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Las cartas, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent Atra filmte k das taux de reduction diff«rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour Atre reprodjit en un seul clichA, il est film* A partir de Tangle aupAriaur gauche, de gauche A droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images nAcessaire. Las diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. D 32 X 1 2 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 I-^' ***'!« t4:. ■^ i. nc -^ 'S-i'cSj ^, wi.. mi *>*i 'J A,'- ( Ai A RETROSPECTION. Frontispiece. THE SPEAKER'S Complete pro^ra/r\. A COLLECTION OF DIALOGUES, READINGS AND RECITATIONS. Arranged in Programs of convenient length for School or Evening tntertaunnents. Witii short Selections suitable for Encores Rulks *" OF Ordkr for Literary Societies, a Choice Selection of nisic, a Juvenile Department; and John Pt.oughman's PiCTLRES, by REV. C. H. SPURGEON. lUtastrated withi A SERIES OF PHOTOGRAPHS, FORMING A GRAPHIC PORTRAYAL OF THE ARTS OF GESTURE AND EXPRESSION Arranged by MISS SALLIE GRANCELL. McDERMID & LOGAN, I^ONDON, ONT. ID l?93 Copyrighted by DAVID W. CASKEY, Jr. 1891 and 1893. Introduction, All those who have had to do with literary entertainments o: any kind, have felt the need of a more complete book of selections than is contained in any "Speaker" now on the market. "Thb Speaker's Complete Program » has been prepared to meet this want. It contains a large number of entirely new selections not found in any other book, vrhile along with these have been placed a few of the old favorites whose excellence is such that they are always well received. For the convenience of teachers or anyone preparing literary entertainments, nine complete programs have been arranged, each of which will form an enjoyable and pleasing performance. This feature will doubtless be of great assistance to those who have not time or opportunity to make their own selections, while not interfering with the use of the same matter for other purposes. Great care has been used in choosing the numbers, and every- thing objectionable has been carefully excluded ; therefore the book can be safely placed in the hands of the youngest children. Our aim has been to use only the BEST things from the field of liter- ature. The ground to be covered was immense, but the selection is confidently offered to the public for approval. A large amount of original matter has been prepared especially for the book by experienced elocutionists and educators. ine juvenile department contains a number of selections adapted to the smaller children. This has been the hardest class otnoDUonoir, of matter to find ordinarily, and we are sure this collection will be appreciated by parents as well as teachers. The often preferred request for " something suitable for an encore" is met by a large number of short readings and recita- tions selected especially for their adaptability for this purpose. Of course any of them can be used in the regular programs or foe separate delivery. A large amount of temperance matter has been incorporated in the book, and the advocates of cold water will here find many tell- ing speeches in their favor. It is hoped that the Complete " Program " will be found a useful companion for the fireside as well as for the school room, since it con- tains many of the GEMS of ENGLISH LITERATURE. No pains or expense have been spared in illustrating and binding the book, that it might be a desireable ornament to any parlor or library. Spurgeon's ever popular "John Ploughman's Pictures" has been included, first as oflFering a number of pungent and pithy short speeches suitable for the school room, and secondly as being well worthy of preservation in permanent form, from its literary merit, sparkling wit and moral teachings. The Rules of Order, prepared by James P. Boyd, A. M., will be found a very useful and complete manual for lyceums, literary socie- ties and village assemblies of all kinds. The Musical Department includes a number of the choicest vocal selections, suitable for use at evening entertainments. It forms a very delightful addition to the book. We desire to call -special attention to the illustrations that have been prepared for us by Miss Sallie r^^„^ — 11 4.1, 1-1 — 4.- J VTiaiivcii, LUC ucxcuiaLCU Philadel- INTRODUCTION. f phia reader, assisted by Miss Carrie Colbum, late of the Boston Theatre Company. These thirty-two illustrations present forty-five different emotions, and each one will prove, to the student in this illimitable field, a val- uable lesson in pose, gesture and facial expression. We feel convinced that these pictures are destined to fill a long-felt want with many students, who will find a careful study of them equal to any course in the art of Gesture. The Publishers. » .. * •• LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. ^ -iOTOGRAPHS. Retrospbction . Frontispiece. '*°' D^BCTION jy «9 Dbvotion . , , , SupptlCATION , , , Rbsignbd Appbai, . , Triumph .... MiSCBIBP .... Caution .... Stricti,y Confidbnwai, Boasting and Ridicui,8 Mirth and SilLF-SATISFACTlON Pouting and Tbasino " Indignation and Explanation Rbproop and Saucinbss . COftUBTRY AND BASHrui,N88S . Adibu . 138 • 15s . 191 . a35 . 344 • 293 •3" 330 347 365 384 Anticipatiow . , expbctation . , , Joy Grbbtino . . , , BtBSSING . . , , Invitation and Hbsitation Entrbaty and R^bction Command and Dbpiancb Accusation and Guiw Vbngbancs and Fbar Contbhpt Horror . Gkibf . MomiNINO Dbspair . MADNBSa . 40a .403 .404 • 40s . 406 . 407 . 40S . 409 . 410 . 4" . 413 .413 414 415 416 i}L, CONTKNTS. 248 VAOB . 4/0* .403 .404 . 40s . 406 • 407 . 40S . 409 . 410 . 411 . 413 . 4x3 . 414 . 415 . 416 AUlity Advice to Young Men... ts* Affecting Scene, An .".■.■ lA After Many Days l^. After Twenty Years ,'.' ,?, Ah.What? ^^,1 Alike '.'.'.'.■;.■ -^ ' Among the Animais. ..".'.'". .'..'.'. J^ AngeU Unawares 5^* Antietam 68 Ascertain Your Weicht ,-n Ashes .*■. •;;;•; '7| As Quick as the Telephone "*68 Baby's Logic ,0? Bahy's Mission -',1 Baby's Soliloquy '.".'.'.'.".'.'.".". ,Sj Banncrm.in Ki\A» >><• n..'.. "j iincrm.in Rode the Gray " 21 i Beautiful Moonlight " ' ., Beautiful, The.. . ,g^ Before the Sun Goes Down. ,ss BeTemperate ?|, Bible in the War. The. \V, Bill and Joe '°i Black Tom! ^', Bob's Mother-in-law.. ,*{ Boy's Opinion, A ". ,".V..' ." .' ,*« Boys Wanted ^92 " Boy Wanted ", . . ^,^ BraceUp J° Brave Kate Shelley .'. ?" Breaking the News ,,i Brotherly Love.. " Bunch of Cowslips, A... ,„ Busy Bee and Mule, The . .'.V.*.! .' ,* ,0? Cabin Philosophy •'f 1 Caleb's Courtship 'Z Call of Duty. TKe '.\\\\\ ,?? Canal- Boat, The ff| Captain's Wife, The \\\\ "„ CarlDunder „ '39 Case of Poetic justice," A ."'.'..' .*!'.". [ -gj Cat's Bath, The. ^2? Charles Haddon Spurgeon '.'.".'.'. «, Charlie Machree. ..... ^" Chickrs,The ,y Childhood 3»9 Child's Dream of a Star," A. jS ^u'!^;* £'"' Impression of a Stir," A '. '. '. '. '. '. ,2 Child's Funeral, The lol Choosing a Vocation '.]", ,0, Chosen, The .....'.'.'.'.'.'.'.' „ Chrismaa at Lyndaie Hall.. . .'.'.*. .„ City of the Living, The. . . ^ Classmates, The.. f? Cobbler's Secret, The .'," " ,' * ,' * * ." ,' * ' \ [ Jl Columbus -^ Coming and Going '.'", fli Coming of the King, The ....'.'.'.'.'.'. ,i. Commonplace. The '" iVa Comparison, A Ji. Complaining .' ^^ Consider the Lilies, ......".'.."." ^„ Contented Jim .' *" Convincing Argument, A. .!! ".■..■.■.' ." .ti Cool and Collected... I?! Coquette, A .'.■.■ '"" Vtj Cormac O'Grady's Courtihip" '...'.'.'. S' Cousin John . 'II Country Cousins '." 'f' Countryman in Town. The". '.'.'.'.'.'. »„ "Coward " in Battle, The Se Cowboy. The "S* Curtain Falls. The ..'. ,?] Dan's Wife f*J Dawn of Spring. The '.'.'.'.'.'..'.'. ato Death of Garfield, The ... . ^ Decorative *" Delinquent Subscrilw," The". '. '.'.*.'.* ,?* Depot Scene. A -^ f^ Desperate Situation, A ^ Diamond in the Rough, A vi Don't f.;.. »5 Don't Marry a Man if He Drinicil! '.■.■.■.;;*. S Don t Worry 2» Do Something "" j7, "Do They Miss Me at Hom;?";;;;:; "' ' 2! Double Transformation, The • art Down Hill with the Brakes Off «„ Do Your Best. "'j Drama of Three Mornings, "The". '.'. is Dream of Greatness, The ^ "Drink Deep the Spirit of the' Quirt Hiils'" ws Drowned f^ Drunkard, A f^ Dublin Bay *IJ Dying Newsboy, The *■.'■ '. 5?, Dying Soldier, The 'I Eggs That Never Hatch, The....;;;;.'::: S3 "Ehren on the Rhine" -if Eleventh Hour Laborer, The '.'. aoi Enemy. An 11 English Sparrow, The ""106 Entirely Different Matter, An * " * m Eph Got There ! ......'..' i& Epitaph on Owen Moore ! tilt E Pluribus Unam !."!!!" i|o Erring Son Reclaimed, The! ....".'.* ,^ Everybody's Darling "" Xl, Fading, Still Fading TJT Fair Attorney, A .'.'.'.'.'.'" 104 W 10 Fame. CONTENTS. Farmer Boffin'i Equivalent iS Farmer, The. ..??... . \ll FaUAge.A \ll Fault Finding J? Fire of Orif|-wo..* Happy Mart, A.. ..;;;■.;;:;:;••; j°j Harry's Arithmetic ,fi Harvest-tide .... Hattie's Views of H^;*; Cleaning.! '.W'.'" r^L Heart Bow',! Down. The ^S He Can't Help It.. f^ He Loves Me '|f Her Correspondent *. ,2 Heroes of .Sumter, The.. • ?I He Wanted Vengeance ::::::; ,|| He Worried About It. . . . jjt HU Flying Machine "i His Noble Wife. '*' Hia Registered Letter .■.■,■,*.'.■ 'f* Hog Feeder's Song ,|* Holidays are Coming, The. ...*.';;;; ,Z Home Glimpses " ^o Homesick . . 9* Hot Box, A.... V.'. "9 How He Managed Aunt Betsey; ;;; \]l How It Happened ' '♦" How She Secured Him...;;.' |*, Hunten "7 ••••• 391 «>5 Huskin' Bee, P» Immra!Jr''"""'""^"'"'"«^"-'"-^ InDeMornin' '.'.'.'. ^ Innocence ^ Inquisitive Child, An!.;!; ^„J In Search of a Job " - -f J Introductory Address ••••••• aai Irony of Greatness, I he .;;;;; ,5? Isaac's Address '"J "It Is My Mother". 'A It's lust An Idea of My Own.'.".'. .*.*.'. If "I Want My Balloon". ?! I Want Ter Know ; JO , ack and the Rabbit i" ack the Evangelist S;S , amie *'* jealousy in the Choir;.'.", * " ^1^ enny 9° im...... 375 ;oe ..■;.■.'.■;.■.■ '^ John Ploughman's Pictures". '.'.'. j!^ Judge Not 399 Jumper from Jumpi^iiieVA;; \l\ Tumor Partner Wanted. A V.'. «, Kate 'ii Keep a Stiff uppierLip";;;;;, ; 25 Keeping Up Appearances -io Kindness Jj* King and the CobblM," The. ■.■.■.'.'.■.*.■.; ! "" vn Kiss Me Goodbye, Dear. JZ Kivered Bridge, The. . . IJ; Knife of Boyhood, The.. A Knight's Pledge, The ■.■.■.'.■.;; ,15 I^rt Priyer, The 3" Leaf from the Life of a Schooigiri, a!; .'." ,6 Left^Alone a. Eighty ..'.:...-^ Let the Cloth be White. ?* F-? " .'^'"*' ^""^ ""ti Ten. ;;;;;; ,f , Life Mirror, A 3«7 Life Saved, A ... 3*4 Life's Battle •• '|* "Life's Dream IsO'er" ,1 Lightning Rod Dispenser, The..'! tfa Linger. O Gentle Time !?? Little Dot 3a« Little Jim.,.. *33 Little Girl That Di^VThe v.". '~ Little Orphan Annie. ., . ^2? Little Song. A *'3 Little Surprise. A.. '393 Little Teacher. The.;;; ^^9 I^ing Motto. A 39« Lost Kiss. The '*? Lost Penny. The 'fj Love of Reading. The ;.*,V.'." ^,1 Love's Comine ^ Lullaby .v.'.'.*.; 3" Maiden's Prav^r *'3 Making of the Eartii;;; ;;;;■. fi! Mamma's Kisses !„ Mammy'* Churning Song. ;!;;;*; J^J CONTENTS. 11 MMitgtng Wife, The 78 M«ry'« I^ml) With Variationi .',' 74 Master and the Reapers, The "" jja Mattie't Wants and Wishes " " 180 M'Calta and ihe Middy .' ! '. 180 Memory Lesson, A ,,2 " Mending the Old Flag " ".'. .'.'.'.'.■.■.■. 146 Mere Coyness 212 Merry Christmas .'.'!.".' 43 Mistaken Philanthropy . i 10 Mistletoe. The ....'.'.'.'. 166 Model Church, The ' ' ' 202 Model Husband Contest, The 203 Model Woman, A \\ 250 Mr. and Mrs. Bowser go Shopping. ...!!!! 13 Mr. Bayberry's Dilemma '. ' 160 Mr. Blifkin's First Baby [[ 76 Mr. Bowser Bound to Have a Canine Pro- 'ector ,26 Mr. Dollinger Has Fun 250 Mrs. Bunker's City Shopping .....!."! 284 Mrs. Lester's Soiree 261 Mrs. Rabbit's School ^77 Mr. Tongue [[[[ %g Must We Never Meet Again 33 My Ain Joe '" 210 My Lady !."."..!!.' 281 My Mother 292 My Neighbor and I !!.'..!!!! 255 My Welcome Beyond ..!!.... loj Neighbor Jones \\[ 234 Neighlx)r!y Kindness ". . "" 21 New Birth, The „e New Bonnet, The A New Girl, The ,,T New Ye«r'8 Talk, A ■..■.*"■■■■ 303 Niagara ,^5 Not • Drop More i^q Nota Sparrow Falleth " " 240 Not So Green After All '" 28 Obstructive Hat, The .......' 200 October's Party .' .' 387 Old Bachelor on Female Friendships'.' An. ." '. 