How dare you say, to gull the flats,
That I last night, ate two live cats ?"
"Two," replied Danker-"that's rare fun,
I promise you, I said but one!"
"Well, one, you slanderer, why say that?
How dare you say I ate a cat?"
""Twas Taylor told me so," said Bob.
"If so," says Tim, "I'll knock his nob."
So off he set, brim full of rage,
Vowing the fiercest war to wage
Against old Taylor-soon he meets him.
And with a dreadful poke he greets him—
"Taylor!" he cried, with flashing eye,
"How could you utter such a lie?
You've told the folks I ate a cat!"
"Oh! no, I never did say that!
So pray your savage sputter spare,
I said a Puss, that is, a hare.
Your mother told me so, now there!"
""Tis false," said Tim, "I do declare,
"I've never seen or touched a hare!"

He sought his mother-"Oh! mother, mot) ◄r,
Your tongue has made a shocking bother;
You said I ate a hare-folks blab it."

"I didn't," said she,“I said a rabbit.”

"And that's not true!" " It is," said she,

For your own wife told it to me."

My wife" says Tim-" Then 'tis a bouncer,
And I'll go home and soundly trounce her."
So Tim goes home, most sorely riled,
With flashing eye and visage wild,
"Wife! you have no love for your soul,
say I ate a rabbit whole!"

To

"And so you did," ""Tis false," he cried,
""Tis true, indeed," she quick replied,

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You supped, as you have supped before,

On a Welsh rabbit, nothing more!"

Tim ope'd his eyes with wild surprise,
His breath he scarce could fetch it,
Aloud he cried, half petrified,

“Good gracious, how folks STRETCH IT!"

THE LIGHTKEEPER'S DAUGHTER.--MYRA A. GOODWIN,

The pale moon hid her face; the glittering stars
Retired above the blackness of the night.
The wild winds moaned, as if some human soul
In fetters bound was struggling to be free;

The ocean leaped and swayed his long white arms Up in the darkness with a sullen roar.

Across the heavy gloom of night there came

The faint light from the tower, and when the moon
Peeped from her floating veil of clouds, she sent
A gleam across the waters, rushing mad.

Against the angry sky The lighthouse stood, whose beacon light foretold The danger to bold ships that neared the rocks While daylight slept.

In the tower by the sea, there, all alone,

The keeper's pretty daughter trimmed the lamp.
And as the water sparkled in the light,

"God save the sailors on the sea," she prayed;
"The night is wild; my father gone, and near

Are rocks which vessels wreck when storms are high; I will not sleep, but watch beside the light,

For some may call for help.”

And so she sat

Beside the window o'er the sea, and scanned
With large dark eyes the troubled water's foam,
Unheeding as the wind her tresses tossed,
Or spray baptized her brow.

A muffled sound

Trembles upon the air, above the storm;
Why strain her eager eyes far in the night?
Was it the wind, or but the ocean's heart
Beating against the cliffs?

Ah, no! Ah, no!
It was the signal-gun-the cry for help!
Now seen, now lost, the lights upon the ship
Glimmer above the wave.

Her inmost soul, with anguish stirred, sobs out,
"A vessel on the rocks, and none to save!"
Again that far, faint death-knell of the doomed
Upon her young heart falls. "They shall not die!
I rescue them, or perish in their grave!"

Her strong arms, nerved by heart long trained
To suffer and to dare for highest good,
Conquers in spite of warring elements;

The boat is launched; one instant does she pause
And lift her soul in prayer. 'Tis silent,

But angels hear, and bear it on their wings

To the All-Father, and the strength comes down.

The wind howls loud; the cruel, sulien waves
Toss the frail bark as children toss a toy;
All nature tries to baffle one brave soul
As, beautiful and bold, she still toils on,

Unheeding all except one thought, one hope.
She nears the vessel, beating 'gainst the rocks;
A wave sweeps o'er her, but her heart is stayed
By cries for "help" from hearts half dead with fear;
Upon the tossing ship they watch and pray,
While nearer draws deliverance. One more bound,
The ship is reached, and not a moment lost.
The boat is filled. Again she braves the sea,
This time with precious freight, the while the waves,
Thus cheated of their prey, mourn in revenge.
The moon between the clouds in pity smiles,
The waves are broken into tears above
The boat of life; resisting wind and wave,
They near the land, an unseen Hand directs,
And one Eye, never sleeping, watches all.

