“I guess I’ll take this hook,” remarked a 
Chicago lady to the clerk of a hook store ; 
“ it’s got twice as much gold leaf on the 
cover as any of the rest.” 
“Sarah was a good wife,” said a Georg¬ 
ian, speaking of his last wife, “hut she could 
never do up a shirt real nice.” 
A Clergyman being much pressed by a 
lady of his acquaintance to preach a sermon 
the first Sunday after her marriage, complied, 
and chose the following passage in the Psalms 
as his text: “And there shall he abundance 
of peace — while the moon endureth.” 
. “ Gentlemen and ladies,” said the show¬ 
man, “here you have the magnificent paint¬ 
ing of Daniel in the lion’s den. Daniel can 
he easily distinguished from the lion by the 
cotton umbrella under his arm.” 
“What’s the matter, Uncle Jerry?” said 
Mr. --, as old Jeremiah R. was passing 
to he 
The Young Larks. 
A lively urchin accosted a drug store man the 
other day thus: “Mister, please gimme a stick of 
licorish; your clerk goes with my sister.” 
An Iowa woman went to church one Sun¬ 
day and “experienced religion.” Arriving 
home, she called her children about her and 
said: “I am pious now, and I am going to 
give you two days to get religion. If you 
don’t do it I’ll whale your hides off. I have 
learned my duty. Do you hear me ?” 
An old Irish seaman at a prayer-meeting 
in Dublin, in relating his experience, stated 
that when at sea in storms and tempests, he 
had often derived great comfort from that 
passage of Scripture, “ Faint heart never won 
fair lady.” 
A lady occupying letter B at a hotel wrote 
on the slate as follows: “Wake letter B at seven; 
and if letter B says Get her he,’ don’t let her 
he, nor letter B be; because if you let letter B he, 
letter B will be unable to let her house to Mr. B, who 
Making the “Cat’s Cradle.” 
A widow was weeping bitterly at the loss of her 
husband, and the parson tried to console her. “ No, 
no,” said she, “let me have my cry out, and then I 
shan’t care anything more about it.” 
by growling most furiously. “ Matter !’’ said 
the old man stopping short. “Why, lieie I’ve 
been lugging water all the morning for Dr. 
C.’s wife to wash with, and what d’ye s’pose I 
got for it?” “ Why, I suppose about ten 
cents,” answered Mr. --. “ Ten cents ! she 
told me the doctor would pull a tooth for me 
Some time.” 
When the flood had commenced in Galveston, an 
old colored woman, whose house the water had not yet 
reached, was warned to get out of the way of danger. 
Firm in her faith that according to Scriptural 
promise the world would not he drowned 
again, she refused to budge, and stayed in her 
house until it went to pieces. Then she pad- 
died ashore on the bed of a table, with a good 
deal of her faith washed out of her, hut with 
no other remark than this : “ I ’clare to good¬ 
ness, dis yer’s bery ’markable !” 
“ Man,” says Victor Hugo, “ was the con¬ 
undrum of the eighteenth century.” Woman 
is the conundrum of the nineteenth century; 
we can’t guess her, hut we will never give her 
up. No never. 
“ George, dear, don’t you think it rather 
extravagant of you to eat butter with that 
delicious jam ?”- , 
“No, love; the same piece of bread docs 
for both.” 
A Saratoga belle writes homo: “ It’s 
horrid here — -not a man in town worth over 
$15,000. 
FORGET ME NOT. 
There is a flower, a.lovely flower, 
Tinged deep with Faith’s unchanging hue; 
Pure as the ether in its hour 
Of loveliest and serenest hlue. 
The streamlet’s gentle side it seeks, 
The silent fount, the shaded grot, 
And sweetly to the he.njt it speaks. 
Forget Me Not. Forget Me Not. 