41 Old Man's Vigil, The V. . . . . «6 Old Village Blacksmith Shop 21 Once Upon a Time 303 One More 247 One Thing at a Time ..!..".'.' 378 One Touch of Nature [ 106 Only a Boy '' 387 Only the Brakesman ..". «|, On the Other Train ',,[ 220 On the Shores of Tennessee ." 80 Opening Address ^87 Orchard Path, The '....'.'.'.'.'. 200 Our First Lesson in Courtship. ...'..'. 100 Our Harry 323 Our Lost Treasure .*!!..*.." 1 148 Over the River ','/. 47 Overwork 2e8 Parting, The .■;,■.';; *.;;;;; jj. Peacefully Slumber ^ penalties of Civilization " * ' (S People wc Meet ;.;.;;; 7, Personal Influence [[[ 80 Philosophy in the Mud ••••••• Picket Guard, Th? ',', |b Pilkin's Landlady ^j {•itcherorjuB :;:;;;; ^ Plantation Song jij Pluck and Prayer. ...!.,.. 76 Practical Joker, A i. Practical Philosophy [,', ij Prayers I Don't Like L, Profanity .ii Tft I ' >o7 Prologue -i Purely Platonic .qT Quaker Widow, The '.'.'.'.'.'.'" a05 Queer Little House, The '.' ^81 Questions _■_""■ 227 Raggedy Man, The !.!*....!!!! 383 Railroad Through the Farm, The tax Rain Clouds ... 324 Raindro|)'s Ride, The ,80 Reason Why, The .'!".!.".".' 180 Recipe for a Day, A »8o Reluctant Choice, A !.'.'!... 80 Resurrection, The .' .' igi River Styx, The .".'."!! 121 " Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep"! aco Roll Call *^ • '" Ruby ::;::;;:; aw Rums of Palmyra, The 105 Rules at a Guthrie Hotel 1^7 Rules of Order Aa " Ruth " ....!!.'.'!!.' SI Sairy Jackson's Baby. . !....'..!.!,'.* 1 ,, Sand ;;• ^f Sand-Man, The 380 Saved by a Song ,5. School-Boys' Trials .'.'.'.".'.'.','.'.' 180 School-Girls in a Street-Car H4 School-Girls' Trials \\\\\ ,70 Scott and the Veteran .....W 166 Scripture Siory in a New Form 300 "Shine! Blacking, Boss?" 54 Shopping .'.'.*.'.*.' 81 Shotgun Policy, The .........!". 01 Shutting Out Care ." 38 Single Man, The ,.',",' 282 Sin of Omission eg Sister's Cake .....'.' 202 Six Years Old ..."..*.*.*.*. 378 Slang Phrases ......!.*!. 103 Sleeping Sentinel, The ',",',', 135 Slight Misunderstanding, A 257 Smart Husband, A Zg Soldier's Pardon, The 121 Somebody's Mother ...!.! 377 Some How or Other .....". 275 Some One's Servant Girl 139 Some Other Day \ 2S0 Something Great ".'.!!!! 23c Something in Store !.!!!!! io6 Sometime, Somewhere 241 Song of the All-Wool Shirt " " ^88 Spike That Gun 20 Sponpendykes, The 04 Stampede, The \^\ ^ Story of Don, A = = ...........!.. 210 Strength For To-day 107 Striking Instance of Man's Devotion ...... 41 Substitute Wanted, A , -iac Suniliiny Hu»bwd,A '.,'.,, 241 -I f :2 CONTENTS. Sure Cure, A 314 Tableaux \ ^^ Tale of a Doe and a Bee 390 Tale of the Houiatonic 22% Tar'i Farewell, The \\ 2J1 Terrible Whispering Gallery, The 160 That Railway Clerk 25 Thai Sewing Machine 132 That Silver Mine jng That Terrible Boy " " " jX, That Terrible Child .'.'. 154 Theology in the Quarters 305 Three Friends 03 Through the Breakers ji* Thy Will Be Done '/, ^^q Tiresome Caller, A '" itt TollGate of Life, The '.'//, 334 Tonic of a New Sensation, The '.',', 350 Too Progressive for Ilim 310 Too Scientific ik. To Those Who Fail ' " 216 Trifles.. ;; 34 Trouble in the Amen Corner «o8 True Nobility .- Two Bibles, The '..'.'.'.'.'.'. 285 Two Brothers, The , 245 Two Kinds of Fun ' w? Two Visits .'.. jl Unbidden Guest, The 240 Uncle Pete's Counsel to the Newly Married '. 296 Unexpected, The 310 Unfinished Stocking, The .,, gi Unromantic " " ,02 Vacant Chair, The !..!!!! 314 Valedictory ['"' ,g^ Valley of Chamouny, The 468 Veritable VaUey of Death, A ' .' ." 283 Volunteer's Wife, The | Wns." *^ Tk- Uj: :.. • ,. . _ . — '"^"ca aiusc in grcai masgnation. Kach of them gave me a look thit pierced me to the heart, and each one gave Mr. Bowser a look whkh ought to have shortened bim two (mW nrj OOMPLMTM P»O0aAM, I he turned to t 1 luld Mr cuktoin in all tilings and no I he took Uie '. "iitliai aJI I rtpHct' «fte» «ore ' " h« '•er. lit on a horir 5? Sir, thi» and one you p the clerk, id as we jjot I a doorway, this store is a liar and We'll try 'ded, and as was to find Mr. liouser tunately at to another :rnoon I've loth, and I d I've been er. I'ser to the Wewanj lozen nap* in. Each me to the «r a look two fetW but which id no appair effisct. In s«v«n nilnutes wc nad found what we wanted, paid the bill, and were ir.i'lyto ({o. The clerk ai i"t a bit sulky, and Mr. Ii wser was getting ready to give him a blast, when I appealed to him to hold his peace. I told him it was the custom of several thousand ladies to come down town every afternoon to shop, and that shopping con- sisted of promenading up and down to show their suits off to a lot of well dressed loafers, and entering the stores and taking an hour and a half to buy a sixpence worth of lace or ribbon. The clerk melted a little, and I got Mr. Uowser out without another eruption. " Now for the dishes," he said, as we sUrted for the crockery store. My heart sank as I saw the place crowded with ladies. We halted beside one who was saying to the clerk : " And so this tooth-pick holder is six cents ? " " Only six cents, madam." " How very cute I " •' Yes. it is." " And it is imported ?" " It is." •'How very, very charming I This is the tame one I saw yesterday, is it ? " "Oh! certainly." " Dear me. but 1 wish I could make up my mind whether to take it or not. You see we may move in the spring, and if we moved, you know " " I want about fifteen dollars worth of dishes." interrupted Mr. Bowser. " Yes, sir. in just a moment." " How many of these tooth-pick holders have you got?" "Only five," "I'll take the lot ; and now come and wait on me. I want twelve cups and saucers, twenty-four plates, three or four platters, two tureens and a fish platter." The lady turned and killed me dead with one ong look. Then she looked at the back of Mr. Bowser's neck and tried to murder him. but he would not fall. Then she returned and killed me over again, gave her shoulders a twist and walked out of the store. She had hardly de- pancu nucn ucsa at nvai asiieu our clerk, busy though he was, to show her some teaspoons. " Madam," said Mr. Bows< . "do you wish to buy some spoons?" vn town, >strticiing imen wf "Perhaps * " Do you know whether you do or not ? " " Why— I—I will look at them." ■ Very well; you sit down and wait until I am through buying. I camr 'o buy, know \ hat I want, and shall pay cash Ui.wn." I was killed again, and if looks « uld havt cruslK d Mr. Bowser, he'd have been a i^ngled cc'i^c in ten seconds. We were only if -necn minutes in buying the dishes, and is we ^ out and reached the car, Mr. Bowser " Mis. Bowser, when you come do you go fooling around i' '• stores doorways and crosswalks ke the have seen to-day ?" 'I— 1 guess I do." ' And end up by buying four cents > of SOI tfthing?" "Yes; it is the custom." " And would it have laken you th- . ks tobu what we bought in less than two h. s?" "V ssir." "T! ';n I'll write, this very day. to an ot asylum and see if I can't sqweeie you in. s no woi ler every other home is full of scanc I. and every other husband wants a divorce ! A DIAMOND IN THE ROUGH. Hb wa I't one of these shiny, good-looking chaps tha I see every day hanging about the depot, drc ed in a long overcoat and plug hat. and with, emingly. no other business than to swing a di idy cane and stare at the ladies. He didn't ear his hair parted in the middle. To tell the mth, I don't believe it was parted at all, for it ^ lod out all over his head in every direction, am reminded one strongly of a bush on fire. Th, he was from the country one could see wit half an eye ; the evidences of rural life were too plainly marked to be mis- taken. His g-eat. round, good-natured face had been kissed by the sun until it was the hue of a peony, an ' was studdea with freckles as thick as spots c i the back of a speckled hen» His hands were > large that one of them would have made two ,'ood-sized ones for a dandy and left some o spare. He wore number fourteen cowhides with his pants tiirked in to show their yellow tops. His coat fitted him about like a schoolboy's jacket and was of a variety of colors owing to long usage and expos- ure. Whisps of straw protruded from his )6 THE COMPLETE PEObSAM. pockets and hung from every catchable place about liim. In one hand he carried his broad- brimmed straw hat. and in the otiier, an old carj)et-bag which liad lost the lock and was fas- tened together with a piece of wool twine ; and, although great pains had evidently been taken it was too full to effectually conceal from view stray glimpses of its varied contents. Seating himself by the side of an elegantly dressed lady, and putting the aforesaid bag be- tween his feet for safe keeping, he drew out his red bandanna and mopped off" his forehead. The lady drew away her rich silks impatiently with a frown which said plainly, " You're out of your place, sir." But he didn't seem to notice it in the least, for very soon he turned to her and remarked good humoredly : " An all-fired hot day, marm 1 Coin fur? " The lady deigned no reply. Supposing himself unheard, he repeated in a louder tone, "An all-fired hot day! I say, marm, goin fur?" No reply, but a look of supreme indignation. "Why!" he exclaimed— evidently for the benefit of the whole crowd—" the poor critter's deaf." Bending forward he screamed, " I'm sorry you're deaf, marm. How long have you been so ? If you warn't born so maybe 'tis ear wax what's hardened in your ears. I know what'll cure that sure as guns. It cured my Uncle Ezra. I'll give you a receet an' wel- come. Perhaps you'd better write it down. Take a leetle soap and warm wat " " Sir," said the lady, rising, her eyes blazing with wrath, "do you intend to insult me? I will complain of you to the police! " and she swept haughtily out of the depot. "Waal, I never!" he exclaimed. "I'm beat! What struck her? I'm sure I was jest a speakin for hergood. I was only a goin' to say. Take a leetle soap and varm water and syringe it into the ears three times a day. It's sure ; an I'll bet my best heifer on it, if she'd only heerd to a feller, it would have done the business for her. But some folks don't like to hear their unfortunities spoke of, and 1 s'pose I hadn't orter a' took any notice on it," and he relapsed into silence. Presently the western train ca. le due, and a tired-looking woman came in with two children i hanging to her skirts and a baby in her arms, besides a bandbox and a satchel. It was the | only vacant seat. She sank into it with a weary sigh, and tried to hush the fretful baby and kecj» watch of the two other restless flutter-budgets who were also tired and fretful and kept tea* ing for this and that until the poor mothel looked teady -to sink. " Pretty tired, marm?" remarked Jonathan "Goin fur?" "To Boston, sir," replied the lady, courte- ously. " Got to wait long ? " " Until three, "(glancing at me). " O. dearies, do be quiet ; and don't tease mother any more." " Look a here, you young shavers, and see what I've got in my pocket." and he drew out: a handful of peppermint drops. In a few minutes they were both upon his knees, eating; their candy and listening eageriy while he told them wonderful stories about the sheep and calves at home. But the baby wouldn't go to sleep. He was quite heavy and wanted to be tossed the whole time. Jonathan noticed this ; and finding a stnng somewhere in the depths of his old car- pet-bag. he taught the two children a game which he called, " Cat Cradle." Soon they were seated on the depot floor as happy as two kittens. " Now let me take that youngster, marm." he said. " You look clean beat out. I guess I can please him. I'm a powerful hand with babies." and he tossed the great lump of flesh up until it crowed with delight. By-and-by it dropped its head upon his shoulder and fell fast asleep. Two hours afterwards I peered through the window as he helped her and her belongings aboard the cars, and I don't believe if he had been the Czar of Russia she could have looked any more grateful or thanked him any sweeter. "'Tain't nothin* at all, marm.' I heard him say, bashfully, but I knew she thought dif- ferently, and so did I. He came back, resumed his seat, and buying a pint of peanuts from a thin-faced little girl- giving twelve cents instead often for them— sat munching away in hearty enjoyment until the i-.i. ii„ir» .a.i.v Otic, iiicn ne snatciicU his dilapidated carpet-bag and that of an old lady near by, who was struggling feebly towani the door. llOUfi THE COMPLETE PEOOSAM. 