Upon the shore the fishers' wives knelt down
And clasped their loved ones, given from the grave.
Young children sobbed their gratitude, and clung
To fathers they had never hoped to kiss;
Strong men were not afraid of tears, which fell
Like April rain, as with their wives and babes
They knelt upon the bleak seashore, to pray.
Up to the sky a glad thanksgiving rose;
The wind ceased wailing, and the stars came out;
Joy filled all hearts, and noble Grace was blessed.
The earth grew brighter, for the angels sang,
In heaven, to God a glad, sweet song of praise.

THE TWO GLASSES.

There sat two glasses filled to the brim,
On a rich man's table, rim to rim,
One was ruddy and red as blood,

And one as clear as the crystal flood.

Said the glass of wine to the paler brother:
"Let us tell the tales of the past to each other;
I can tell of banquet and revel and mirth,
And the proudest and grandest souls on earth
Fell under my touch as though struck by blight,
Where I was king, for I ruled in might;

From the heads of kings I have torn the crown,
From the heights of fame I have hurled men down;

I have blasted many an honored name;

I have taken virtue and given shame;

I have tempted the youth with a sip, a taste
That has made his future a barren waste.

Greater, far greater than king am I,
Or than any army beneath the sky.
I have made the arm of the driver fail,
And sent the train from the iron rail;
I have made good ships go down at sea,
And the shrieks of the lost were sweet to me,
For they said, 'Behold how great you be!
Fame, strength, wealth, genius before you fall,
For your might and power are over all.'
Ho! ho! pale brother," laughed the wine,
"Can you boast of deeds as great as mine?"
Said the water glass: "I cannot boast
Of a king dethroned or a murdered host;
But I can tell of a heart once sad,

By my crystal drops, made light and glad;

Of thirsts I've quenched, of brows I've laved,

Of hands I have cooled, and souls I have saved;

I have leaped through the valley, dashed down the mountain,
Flowed in the river and played in the fountain,
Slept in the sunshine and dropped from the sky,
And everywhere gladdened the landscape and eye.

I have eased the hot forehead of fever and pain;

I have made the parched meadows grow fertile with grain;
I can tell of the powerful wheel of the mill,

That ground out the flour and turned at my will.
I can tell of manhood debased by you,
That I have lifted and crowned anew.
I cheer, I help, I strengthen and aid;
I gladden the heart of man and maid;
I set the chained wine-captive free;
And all are better for knowing me."
These are the tales they told each other,
The glass of wine and the paler brother,
As they sat together filled to the brim,
On the rich man's table, rim to rim.

THE NOBLE NATURE.-BEN JONSON.

It is not growing like a tree

In bulk, doth make man better be;
Or standing long an oak, (three hundred year,)
To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sear:
A lily of a day

Is fairer far in May,

Although it fall and die that night,-
It was the plant and flower of light.
In small proportions we just beauties see;
And in short measures life may perfect be.

MR. O'HOOLAHAN'S MISTAKE.

An amusing scene occurred in Justice Young's court-room an evening or two since. Two sons of the "ould sod," full of "chain-lightning" and law, rushed in, and, advancing tc the justice's little law-pulpit at the ear of the court room, both began talking at once.

"One at a time, if you please," said the judge.

66

Judge-yer-honor--will I sphake thin?" said one of

the men.

"Silence!" roared his companion. "I am here! Let me talk! Phwat do you know about law ?"

"Keep still yourself, sir," said the judge. "Let him say what he wants."

66

'Well, I want me naime aff the paiper. That's phwat I want," said the man.

"Off what paper?" said the judge.

66

Well, aff the paiper: ye ought to know what paiper. Sure, ye married me, they say.”

"To whom?" asked the judge.

"Some female, sir; and I don't want her, sir. It don't go! and I want me naime aff the paiper."

"Silence!" roared the friend, bringing his huge fist down upon the little pulpit, just under the judge's nose, with a tremendous thwack. "Silence! I am here. Phwat do you know about law? Sure, yer honor, it was Tim McCloskey's wife that he married--his widdy, I mane. You married thim, yer honor."

"And I was dhrunk at the time, sir. Yis, sir; an' I was not a free aigent; an' I don't know a thing about it, sir-do see? I want me naime aff the paiper-I repudiate, sir." "Silence! Let me spake. Phwat do you know about law?" bringing his fist down upon the judge's desk.

ye

"But I was dhrunk: I was not at the time a free aigent." "Silence! I am here to spake. It does not depind on that at all. It depinds-and there is the whole pint, both in law and equity-it depinds whether was the woman a sole thrader or not at the time this marriage was solemnated. That is the pint, both in law and equity!”