1» ' Lean right on me, marm ; I'll see you safe Lrough," he said cheerfully. J The conductor shouted " All aboard ! " and |ie train muved away. As I looked around at the empty seats I liought— " Something bright has gone out of Tis depot that doesn't come in every day— an onest heart— a diamond in the rough." MUSIC. PURE AS SNOW; Instrumental RECITATIONS. THE WIFE-HUNTING DEACON. BY MBS. h. D. A. OUTTLB. IpooB Deacon Brown, in the prime of life iHod buried hio loved and loving wife ; JAod what in the world could the deacon do I With four amall boys, and a baby, too ? I Joseph and Jesse, Isaac and Paul — I And none but the deaccn to do it all? ■ So he said to neighbor Jones one day, ■ In a semi'serions kind of a way, I" ril tell yon, Jones, I am sick, indeed, Of the lonely, humdrum life I lead ; I It would brighten the gloom of my lonely life, I If I only— well, if I had a wife ! I And then, my friend, yon are well aware That my poinr little babes need a mother's care If I knew of a woman, kind and good. That would care for them as a mother should, Why, ueighbor Jones, I would give my life. But where, oh! where can I find a wife ? There is widow Smith, b'ut don't yon see, She isn't the woman at all for me. I do not care for a pretty face, A lovely maid with a form of grace. But give me a woman of common sense, And not a miserable bill of expense Hearty and rugged and ready to work, Never complaining nor trying to shirk; One who can go, ifths need demands, Out in the field with the harvest hands, 'Viid woaldn't consider It ont of her place— Oh ! I wouldn't give much for a pretty face." " Well, Deacon," said Jones, with a comical sigh, While a bushel of fun twinkled right in his eyel I know of a woman, vnn ma v HnnsRd Who will make you a tip-top wife, my friend; She lives in the border of Barrytown, And I'm snre she will salt you. Deacon Brown, She's not very hudeome, bnt then, I suppose^ That yoa don't care m cent for the length of hei nose. Nor yet for the cat of the lady's clothes. She is always ready to do the chores, ' Or to work on her farm with the men out doon When help is needed — you underataud — Samantha Simpkins is right on hand." "Indeed 1 " said the deacon, in friendly tones, "I'm much obleeged to ye, neighbor Jones." The very next Sunday Deacon Brown Drove in his carriage to Barrytown ; And you may be sure that the deacon dreeaed In his new plug bat and his Sunday beat. He had spent an hour dyeing his hair; And he shaved his chin with the greatest care, " For," he said to himself as he drove away, " We ought to dress well on the Sabbath day." The day was warm— it was rather late When be tied his horse at Samantba's gate. " This here is splendid ! " the deacon said As he cast a glance at the barn and shed. " The house looks neat, and the yard is clean, And the farm is the slickest that can be seen." And he wiped the sweat from his dripping brow. " Ah! this is the woman for me, I trow ! " Then his hctrt beat hard, and he said no morc^ And he gently knocked at the parlor door. He heard a rush and a heavy tread — " I guess it's a man," the deacon said. Then the door was hastily opened wide— And the frightened deacon stood beside A swarthy dame that was six 'eet two, Who sported neither boot nor s >oe. She wore on her head a broad-brimmed hat, Old and battered and worn at that. Her nose was long, and her eyes were black, And her coarse, dark hair hung over her back. She had just come in from her well-kept form, Ard she carried a pitchfork under her arm. " I b% your parding! " continued be, " It is Miss Samantha I'd like to see." '* Wall," said Samantha—" that is met" I presume yon called to see the hay I offered for sale the other day. The deacon didn't know what to say^ Or how in the world to get away. "Say, what do yon want of me ?" she cried. Auu she stepped right up io the deacon's side. " Nothing ! " said he with charming graoe. Then she slammed the door in the deacon's fhoe. The wonder is that he didn't fall. For he went throogh the gate like a cumon-lmllt TBJl CQUFLETX PBOOltAJL 11 And wheu, at \n».%, he was safe fVom barm, A mile or m froiu the Sinipkius I'arm, Ae said to lilmseir, ia smothered tonea, " If ever again that wicked Joues Crosses my path, I'll break bis boneal " « • A BUNCH OF COWSLIPS. In the rarest of Euglisb valleys A motherles!) girl ran wild, And the greenness and silence and gladness Were soul of the soul of the child. The biid.4 were her gay little brothers, The squirrels, her siveethearts shy ; And her heart kept tune vrith the raindrops, And sailed with the clonHs in the sky And angels kept coming and going, With beautiful thinKS to do; And wherever they left a footprint A cowslip or primrose ijrew. She was taken to live in London— So thick with pitiless folk— And she could not smile for its badness, And could not breathe for its smoke ; And now, as she lay on her pallet, Too weary and weak to rise, A smile of ineffable longing. Brought dews to her faded eyea. Oh, me! for a yellow cowslip 1 A pale little primrose dear! Won't some kind angel remember And pluck one and bring it here? Vhey broiight her a bnnch of cowslips; She t ure, A city fair and wide. Wherein the dwellers lived in peace and pleasnr* And never any died. Disease and pain and death, those stem maian- ders, Which mar onr world's fair face. Never encroached npon the pleamnt bordcn Of that bright dwelling-place. No fear of parting and no dread of dying wmnmm TBS COUPLETS PliOOBAM. Could ever eDt«r there ; No monrniug for the lost, no angnieh crying. Mude any face less fnir Withoat the city's wulla, Death reigned as ever, Atad graves rose side by side ; Within, the dwellers laughed at his endeavor ; And never any died. Oh, happiest of all Earth's favored places! Oh, bliss to dwell therein I To live in the sweet lifiht of loving faces And fear no unvo between! And hurrying from di- viirld'sremotestquarters, A tide of piJKi'iiii'.i iluwed, Across broad plains and over mighty waters To find that blest alKxie, Where never death should come between and sever Them from their loved apart, Where they might work and win and live forever, Still holding heart to heart. And so they lived in happiness and pleasuro. And grew in power and pride, And did great deeds, and laid up stores of tieas- nre. And never any died. And luany years rolled on and fonnd them striv- ing With unabated breath ; And other years still found and left theu living And gave no hope of death. Tet listen, hapless soul whom angels pity Craving a boon like this— Mark how the dwellers in that wondrous city Grew weary of their bliss. One and another who had been concealing The pain of life's long thrall, Forsook their pleasant places and came stealing Outside the city wall. Craving with wish that brooked no more deny ing, So long had it been crossed, The blessed possibility of dying The treasure they had lost. Daily the current of rest-seeking mortals Swelled to a broader tide. Till none were left within the city's portals, And graves grew green outside. Would it be worth the having or the giving, The boon of endless breath. When for the weariness that comes of living There is no cure but death ? purs were, indeed, a fate deserving pity Were that sweet rest denied ; And few, methinks, would care to find the city Where never any died. 2 MUSIC. DREAM FACE WALTZ ; OK OLD VILLAGE BLACKSMITH SHOP, SONG AND CHOKUS. Now some love to visit far distant lands. Some go to Paris and E<.me, But the spot I love best and I'm longing to see, Is my own little sweet village home. It was there many times I play ad when a boy, And there's where I al ways could stop. To see the old blacksmith display bis great powers, In the old village Blacksmith Shop. CHOBUS. Oh I bang, bang, bang, goes the hammer on the anvil. All day long at the door I'd slop. Listening to the music made by honest toil In the old village Blacksmith Shop. When I was a boy my companions and I Would stand bj the old Smitlfl.- COLLOQUY. NEIGHBORLY KINDNESS. ■ Sally Marks and Jehn)e Characters. Sprague. SCEtiE.—Itoom furnished with small table,' flower pot, chairs, etc. Screen in the rear, or door leading into another room. Sallf sewing. Sally. Thank fortune, the house is clear- not even Bridget left at home to disturb me TUJB VUMFJUm'tt fUUUttAM, i^K with a ceaseless round of household perplex!- 1 Shall I sew up this seam ? (Snatching som^ ties! I'm in such a hurry about my sewing! work.) Now if everybody will be so kind as to stay away, I may hope to accomplish something. £HUr JeHHie. Good-morning, Sally. How do you do ? SaUy (Attempting to rise). Why, my dear Jennie I ytHHu. Now don't get up; keep at your work. I've come to spend the day, and will not make you the least trouble. Sally. But you will certainly let me take your things? yennie. Not at all. (Giving her hat and Salljf. Yes ; overcast it, please. Jennie (Rocking and sewingj. Now Isn't this nice ! It reminds me of the sheets and pil- low cases with their endless over and over seams I used to make when I was a little girl— bu^ what in the world are you doing? Sally (Picking up spools, etc.). 1 can't work unless my things are in order. Jennie, F ie ! How particular I Let me help you. (Tossing in the things.) Sally. Wait Jennie, dear; that ' 't the way. It is delightful to have a place for everything. ./' — - — — ••■ V ' ■'& ■"-■ •■•**■ <"iM I *i ■» u^iigiiiiui lu iiitvc n •hawl a toss and breaking off a house plant.) and everything in its place 'PLk_. I \7-*.. A.\ J«_ * ^ M^ There! You see they are disposed of. Sally (Starting up). Oh, dear! Jennie. Why, what have I done ? Sally (Uncovering the plant). My beautiful flower ! Jennie. Did I break it? Never mind, there »re (>'ienty more in the world. Sally (Ruefully). But this is very rare ; and the bud is broken. Jennie. Indeed, I am very sorry. Sally. Well, it can't be helped ; and, Jennie, you must excuse me if I return to my sewing. I promised Alice her wrapper this evening. She 'eaves day after to-morrow. Jennie. So soon ? How fortunate that I came over to help you ! Let me see— I can work but- tonholes nicely. Sally. Indeed, you must do no such thing. You may Ulk and I'll work. Jennie. No, no ; I am determined to show "ihat I can do. (Searching her dress pocket). Why, Where's my thimble? I surely had it yes- terday. Have you one you can lend me ? Oh, I can find it myself if it is in your work-basket —there goes the whole thing ! (Upsetting the bas- ket.) Sally. Oh, dear 1 I had just put it in order. Jennie. How unlucky ! One might stock a fancy store with the cortents of your basket. My ! your thimble's an open top ; I can't sew with it. Please exchange, if it is all the same to you. Sally. It isnlt all the same, but never mind ! (They exchange.) Jennie. Oh, thank you 1 Now we are ready ; i aeVer mind the spools and things just now. Jennie. More delightful than practicable, ac. cording to my experience. (Unconsciously fas- tening a needle on her waist. ) Now, Sally, let's sew. We can rush things right through now. Many hands make light work. Just think how much more cosy and sociable this is than for you to be shut up here alone stitching away for dear life. O, Sally, what's the use of overcasting this seam? I never could overcast. It's all higgledy-piggledy. Sally (Examining it with a suppressed sigh). Suppose you leave this and do something else. You say you can work buttonholes nicely, try this. (Giving her one end of the wrapper. ) Jennie. Oh, thank you ! This is just the thing. So Alice is really going away to spend the winter ? I almost envy her the nice oppor- tunity for sight-seeing. I hope she will bring us back some nice relics fur keepsakes. It is so. monotonous to be obliged to stay at home, year out and year in ! Seeing the same old things over and over again ! It is just too t iome for anything ! O, Sally, this buttonhole is aper^ feet pig's eye as mother would cal! it. It wiU never do, will it i Sally (Examining it). Why, Jennie, it isn't exactly — well ; you know, Alice is so particular! To tell the truth, Jennie, I think it would giv« her typhoid symptoms, at least. (Laughing.) Jennie (Distressed). Oh! let's rip it, can't we, or darn it up, or set in a new piece, or som#- thing ? Sally. I guess I can remedy it ; but now, I think. "Qn had hotter rest. Jennie (Scornfully). Rest? No, indeed; just when I've made up my mind to be usefuL There's a rent in your shawl ; I'll dam it TEE OOMPLETS PROOItAU. matching som^ 1 can't work ennie, it isn't Sa/fy. Oh that was such an unfortunate tear; I shall have to mend it very carefully. yeHHie. Just tfie thing! You'll see I have a real genius for darning. But where's the yarn? {Sally finds it.) And now, I want a worsted needle. Sa/fy. You'll find one in the needle-book. yimmie. But where's the needle-book? not in the basket. It must have rolled off on the floor somewhere. Sa/fy. Well, look it up, dear; really I haven't time. Jenriu. (Jennie flies around, tosses things about, upsets the work-basket, etc.) Oh, my! Sally, dear, if you don't help me find that needle I never shall get anything done. (Both look.) Sa//y. Why, Jennie, you little goose, it's on your waist this minute. yienMtf. So it is. How did it ever get there ? (Sitting down to her work.) Well, now I hope we re settled once more. Sa//j> (Arranging things). Not yet Let me set things to rights first yetiHie. Why, Sally, don't you know you never will accomplish anything if you are al- ways stopping for trifles? When I have any- thing important to do I always plunge right into it Sa//jf. Slow and sure is my motto. I never can work where things are at sixes and sevens. y^Hie. You had better hunt up something more for me; I shall have this done directly. Sa/fy (Observing her). Why, Jennie, you are getting it all in a pucker ! Let me show you. (Taking a few stitches in Jennie's work. ) This is the way. yennu (Injuredly). Why, isn't it right? Indeed, you make me feel very uncomfortable —when I'm trying so hard to help you, too! Sa//y. Excuse me, dear ; do it as you like. (Aside.) I can rip it out to-morrow. yeHnif. What did you say ? Sa//y. Oh, pray, go on with your sewing, yiennie. Aren't you tired of it ? Sa//y. Oh, no, not unless you are. Tfnnie. (Displaying an awkward dam with evident satisfaction.) There, my lady, confess it would have taken, you two hours. So much for having a sleight of hand; and I don't think it hurts the looks of it one bit to have it drawn a little, do you ? (Throwing it aside and rock- ing back and forth. ) Well, what next? Sa//y. O, Jennie, you have done enough, (Aside.) in all conscience! (Aloud.) I am quite obliged to you. 7fnnu. Are you, really? That's delight- ful I 1 like so much to do a neighboriy kind- ness; and now I am in the spirit of it. I shall really have to go and help Bridget, if you have nothing else for me to do. Sa//y. Bridget has gone home to-day. A' our family are all away, I thought it a good time to let her go and see her sick mother. Jennie. And are you all alore ? Sal/y. Yes, Jennie, and you will have to put up with a cold lunch for dinner. Jennie. Oh. charming! Let me get it ready ; it will be such fun, besides saving your time. ' Sa//y. Very well, dear. Bridget left every- thing ready in the pantry— cold tongue and biscuit and cake and— oh, there's a little jar of pickles on the third shelf-let's have some. JennU (Flying around). Let us set this httle table— it will be so cozy! But, Sally Where's the tablecloth? (Sally disappears and returns with the tablecloth.) Thank you» Now go back to your sewing— I will get the plates. (Exit Jennie.) Sa/fy (Calling off). And there are some plum preserves in a little glass can by the win- dow. (To herself.) Oh, dear, this work isn't half done! Jennie is good-hearted and means well enough, no doubt but how she does hinder me ! I wish she had been sent on a mission to the heathen Chinese instead of appearing ts me just at this time when I have so much to do. Jennie (With her hands full of dishes). O, Sally, Where's the butter knife? I can't find it Sa//y. Never mind ! We won't be particu* lar. Another knife will do as well for this tim» (Exit Jennie.) If I can only keep her out o* mischief, it's all I ask. Jennie (Enters with biscuit and meat). O Sally, I soused the pickles right into the crean. pot! What will RriHcr«» £!•»> ^^a a ^ and help me find the mustard ; I want to mix some for the tongue. Sal/y. You can't mix it without hot water, Jennit. Yes, I can— so come. (Exit both.) THE COMl'LETE I'ROQHAM. Saily (Enters calling out). Don't forget tlid plums Jeunie, (Resuming her work.) 1 never will get this wrapper done ; poor AUce will be so disappointed ! And 1 had planned for such a quiet day ! Jennie (Enters). Sally, Sally! Why don't you keep your tea in a tin caddy ? I got out too much preserves, and tliought I'd put ■some back and 1 plumped them right into the black tea! It is in a glass jar and the two jars are just alike. Oh, what will ISridget say when she goes after a "drawin of tay?" (Both laugh. ) Saily. I must go and attend to it. (Leaves the room.) (Jennie to herself.) Every thing is on the table now but tlie water. I'll fill the pitcher and get a couple of goblets and then we may sit down to our noonday repast. (Leaves the room.) (Sally comes back.) ySally to herself.') Oh, well," what can't be cured must be endured," I suppose (Hears a sound of breaking glass.) What's the matter now, Jennie ? Jennie (Entering with the goblets). Dear ! dear ! How unlucky I am to-day ! It has been a complete chapter of accidents. Sally. What is it now Jennie ? Do tell me. ifou look so troubled ! Jennie. I was reaching up to get the goblets and happened to hit a hand lamp, standing on the shelf, where Bridget had very carelessly left it, and knocked it olT into the cake box. The lamp is broken all to smash and the oil and glass scattered around promiscuously. Sally. I will go and clean it up. (Leaves the room.) Jennie (Arranging the table). Not just now, Sally, come back and let us have our lunch first. It is all ready. (Bell rings violently.) Goodness ! hear that door bell ! I hope the house isn't on fire. Do go, Sally. (Looking at the table complacently.) Now I think I have done pretty well. I've sewed and darned and mixed the mustard and set the table and — (draws a longbreatli.) I've, really, been a friend in need : but dear me! (Looking at Sally's w6rk.) Sally doesn't get along at all. How slow some people are! {Enter Sallie.) Sally. Jennie, it's a servant for you : — ^your grandmother has just arrived, and wants you immediately. Jennie. Grandmother! I' liope she- has brought the pearl necklace this time. I must go at once. Sally. But you'll stay for lunch? ^ Jennie (Flurried). Can't stay a minute, grandmother is so particular! (Seizes hat and shawl overturning basket and Power pot.) lliere g^es that unlucky work-basket again, and the flowerpot. Goodness, gracious ! Where's my scarf? (Sal^ holds it out to her; she snatches it across the table overturning things generally.) There goes the mustard. Good-by ! (Kissing Sally.) I'm so glad I took it into my head to come a.id help you to-day 1 Sally. Good-by 1 Come again and remem- ber I am much obliged to you (aside) forgoing. (Exit Jennie.) ' Sally (Surveying things). Here's a pretty mess! Everything topsy-turvy! Mustard pretty thoroughly mixed, I should say 1 Pickles, in the cream pot, plums in the tea caddy, oil in the cake-box, broken glass scattered over the pantry floor — and such sewing ! — It will take me longer to rip it out than it did to do it. Well, if this is what she calls neighborly kindness, I must say, " Deliver me from it! " School Festival. MUSIC. AVES OF OCEAN GALOP:— DUET. READING. HIS REGISTERED LETTER. Hans Blukhan got mad the other day. It was in London : There were a number of new letter-carriers wanted in the post-office depart- ment, and five or six score applicants were on hand to be examined by the shrewd medical gentlemen who were appointed to conduct this rigid scrutiny. Among these, was fat Hans Blukman, a well-to-do tradesman. He stood about the middle of the long line, before the closed doors of a room at the post-office build- ing. He waited his turn with perspiring im- patience. Every now and then, the dour would open, a head would be thrust through the crack of the door and cry " Next 1 ' ' Then somebody —not Hans Blukman— would enter. id wants you THX COMPLETE PROGRAM. 9ft 1 and remem- At last It came Han's turn. He entered and found himself alone with a man of professional aspect. Hans held out a slip of paper. The dignified official merely glanced at it and said: "Take off your coat." •• Dake off mine goat ? Vot you dink I come /or? Togetshafed? I vant " "Al! right. Take off your coat, or I can't examine you." " Den I vos got to be examined ? So ? Dot's all right. I s'bose," and off came the coat. "Off waistcoat, too!" " Look here, my vriend, you dink I was a tief? You vantsto zearch me ? Veil, dot's all right. I peen m honest man, py dunder, und you don't vind no schtolen broperty my clothes insite 1 I vas never zearch pefore already " " I don't want to search you : I want to examine you. Don't you understand?" "No, I ton'd understand. But dot's all right ; dere's mine clothes off, und if I cold catch, dot vill your fault peen entirely." . The professional man placed his hand on the visitor's shoulder blade, applied an ear to his chest, tapped him on the breast-bone and punched him in the small of the back, inquir- ing if it hurt. " Hurt? No, dot ton'd hurt ; butmaype, if dose foolishness ton'd stop ; somepody ellusgits bretty soon hurt." "Does that hurt?" was the next question, accompanied by a gentle thrust among the ribs. " No, dot ton'd hurt ; but, by dunder, it " " Be quiet I I'm in a hurry— I've a dozen more to attend to. Now, cau you readthiscard when I hold it out so?" "No." "Can you read it now?" bringing it a few inches nearer. " No ; but you choost pring me out my speg- taglesby my goat pocket and I read him." " Oh ! that won't do. Your sight is defec- tive, I -am sorry to say, and you are rejected. Put on your clothes— quick, please." " Dot's all right. So I vos rechected, eh? Well, dot vas nezzary. I subbose ; but it's very vunny, choose the same. And now I've peen rechected und eggsamined, mayoe, you don'd some objections got to git me dot rechistered letter?" " What registered letter ? " " Dot rechistered letter vot vas spoken about on dis piece baber." "The dickens! Who sent you to me wit,', tiiat ? I tliought you had come to be examined. Didr"; you apply to be a letter-carrier?" "A letter-garrier ? No I don't vant to be a letter-garrier. I half bizzness got py mineself. but I vants my rechistered letter from Sliar- meny vat mine brudder sents me." " Here," said the doctor to a messenger ir the lobby, "show this man the registered-letter clerk," and the bewildeied foreigner was con- ducted to the proper window wliere after passing through such a trying ordeal he finally received his letter from " Sharmeny " all right. THAT RAILWAY CLERK. There were a dozen of us waiting at the sta- tion near Strasburg, Va., for the noon train. Every one had cut his dinner short to catch the train, but the hour arrived— five— ten— twenty minutes passed, and then everybody wondered what had happened. The ticket agent was also the telegraph operator. He was a young man of twenty, illgrained and supercilious, but im- patience overcame the fear of him and a woman stepped to the window and asked : " Is the train late?" " Um ! " he growled in reply. » " How late is it ? " "Um!" That finished her and she resumed her seat. Five more minutes slipped away, and a very solemn looking man carrying a very solemn looking carpet bag advanced from his corner and began : " Train is late, isn't it ? " "Yes." " How late is it ? " "Um!" " What's the cause of it ? " No answer. He hung around for a minute longer and then solemnly marched back to his seat, and gave some one else a chance to get bluffed. After the fifth one had been tumed away, a short, solid, grizzly-headed man, who had been whittling a shingle on the platform and softiv hnmminor >• Wa mnn't ~» u^-.. ^mi morning," entered the waiting-room, looked up at the clock and then sauntered to the ticket window and queried : "Whar's that train ?'' THE COMPLETE rSOGRAJk. The young man wt* looking over some freight bills and did not raise his head. "Whars— that— train?" repeated the whit- tler in a louder voice. The agent looked up for a second, but let his eyes fall again without vouchsafing an ari- •wer. •' Whar's— that— train ? " shouted the passen- ger as h- brought his fist down on the shelf. No answer. After waiting ten seconds he walked out doors, turned to the right, and en- tered the ticket office through the freight-house. Walking straight up to the agent, he reached over the table and seized him, pulled him across like a streak of lightning, and as he gave him a •hake and jammed him into a corner he called •ut: " Whar in thunder and blazes is that train?" " It's a coming! " gasped the agent •« When— whar— which?" " In about— twenty minutes." •' What made 'er late ? " " The engine broke down at Winchester." " Then why in Crockett's name didn't you say so in the first place? Young man, take a •quar look at me ! I ain't purty, nor genteel, nor saintly, but I am plump up and down, and mean bizness ! When a man asks me how hogs, ar selling I'm going to give him a civil answer if it cracks three ribs, and when I ask you why that old bulgine hasn't snorted in, you're got to hear me or down comes your tres- tle-wor^is ! Do you catch on ? " •*Y-yes— certainly. -train's behind time— be here soon — of c-cours« — yes — of course ! " Then the solemn man rose up, took his hat in his hand and passed it around for contribu- tions, and we felt like raising a million dollars for the solid man as a token of our love and reverence. RECITATIONS. THE DEATH OF GARFIELD„ BY MISS A. O. BRIGOS. At early morn, upon the silence fell, The moiirnfnl message of the tolling bell, Ronsing from slumber with the tidings dread, Our nation orphaned, and our chieftain dead ! Poor mnrdfiivH mnn I The ^mpv weeks of y the asMuwin's ball- Each home is dnikencd by a cloud of Kloom The shadow resting o'er nn open tomb. Heartfelt the tears the weeping millions shed, Who loved him, living, and who mourn him, dead ; Nor we aloui mi distant nstions share Our sore bes-^v^ment and the griof we bear. England's 'orcd queen, in sympathy sincere, Her floral offftfiog lays upon bis bier. Half-mast the flags in foreign ports onfhrled— The deadly shot is felt throngbont the world. World-wide his fame— the warrior, statesman, < sage. The patriot, martyr— honor of our age I His name, immortal, as the work he wroaght In world of action or in realms of tboaght I When Natnre aims with preconcerted plan. To show the world her noblest type of man. She rears his childhood 'neath no marble dome, But rocks his cradle in a humble home ; Trains hia young feet the rugged steep to climb^ Fires his yonng soul with energies sublime. Displays a crown before bis eager eyes, Bids him ascend, if he would reach the prise, Till, step by step, amid exertion great. He carves his way to manhood's high estate. Our hero, thus, hath gainfd earth's topmost hight, And, stepping heavenward, disappeam from sight Leaving to ns, from that bright land afar. But gleams of glory through the gates ^ar. Beloved Ohio, 'tis thy sacred trust To guard his birthplace and his precious dust— His earthly home, whore mother, children, wife, With bim enjoyed their sweet domestic life. How worthless now the pride and pomp of state To those sad hearts, so doubly desolate ! Nor can a nation's love — its tenderest care, Assnage the grief these stricken ones mnst bear! 'Tis He, alone, the Christian's hope and stay, Can heal the wounds and wipe the tears away. BABY'S MISSION. Pillowed on flowers, with a half opened bud in its tinv hand th** hahv lioa a k«o..»;a.i :_.» of repose. Nothing can be lovelier than the delicate face, the little lips just parted, the V^te brow shaded by soft silken curls. ■ana THS COMPLETE PliOaSAM. There it nothing of the repulsion of death which some people always suffer beside a corpse to be felt by the most sensitive here. As beautiful now as in his brief sweet life the darling seems to be asleep; but it is a frozen sleep. The strong man. pale with suppressed emo- tion, strives to seem resigned for the sake of her who is leaning on his strength because grief ha. crushed her own. How their hearts thrilled with joy when the little nursling was given them! What plans they formed-v^hat hopes they reared for the future of their pre- cious one I Everything is over now. The lit- tle garments must be folded up and put away There will be no need of wakening in the night to take care of baby. Baby is gone. The minister speaks tender words and prays a prayer of thankfulness and trust. He has been to so many baby-funerals in the last quarter of a century, during which he has led his flock, the words of comfort come readily to his lips and he utters them in the sympathy and sincerity of his heart. He feels that such as this wee blossom are the flowers fittest for the kingdom of heaven. The last sad rites are performed. There is one more little mound in the cemetery and one more desolate home in town. These bereft parents are members of the lai^est house- hold under the stars-4he household of mourn THE CHOSEN. Whkt braloa that are crowned and gHIUt. Wh«u souls that are choMn have birtk, Sad sounds are in heaven uplifted. Though peana are snug upon earth ; For the (trea* Oirer knoweth how cm'el Are rarest, best gifts of bis hand ; When he feedeth the brain with his ftiel. He aoourgeth the heart with a brand. Woe, woe to the man that is dowered. Woe, woe to the thoughts that are shod. With the lightnings of God and empowenl To climb o'er the dnat and the sod ! For the world rolleth rocka in the highway, And coldljr looks on ftom afar, While the maaaea caat atonee (Vom each bjwu Crjring, " l>own where the rest of na are l- ing The world is full of sympathetic hearts, but It IS also full of hearts, busied with their own cares and perplexities ; and although they may •incerely sympathize with the afflicted, yet they will, after a time, chide those who are persist- ently sad. Was that little life a failure? Why did it come into this busy world if it was so soon to be taken away? To these questions we may reply. Its mission was to broaden and enlanre the lives of all who loved him. Their care for him gave them a comprehension of the mystery of childhood and a feeling of the Fatherhood of God that without him they might never have possessed. The little spirit, flying heaven- ward, draws by an invisible chain the hearts of lather and .—.I »-;.,,- . " - . •"•'""^= '" tnc land of tiie blest wnere their loved one awaits them. Its holv TvZ " *"°'"P"'''<'''' The baby lived not Small, ill-visaged curs IVom dark placet. Rush snapping at upward bonisd feet, And aerpenu with human shaped facet, Glide forth where the blowwms seem awtMt Black bate of fool envj and malice Beat foil in the face of the aoni ; And scandal makes cerUin her chalice And droppetb some truth in the bowL The aonl, stnining hard at the bonldtr, Removes it with mtter and hurt ; And the world caats a sneer o'er its sboalte. And laughs at its rags and its dirt. Weak souls that were touched with dedn But sat down half-waj to And reat, Peel hate for the ono climbing higher, And hail it with iiisuit and jest The aonl groweth saddened and weaiy But the gifted of God must go o« ; The eagle cries ont IVom his eyrie, " Come np where the great dwell aloarl* But alaa I what availeth the distance? The world pnta a glass to its eyet, And the aonl'a Tery inmost ezistenot It peuetratet, probea, and decrict. AN ENEMY By REV. DR. DEEMS. Always keep an enemy on hand. « brisk, hearty, active enemy. Having one is prool that you are somebodv. Wi«h».u;.ck.. ^ worthless people never have enemies. Men who never move, never run against anything ; andwhen a man is thoroughly dead and utterly buned nothing ever runs against him. To be aj I » THE COMPIETE PMOOBAir. run againtt it proof of exittence and potidon : 10 run against »ometl)ing is proof of motion. An enemy ii, to say the least, not partial to you. He will not flatter. He will not exag- gerate your virtues. It is very probable that he win sliglitly magnify your faults. The benefit of tliat is twofold. It permits you to know that you have faults and are, therefore, not an angel ; and it makes them of such size as to be visible and manageable. Of course, il you have a fault you desire to know it; wlien you become aware of a fault, you desire to correct it. Your enemy does for you this valuable work which your friends cannot per- foi-m. In addition, your enemy keeps you wide awake. He does not let you sleep at your post. There are two that always keep watch, the lover and the hater. Your lover watches that you may sleep. He hushes noises, excludes lights, adjusts sur- roundings, that nothing may disturb you. Your hater watches that you may not sleep. He keeps your faculties on the alert. Even when he does nothing, he will have put you in such a state of mind that you cannot tell what he will do next, and this mental fui vive must be worth something. He is a detective. Through his expert agency you soon discover wh6 are your true friends, who are your enemies, and who occupy a neutral ground. When your enemy assails you, the indifferent one will have nothing to say, or chime in. not because he has really anything against you. but because it is so much easier to assent than to oppose, and especially than to refute ; but your friend will take up cudgels for you on the in- stant. He will deny everything and insist on proof, and proving is very hard work. ITiere is not a truthful man in the world that could afford to undertake to prove one-tenth of his assertions. The next best thing to having a hundred real friends is to have one open enemy. MUSIC. ALICE WHERE ART THOU .-Instrumental OR ITS JUST AN IDEA OF MYOWN;- Comic Song. Hi Madiog the papers eaeh di^, Itefleetlag on mattera and ih\ .fg^ Qaile often tba grave and the gay, Will giv« me an Idea that clings ; Would many bi^ bank* that have (hiled, And left working iiirii poor and alone Be broke if director* were Jsil<>df It's Just an idea or my own. OHOBIW. It's Just an idea of my own, yoo know, It* Jast an idea of my own ; Don't blame me if I should be wrong, you ka(N> It's just sn idea of my own. In polities both parties flgbt, The people the damage must pay, And which side is wrong or is right What matters to ns, any wny f Would stalwarts and halt'-breetls con trad And growl like two dogs at a bone, If boodle was not the sole end, It'sJnst an idea of my own. onoBira We love the sweet Kirls to admire ; But who in bis heart won't confess, They all of them seek to aspire To very odd fashions in dress ? Tlie bonnets that now they adore At least a mile round they have grown. What racetracks they'd make to be sure! It's Just an Idea of my own. OHOBUS. Now often a man's sent to jail For stealing a mouthful of bread, When those who steal millions get bail, Unless beforehand they have fled ; One rnle for the rich and the poor ' Let Justice dispense from her throne Twonld suit the world better I'm sore, It'sJnst an id«» of my own. CHOBOa READINGS. NOT SO GREEN AFTER ALL. The other day a merchant traveler, operating for a Philadelphia shoe firm, boarded a train on the Alton road at Joliet. and was soon attracted by the charming face of a sucker lass, who aot on at Pontiac. He thought he saw that The was a sweet, innocent young thing, who had never betn arouadany. and he wended his way •ng, you kaow TBE COMPLETE PHOORAM. ft He bcholdi himself risinif from post to post in h.s dangerous profession, until he fancies him- »«lfthecommunderofa great fleet. He wini brilliant victories :-weaIth. honors, fame, sur- round him. He is a great man His name ii >n the mouth of the world. There is a halo of glory around his brow. Filled with the idea, ho starts! Hi, young lieart heavmg with great purposes, his eyes gleammg «i,h the fire of his enkindled soul his slender form expanding to its utmost height, and h.s l.ps. as he pacn the silent deck e* cla.mmg. •■ I will be a hero ; and, confiding in ■ociety " It i» a very stormy day. miss." said the merchant traveler. "I» that so?" the asked with a great •how of interest. Here, indeed, was a sweet example of rustic innocence. Storming like ail furies, and had been for nine consecutive hours and yet she seemed to know nothing about it! "Poor, credulous, simple thing," bethought, ••the'll be madly in love with me in fifteen minutes." "Going far?" he inquired. "Oh. an awful long way I " "How sweet and childish !" thought the pZiZce . , k " '"° ' ""'' •^°" ripsack man. * I ^^"^"^ ''«"«. I will brave every danger ! gripsack man " How far are you going? " he asked "Oh, wayoflri" "To St. Louis?" " My, yes, and further than that." "I'm awful glad. Ill have yourcompanv a good while then," ,aid he, "and I know we •hall be great friends." ' " I hope so," she replied, "You have beaux, don't you?" the drum- mer suddenly asked. " No. I used to Have, but " •• Ah I never mind. Til be your beau on this trip. Now. tell me your name, please." " Matilda-Maiilda Haw~well it used to be Hawkens, but it is Jordan now. " "WTiat! You are not married?' Such was the romantic dream of young Horatio Nel- son, afterwards the hero of the Nile, the victor of Trafalgar, and the greatest naval commander in the world I And what young man has not had imaginings equally romantic? Where is tlie poor sailor boy who has not dreamed of glory and greatness ? What young ^».w student has not seen in himself a future Littleton, Coke, or Story ? Where is the print- er's apprentice who has not intended to Ik a Franklin? What y .urg mechanic has not, in fancy, written his . ame beside the nnv.es of Arkwright, Fulton ..nd Rumfoid? Wh.it boy- ish artist has not in imagination, rivalled Raphael or Michael Angelo? What youthful orator has not gathered the glory of Burke Chatham, or Patrick Henry around his own " No 1 I poisoned my fifth husband the other n me ? Nay • the"e neve'r ''Ls T""' "' °"" ly. and you.-oh! you look so sw..,. v„.. Lr-„ . .. '^; '""' "'=^^'/''"' * y°""g "'an. day, and you,— oh ! you look so sweet ! You look as if strychnine would make such a beau- tiful cojpse of you 1 Come, now won't you iriarry me?" The drummer excused himself, and the jolly Pontiac girl and her beau, who sat behind pretending to be asleep, laughed all the way to Bloomington THE DREAM OF GREATNESS. REV. DANIEL WISE. Yonder on the calm, moonlit sea. gliding in •olemn majesty over the unruffled waters, is a splendid ship. Among the dark forms upon her deck, may be discerned a pale-faced boy. sonic sixteen summers old. He is leaning over lie bulwarks, absorbed in dreamy reverie. His 'magination is traversing the future of his career. Filled with the gay iUusions of hope, he peo^ , - / --••t, .■■Oil, of any advantages, who did not rise to eminent success in his hours of reverie. For youth is the period of dreams, in which Quef n Mab, with her fairy crew, holds undisputed .eigri over the imagination, and revels, at will, in the hall of fancy, in the palace of the soul. But why. since all dream of gre»tness, do so few attain it? The answer is obvious. Young men are not willing to devote themselves to that process of slow, toilsome self-culture which is the price of great success. Could they soar to eminence on the lazy wings of genius, the world would be filled with great men. But this can never be ; for, whatever aptitude for par- ticular pursuits Nature may donate to her favor- its rhsMr.-^n, she conducts none but the labor- ious and the studious to distinction. Great men have ever been men of thought as well as men of action. As the magnificent river, rolhng in the oridc of its mighty waters. I( I THE COMPLETE PROGRAM, Hi owes its greatness to the hidden springs of the mountain nook, so does the wide-sweeping in- fluence of distinguished men date its origin from hours of privacy resolutely employed for self- development. Tlie invisible spring of self-cul- lure is the source of every great achieve- ment. RECITATION. THE HEROES OF 8UMTEE. BY MISS A. O, BBIOOS. Ebb the smiliog Anrora had opened the door For the aun that had left as the evening before, Ere the deep hae of darkness had faded to white,' Or the east had been touched by a pencil of light, The Bky was lit ap by a bright sndden glare. Like a lightning flash cleaving its way through the air, And the deep thnnder-tonefl of the coming aflray In echoes rolled over the storm-threatened bay. A moment of silence— a pansing for breath- Then the sky was on fire with the missiles of death; And the frightful explosions, the volcanic roar. Shook the earth till it quaked from the swi to the shore. Rebellion was sonnding the key-note of wrath, Waking Discord and War in its perilous path. Gun answered to gun with a deafening report, Shells screeching destruction bnrst on the doomed fort; Most nobly they stmggled, that brave little band, ■Gainst the demons of darkness, the foes of onr land ; •Mid the heavy bombardment by day and bv night, ' No palsy of terror, no tremor of fright. Unnerved them for duty; but each at his poet Sent a stunning reply to the blood-thirsty host Their i>arracks were fired, and their flag lost its place. And the spectre of Famine stared each in the face They rushed through the tempest of shot and of shell ; They raised their old flag from the place where it fell ; And the hammer rang out through the war's rap- ing blast ^ Like the voice of a patriot, tme to the last; Till again from the ramparts the colors nnfhrled •Mid the hearty applsoae of a wondering world. , ' Their cartridges fklled, bnt they did not giTe«>er , They tore up their clothing and made them soma I more. I Determined to balance accounts with the' foe, , They stood at their cannon and dealt blow'ftw [ blow. The flames raged within and the walls cmmbled fast; Yet they struggled with destiny, firm to the last. The heat was intense.-Lest the powder should be Blown np by the fire, 'twas rolled into the sea The smoke wrapped them 'round with its mantle of gloom ; They seemed like brave martiyrs awaiting their doom; The terrors of death they conld look in the fiKe, But they never would yield up the fort in di». grace. The rebels beheld them, admiring, amazed ! " No signs of retreating ! No white flag is raised I We'ell give the bold heroes their terms of release And permit them to go from their strong-hold in peace." 'Twas a noble surrender ;— how else conld it he ? They went forth salntfng Ihe flag of the free; They named their own terms, nor let glory on shares, Marching forth to the notes of onr national aim. ******** The dread years of conflict forever are flown. And History claims their events as her own. On the brightest of pages, embellished by Fame, The "Heroes of Sumter" have written their name. MUSIC. SILVERY WAVES; Instrumental COLLOQUY. MISTAKEN PHILANTHROPY. For three young gentlemen and four boys. Characters : — Mr. Burt, Mr. Crandall, Agent, Eddie. Tommey, Johnney. Chariie. Scene:— ^ piainiy furnished sUtm^-room, Charlie, lying on a couch. Mr. Burt rock- ing a cradle with his foot and darning * stocking. Mr. Burt (Sings) "Bylobaby Duniing, Mamma's gone a hunting, To get a little rabbit skin, To wn^ u^ baby— <-»" THE COMPLETE PltOORAX. ihe walla crnmbled £Hfer Eddie. Pa, Pa. Tommey and Johnney are calling me names-Can't they stop teasing Mr. Burt. Of course they can. What did they call you, Eddie ? EddU. They called me a black pullican. Mr. Burt. A black pullican ! Eddie. Yes, Pa, a black pullican ! They said Ma was a -woman suffager, you was a probationer and they was devikrats— Can't they stop ? Mr. Burt. Oh ! never mind. Eddie, they were only talking politics. They are naughty boys to tease their little brother. I wouldn't play with them if I were you. Sit down and read your new book and don't make any noise I want to get the baby to sleep. (Sings) — " Hush ! my dear, lie still and slumber ; Holy angels guard thy bed ; Heavenly blessings without number " Tommey (Crying). Oh! oh! oh! Jones' dog has bit me. See how it bleeds ! oh ! oh i oh 1 He's torn a great hole in my pants, toe- look here ! oh-ho-ho-ho— Mr. Burt. Here, Eddie, you rock the cra- dle, I must go and see to that boy. Tommey. why didn't you let the dog alone? I've told you he'd bite you sometime. Now you see what comes from disobeying me. Tommey. Do you think I'll run mad, Pa> Mr Burt. May be so. I can't tell. Tommey. Oh! oh! oh-ho_ho-ho! I Jon't want to run mad I Mt. Burt. There! there! stop crying. I won't do any good now-you'll wake the baby. | You must take off your pants so I can mend ' them. Ml put some sticking-plaster on the bite and you can go to bed for the rest of the day. Oh, dear ! how much trouble you do make ! Tommey. I don't want to go to bed— can't I put on my Sunday pants. Pa? Mr. Burt. Your Sunday pants ! of course you can't. Do you want them all rags, too? You'd be sliding down the roof next. No j shut up your crying and go to bed. I shall know where you are then. Shut up! I say. Eddie, (calling). Pa, Pa, O. Pa. hurry up I I •^ "' .!.c uaoy 3 got anotner tit. Mr. Burt. Put that plaster on the sore, I say. Towmey, and go to bed. (Rushes to .he cradle.) Yes. poor little baby , it has got another fit. There? there! Papa's eetle dar- ling ! Eddie, bring the camplior. *■"- """1.^ i-iuu .wc loo, pa. we II yes he s got the measles fair enough. You are candy, too, let's ..ave a candy pull in for it now, old fellow. We have just gone through with a siege of it at our house. I, tell you, I had my hands full. Mr. Burt. I expect a time, but if they all get through safe I shall be thankful. Mr. Crandall. They'll get along all right if you only keep them in out of the coW, feed them on spare diet, and give them plenty of sage and saffron tea. (Takes his hat.) Mr. Burt. Don't be in a hurry Mr. Cran- dall. I'm so busy I don't get out much and it seems good to have a friend drop in who can sympathize with me. Mr. Crandall. Oh ! I must go. I left some lard over the fire to fry some cakes and I'm afraid it is all burnt up by this time. Good day. Mr. Burt. Good day. Well, I must leave off darning and go to mending, I suppose. Who ever thought boys could make so much work? I'm completely upset in my intellect— don't know what to do first. Enter Johnney (iZx^ing and holding his head). Oh! my head! my head! boo-hoo-hoo-hoo I It aches so ! boo-hoo-hool Mr. Burt. What has broke loose now? What is the matter now, Johnney ? Johnney. Oh ! oh ! oh ! I fell out of a pear tree. Oh! my head! my head! boo! hoo! hoo! Mr. Burt. I never did see such children! always getting hurt! Stop yelling: You'll wake up the baby. What were you up in the tree for? Come and let me put some camphor on your head. You have got a bump for cer- tain this time. Johnney. Do you think it will ever get well. [Pa? Mr. Burt. Yes, if you'll keep quiet. Go and lie down on the bed with Tommey and don't you get to scuffling. If you do I'll take a rawhide to you both— do you hear ? I must sit do-.tn t" ^^-y mending. Eddie. Pa, Pa cao't 1 «aake some molasses candy? Mr. Burt. I tell you, you can't have any candy— (They all cry) There now ! You've waked up the baby. I've a mind to give you all a spanking. Shut up! Don't let me hear another whimper. Johnney. Pa. pa. Tommey's broke the look- ing-glass—hit it with his ball and stove it all to pieces— ( Door bell rings. ) Mr. Burt. Hush! Don't you hear that bell? Go back to your room. I'll attend to your cases as soon as I can find time. (Opens the door.) Agent. Is the lady of the house in ? Mr. Burt. Certainly she isn't. She's out. She is perennially and eternally out. Agent. Where can I find her? Mr. Burt. Why go down to the Woman's Suffrage Club rooms and if she isn't there, go to the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals; and if she has kjt there, look for her at tlie hall of the Association for Relieving the Miseries of the Senegambians, and if she has finished up there, look for her at the Church Aid Society, or at the Ninth Ward Soup House, or at the Home of the One Legged, or at the Refuge for Infirm Dogs, or at the Hospital for the Asthmatic, or at the St. Polycarp Asylum, or at some other society rooms : and if you get on her trail you'll see more paupers and strong, minded women and underclothing for the heathen than you ever s?v before in the whole course of your life. • Agent. I wanted to sell her a cool-handled flat-iron, just out. Do you t. irk she will buy one? Mr. Burt. She will if you can prove that the naked cannibals in Senegambia are yearn- ing for cool-handle flat-irons. Agent. I intend, also, to offer her a new kind of immovable hair-pin, which Mr. Burt (Interrupting him). All rightl You just go down to the home of the Decrepit and persuade those cripples to cry for immov- able hair-pins and she will order them by the ton THE COMhLETE PROOBAU, Agent. Has she any children ? Mr. Burt. Well, I'm the one that appears to have them just now. Agent. Besides. I have a gum top for a feeding bottle. This is the nicest thing you ever saw Mr. Burt (Interrupting him). Now I'll tell you what to do. You gel these paupers to swear they can't eat the soup they get at the Soup-House with spoons but must have it from a bottle with a rubber nozzle, and Mrs. Burt will keep you so busy supplying the demand that you won't have a chance to sleep. Just try it. Buy up the paupers— bribe 'em! Agent. How will 1 know her if I see her? Mr. Burt. Why she's a large woman with a bent nose, and she talks all the time. You'll hear her talking as soon as you get within a I mile of her. Siie'll ask you to subscribe for | the Senegamliian fund and the Asthmatic Asylum before you can get your breath. Prob- ably she'll read you four or five letters from reformed cannibals. But don't you mind 'em. My opinion is she wrote them herself. Agent. Shall I tell her you told me to call upon her? Mr. Burt. It doesn't make any difference. But you might mention that since she left home the baby has had four fits, Johnny has fallen from a pear tree and cracked his skull, Charlie is coming down with the measles and Tominey has been bitten by Jones' dog. It won't excite her— it won't trouble her a bit, but I'd like her to have the latest news. Tell her if she can manage to drop in here, for a few minutes, before the Fourth of July, she might, maybe, wash the baby and give the other children a chance to remember how she looks ; but she needn't if it will make the disabled mendicants or the asthmatics miserable. Mind and mention i. u lier, will you ? Agent. I will. Good day, sir. Mr. Burt. All right, then. Good ,»ay. Well. I must go and spank Tommey for oreak- ing tliat looking-glass and take a turn ihrough the domicile to see what new calamities have befallen me. Then I'll sit down to my mend- " • I 1 — ' ""'"v tttj laiTtc »nu itjrtunc inventing a fire-proof and breakage proof habi- tation for boys between the ages of two and •wen'y- (Curtain falls.) MUSIC. GOOD'NIGHT:-Instrumental. OR MUST WE NEVER MEET AGAIN: Vocal duet. Must we never meet again. Must our wajs be far apart, Must I ever feel the puin Of a sorrow burdened heart? Are the hopes so bright and dear Doomed to have their lustre wane; Must I live a life so drear, Must we never meet agaiu ? In the MUKshine of our youth, Love had birth aud wanned our hearts, With the dreanis of j(.y and truth, That its truthfulness iiii|mrts ; Years appeared but to cement Firmer still the blissful chiiin ; Must it be asunder rent. Must we never meet agaiu ? Oft when doomed afar to roam^ 'Twas thy love illumed n.v nearly And the thoughts of thee and home, Bade all sorrowiug depart ; Never once by worn or deed Have I caused you aught of pain, Wherefore nnike my bosom bleed, Must we never u>eei again ? END OF PROGRAM. Any oj th., following exercises dm ti substi' futedjor- those in the program when it is dt- strahe to change it; or added in roder to lengtnen it. ALIKE. OtJi f.«m the church yard cold and dim .fust as the sun went down, 'I'wc women came, one in costliest crap* And one in a plain chintz gown. From their swollen eyes the tears fell fast As they clasped each other's arm ; The one with jeweled flutjers while, The other a toil-browned pnlm. A few weeks since, and that hauHhty dam- Would Imve turned in Hcornful pride. Nor deigned to have touched e'en the garmeat's hem Of the woman by her side. THE COMPLETE PBOOBAM. m « m\ But now she drinks, with a hangry look, Her comforting words so low, , Telling of peace He gives His poor, That the rich can hardly know. For beyond the gate are two small graves, Jost seen in this twilight hour; The one is marked by a marble shaft, The other, a single fl.iwcr. 'Neath one in a casket, satin-lined, Is a little baby face 'Bound which the ringlets like pale spun-gold Cluster thick 'mid the flowers and Jace. In the other, in a coffin plainly made, Wrapped up iu spotless white, Is another child, a precious pearl, Hid away from a mother's sight And now each day in the twilight dim. Side by side they sit and weep. Far apart in life— from mansion and cot— At the grave's dark door they meet. All o'er this earth, be we rich or poo., The mother's love is the same; When the angel of death takes our darliogs away, 'Tis alike to us all— the pain. More precious than gems about her neck. To the poor is her child's embrace ; And the rich would give all her hoarded wealth For one look at her dead child's face. TRIFLES. A LITTLE speck of mould may encompass a world of beauty-hedges and forests, and sylvan retreats, peopled with happy beings, playing among the fields and pastures which our gross vision never detects. A drop of water may contain another world of living beings, full of grace and action, and jewelled like the rainbow— seemingly moved by the same passions which inspire our more pre- tentious race. Everything is comparative, and. for aught we know, this great globe that we inhabit, when compared with the universe, may be to that only what a drop of water is to the ocean. Whatgreatresults may come from little things ! -- _p_r„, ....ov.n wy .He \r:::u, lays a great City in the dust, wiping out, in a few hours, the work of many a weary year, consuming treasures of art which nothing can replace, and leaving the busy streets an uninhabited wilderness. The air is full of the seeds of life and death and these invisible germs or spores may iake the king from his throne and the beggar from his hovel and lay them down to sleep on one common level, beneath the verdant sod. You pick up an acorn in your autumn rambles and carelessly embed it in the fertile soil ; it is a small matter and, perhaps, you never think of It agam. A hundred years hence, long after I you are dead and forgotten, a weary traveler t hes down to rest under the shadow of a mighty oak whose sturdy, wide-spreading branches, with their wealth of foliage, form a cool shady retreat from the sultry summer sun. A word is only a breath and it may be uttered during a tick of the pendulum; but that quiet "yes 'or "no." "stay " or .'go." may de- termine the destiny of the one who speaks it anJ often of those with whom he is associated. If he be a warrior or a statesman it may de- termine the destiny of nations. A word, once spoken, can never be recalled • It has gone off into space to do its work for good or evil. A mans whole character may be un- consciously betrayed by a single word. Nothing is more potent than a human thought even though it may never find any outward utterance. It is the fountain-head of every- thing that makes existence desirable or converts it into a curse. A snowflake is not much in itself, but if the flakes fall thick enough they can check the movement of the mightiest engine that man ever made. A drop of water is a very insignificant thing, but there is nothing can resist its influence floo*d ' ""***''* *'* °"'*"' '' ""**"* into a roaring The loftiest mountain is only an aggregate of grains of sand. The invisible atom is the basis of everything that exists. Little things are not !rifl^ ''"P''*^' '■°'' «f« « made up of seeming THE LOVE OF READING. SIR JOHN HERSCHEL. If I were to pray for a taste which, under every variety of circumstances, should be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me through hfe. however things might go amiss it would be a taste for reading. Give a man this taste and the means of gratifying it and unless, indeed, you put into his hands a most perverse selection of books, you can hardly fail of mak- ing a happy man. You place him in contact with the best society in every period of history -with the wisest, the wittiest-with the tender- est. the bravest, and the purest characters that have adorned humanity. You make him a denizen of all nations~a contemporary of all ages. The world has been created for him It IS hardly possible that the character should not take a higher and better tone from the con- stant habit of associating, in thought, with a class of thinkers, to say the least of it, above he average of humanity. It is morally impos- sible, but that the manners should take a tinge of good breeding and civilization from having constantly before ones eyes the way in which he best bred and best informed men have alked and conducted themselves in their in- tercourse with each other. There is a gentle but perfectly irresistible coercion in the habit ^f reading, well directed, over the whole tenor of a man s character and conduct, which is not Ae less effectual because it works insensibly and because .t is really the last thing he dreams Of. It permeates his whole being and stamps tois character for time and for eternity TBS COMPLETE PROOBAM. Toward the close of my speech I became much ,n earnest, and after warning the bovs against bad company, bad habits and the sa loons, I said, " "Now, boys, let us give three rousing cheers for empeiance and cold water. Now. .he three. Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!" And taking off my cap. I waved it most vigorously when away went the cigars right into the midi; of the audience. The last two cheers were very faint, and were nearly drowned in the laughter of the crowd have been relieved could I have sunk through he platfonn out of sight. My feelings were st^l more aggravated by a boy coming up th^ eps of the platform with one of those ieadful aga.. say,ng. » Here's one of your cigars. Mr. cap or hat when going to a meeting. I am ashamed to say it was some time after that b^ fore I gave up cigars altogether. THE KNIFE OF BOYHOOD. BY LOUISE VPHAU. COUGH'S EMBARRASSMENT. The only instance of embarrassment I could not overcome occurred many years ago. It was my own fault, and proved a sharp lesson to nie. I was engaged to address a lai^e iT. K t M "'''■'" '" '^' "^''™°°"' »he me?t. >ng to be held on the lawn, back of the Baptist churcn ,„ Providence. R. I. l„ the forenoSn a friend met me and said : "I have some first- rate cigars : will you toke a few ? " "No. I thank you." "Do take a half a dozen." ' I Have nowhere to put them. " ^ou can put half a dozen in ycur cap " 1 wore a cap in those days, and I put the ' cigars mto it, and at the appointed time I went to the meeting. I ascended the nlaffnrm and Children As it was out of doors I kept my hat Z.°\ °^ '^'''"e *=o»^' «»<» » forgot all about the cigars. ^ " I PBIZB It, I love it, this jack-knife of mine! No money a,uld tempt me my prize to resign ! Through the h»b'rintha of boyhood it^ZL . sure guide, j'tvvei. ■ And the notebes it cot were my «fety and pride. How long seemed the years I most patiently wait Of the wonderful things which a jack-knife Lid """"ff Jon!"''' ""'"" "*' "^"* "'• "^ '"^ But with pocketa and pants came the coveted prize; ™' And I felt-well, a. proud, for a lad of my si«e A. a millionaire does who haa worked his ow>' way ""■ From a farmhouse to life in a palace to day. In that back seat at school. Oh, the nicks that I I made! I there .made my mark, though Time, the old While lifting my classmates to honor and fame. Has left me still plodding on. ever the sam? Thls^nife'8 neat and trim as a knife coald w«U THE COMPLETE PU00S41C Though I broke off the blade jnet here, m yon Bee; It was when I weut flthiug with Fred for brook troat, And the eels pulled so bard, our fish-poles gave oat. "And the handle?" I split that by letting it fall Once when I went nutting, and climbed a stone wall ; It slid from my pocket and cracked on the rocks, For jack-knives, like people can't stand too rude shocks When once yon get started iu going down hill Yon are just like the grain that's put into the mill; It falls and it falls till it's gronnd, drop by drop; So, in going down hill, it'ii the foot where you stop. 'Tie the same old jack-kuife thongb, in handle and blade. It's been broken more times than a routed bri- gade; But, fresh from the workshop, it always comes back With some grace or some beanty all other knives lack. I love it, I prize it— my long cherished friend ! It shall stay by my side till my life here shall end. Tis the knife of my boyhood — its beanty ne'er &de8. Though it's had six new handles and sixteen new blades. COMPLAINING. BY MRS. G. 3. HALU Wk are ever complaining, Whether sunshine or raining, A general topic, " the weather." And oft when we meet Onr friends on the street We mingle our sorrows together. Sordelimes we will say, " What a beautifnl day ! Tet, (an X ions some t'-ouble to bororw,) Wtii turn np oor eyes To the clear, asure skies, A " say, " It will rain on the morrow." In summer, " 'Tis torrid," And " Perfectly horrid ! " It is either too wet or a drouth ; ^ In wiuter we freeze. In the cold, piercing breeze, - ' And wish we were living down South. If the weather is calm, ^ Then that is no balm — "So still we can scarce get a breath !" If a gale in the street. Stirs the dust at our feet, " We shall certainly smother to death r* When freezing and snowing. And fearfully blowing. To face the rude blast no one cares; And people, amazed. Think that " Nature is crazed.** When 8ho only is * ' Putting on airs." Then Indian Snmmer, , That bright welcome comer, Clad in goM color, orange and red, Has passed by this fall With a cold, formal call. And a nod of her beautiful head. No doubt, her excuse For this shameful abuse,— If she the reason had told, — Would have been with a wheeae^ A cough and a sneeze, " I have token a terrible coldl " All things have their season; Yet, lacking in reason. We think ourselves wonderfully wise; But forget that each care And the trinls we bear. Are blessings though sent in disguise. We may groan and may grumble. May murmur and mumble. From dewy morn until even ; We can not at leisure. At will or at pleasure. Change this little earth into heaves. A LEAF FROM THE LIFE OF A SCHOOd,. GIRL. BY HISS A. O. BRIGGS. It was midnight, dark and dreary, Long I pondered, aad aikd wearv. O'er the dreaded task of writing; But I pondered all in vain. Though my pen and ink were nenr m«, Yet how little could they cheer me, When each truant Ihonglu— oh, deaV me Had forsook my aching brain I liongl tried, with vain endeavor, To recall the wanderers;— never W i mortal schoolgirl more perplexed! I must, yet could not write. My teachers would refuse me, Should I Rsk them "o excuse me, And of negligence accuse me, In delaying thus to write. "Oh, this is, sure, most trying To patiencel " s lid I, sighing. And I sent my paper flying Bather s.wift acioss the floor. Suddenly there came a rappii;g,— Sort of spiritual rapping. As of some one gently tapping. Tapping at my chamber door. My lamp was faintly burning, Casting 'round an air of gloom, As 1 peered with trembling caution Through the dimly lighted room. Though the knocking was repeated, Somewhat louder than before. Still I durst not rise and open The spirit-haunted door. 3pirit-haanted, I was certain. For at that untimely hour. It could be no mortal visitant, But some unearthly power That had come thus to disturb me. Then, methought, my table shook; And every object in the room The same queer motion took. Then ghosts of murdered momenta. By Procrastination slain. Came reproachfully to greet me In this nether world again; .Till my braiu grew wild and dizzy; And I started for the door,— As again I beard the knocking— Determined to explore And solve this dreaded mystery— When, lot to my surprise, No frightful apparition Came forth to greet my eyes, But poor, ^H Pont, the bouse dog. As oft he'd done before, Stoo«l knocking there, with wagging tail Vanished then each frightful shadow; And, appearing in a trice. Came a baad of merry mnsM 9 TUJS VUMPLETE PROGHAM. Kindly proffering advice, " Never trust distorted Fancy, The deceiving little elf f But search the cause immediately And find it out yourself; Take no trouble for the morrow ; Keep the mind and conscience clear: Perform each duty in its time ; And never yield tp fear." COLLOQUY. AN ENTIRELY DIFFERENT MATTER. SCENE.-/^« office with a desk or table on which are an inkstand, a pite of ledgers and som, extra sheets of paper. Mr. Pinchem. with gray wig and whiskers and spectacles, sits in his office busily engaged in figuring uA hts accounts. He does not look up from his paper, but keeps on figuring while his clerk enters and takes a seat near the table in such a position as to both face the audience. Clerk. Mr. Flnchem, I— I— Mk Pinchem. Have you got those goods off for Kalamazoo? ^aerk. Yes. sir, they are off. Mr. Pinchem. Afr. P. And about that order for starch? Clerk. That has been attended to. sir. Mr. Pinchem— Mr. P. And that invoice of tea? Clerk. That's all right, sir. Mr. Pinchem. 1 have — Mr. P. And that cargo of sugar? x,^'Z.^', ^*'''" '^^''^ °^ '^ yo» directed, sir. Mr. Pinchem, I have long— /v. P. What about Bush and Bell's con. signmentr C/fr*. Received in good order, sir, Mr. Pinchem. I have long wanted Mr. P. And that shipment to Buffalo? Clerk. All right, sir. Mr. Pinchem. I hav« long wanted to speak to you— Mr. P. Ah ! speak to me? Why, I thought you spoke to me fifty times a day. Clerk. Yes. sir, I know, but this is a private matter. '^ ^/n />. Private? Oh! Ah! Wait till I see how much we made on that last ten thousand pounds of stfap-Six times four are twenty-four- six times two are twelve and two to carry make fourteen ; six times nought.are notWng and one THS COMPLETE PROGRAM. }dl{ to carry makes one ; six times live are thirty ; •even times four— ah ! well go ahead. I'll finish this afterwards. CUr*. Mr. Pinchem, I have been with you ten long years, — Mr. P. Ten eh ! Long years, eh 1 any longer than any other years ? Go ahead. C/er*. And I have always tried to do my iuty. Mr. P. Citrk. Mr. P. Have, eh? Goon. And I now make bold- Hold on ! What is there bold about it ? But, never mind. Til hear you out. Cltrk. Mr. Pinchem I wa.u to ask— ask— I want to ask— Mr. P. Well, why don't you ask then? I don't see why you don't ask if you want to. CUrk. Mr. Pinchem I ^-ant to ask you for — for— Mr. P. You want to ask me for the hand of my daughter. Ah I why didn't you speak right out? She's yours, my boy, take her and be happy. You might liave had her two years ago if you had mentioned it. Go long. now. I'm busy. Seven times six are forty-two. seven times five are thirty-five and four are thirty- nine, seven times eight Cierk. Mr. Pinchem— Whatl You here yet? Well, what Mr. P. is it? Cierk. Mr P. Clerk. I wanted »o ask you for— Didn't I give her to you, you rascal! Yes, but what I wanted to ask you for was not the hand of your daughter, but a raise of salary. Mr. P. Oh ! that was it, eh ? Well. sir. that is an entirely different matter ; and it requires rime for serious thought and earnest delibera- tion. Return to your work. I'll think about it. and some time next fall, I'll see about giving you a raise of a dollar or so a week. Seven times eight are fifty-six and three are fifty- nine — {Curtain Falls.) SHUTTING OUT CARE. W« may open the door to oar neighbors And open the door to ear Aiends ; Wo S!±~ '•.''-•-I— 1^- -' ... J —' — •!Tiii3 garsia 3( oar xsoie While friendahip with ooorteay blends; W« M«j Mitber oar dwr onet sbont w— Our helpmeet and children so fair— But lut un i'oiget uot to buuish, From these tiuder nieelingx, dull core. It wulcbea at doors mid at windows; It whistles through crunuies and crackst ItKi elh the good man the headache; It piaches and tortures niid nicks; It sits down umisked at the table; It crouches beside the down lied ; It takes ull the brightness irom slumber. It tukea all the sweetness from bread. Of all things to make our lives happy, Of all things lo m:ike our lives fair, There's nothing from home's cheerful fire So sacred, like shutting out Care. THE HOLIDAYS ARE COMING BY UI88 A. O BBIGG8. " Tm holidays are coming!" Says the merchant, and he smilea, As he loads his groaning counters With the very latest styles ; While his windows gleam and gUttw In their holiday array, And he reaps a golden harvest From the elegant display. " The holidays are coming ! " Shoots the scho'>lboy in his glee " We'll have a short vacation From books and study free- Old Santa C will bring; ns A heap of Christmas toys ; And won't we just he jolly— We merry girls and boys ! •» " The holidays are coming ! " Says the father to himself, As he lays away a parcel On the npper cloeet-shelf; While behind a pile of lumber. In an nnfreqnented shed, He has found a safe concealment For the little skates and sled " Hie holidays are coming ! " Says the mother in her pride, As the little fancy fixings Are aecorely laid aside For the merry Christmas roomlnc. When the eager, little eyes Will sparkle with the pleaonif Of a Keaaiov Mirpriie. THE COMPLETE PROGRAM, The holidajs are coining I There is magic io the soaud. How it thrill* the heart with rapture! How the piilMg leap „nd bound I And ihey ut the bruin to planuiog With an euergetic will While the linKera do iu bidding With alacrity and akill The holidays are coming— • mJ^*^ '""'* wrought a mystic spe]]. There are secreU in their keeping No mortal tongue may tell, Till the silcuce shall be broken, The mysteries unsealed, And friendship's hidden tokena, At length, shall be revealed. The holidays are coming- How potent is their sway I A flood of olden memories Oleam o'er the darkened way j They gladdened the despairing, Believe the conch of pain, And, 'neath their cheerinii radiance, The old grow young again. The holidays are coming— Yea, even now are here. We wish yon " Merry Christmas" And many a glad New Year. Long years of peace and plenty Prom pain and sorrow free— Ood bloss you and protect yoa Wherever you may be. A DESPERATE SITUATION. MR. SPOOPENDYKE'S MISTAKE-A SCENE OF CAR- NAGE. "Mv dear!" exclaimed Mr. Spoopendyke dropping h« razor and examining his chin with starmg eyes. - my dear bring the court plaster quick: Ive ploughed off half my chin." dvti^'ll^u'*'^" ^'^'"^"ded Mrs. Spoopen- dyke, bobbmg up and fluttering around her husband. ..Great gracious, what a cut ! Wait a^mmute ! " and she shot into a closet and out 'Quick ! " roared Mr. Spoopendyke. •■ I'm bleedmg to death I fetch me th»» ....... „, ™ terl" — " P'«s- "Oh dear!" moaned Mrs. Spoopendyke. end ? K^' u'"' P""y • " y'"'*! Mr. .Spoop. wall ? Got some sort of a notion that there is a you I Bniig me some coirrt plaster before I pull out the side of this house and get some from the neighbors I " Just then it occurred to Mrs. Spoopendyke that she had put the plaster in the clock . " Here it is. dear! " and she snipped off . piece and handed it to him. Mr. Spoopendyke put it on the end of his ^ngue holding his thumb over h,s wound When It was thoroughly wetted, it stuck fast to hjs finger while the carnage ran down his chin. He jabbed away at the cut. but the plaster hung ,0 h.s digit until finally his patienc'e Z thoroughly exhausted. " What's the matter with the measly busu ness?- he yelled. " Wher'd ye buy thfs plj^ uHn his" •''^' Y ^^""'»''' P'"««'"^ »t the cut •» h s chm. .. Leave go that thumb 1 " and he whirled around on his heel and pegged at it plaster? he shrieked, turning on his trembline wife. .. Who asked ye for a leach? Bring mf something that knows a thumb from a chfn! " and he planted hi, thumb on the wound and screwed it arouird vindictively. This time the htru;h:^°^"'"'^^^"^-'^---ror ^J^^'^'a '1" ^^^ "^•''' '^"^•" *™>«d Mrs. Spoopendyke, with a fearful grin. "May be you ve got the same idea that the court plaster has ! P raps you think that mouth was cut with that this hole in my visage was meant to sue- cumb to the persuasion of a bit of plaster! Come off! Let go that mouth! " and as he sifVhaVi^n^r^hr^'''^"^''^'*'"*' ••I'k^olTo^^^doT"'^"-^^^"^^^*' •'Then why didn't ye do it first?" howled ^li ,!*r.T."f'"'*: " W*'^^ l •ogel io the olouda, ooald »oa loV. h.r I -n. .u mon, th.n ly '"" '""• ""I ,^« "'her d.y.I walked down .tr«, behind three pretty girl,. They cooed and c^.lt "ch other like .0 many turtle doves corner »lioi> »_.• ■ . ^ . . Will. Ulh Md ho,,, „d pr.,„ „d ,„„, , I., Her lorin away, — "'""J luiuc uoves. At u rner. hey parted. '-Good-bye. dear ' cried one. -Good-bye, .weetest," said another kssed and vowed to see each other on Satur'. «ay. 1 hen one went her way, and the o.h. • two walked on together. °""'' " "'":;' ^*'« """ «''"" «'d the one who had called her "sweetest,- as soon asMev -re out of earshot. " She's perfectly dt^a' neriormaway, ' were out of earshot •■ v;h-'. —"" -» «"» Heaven I know will brighter be for the little gir. vinces Zl. "° """""°" "«* '''»*-"'- -n- mat died. | An Old Bachelor AN OLD BACHELOR ON FEMALE FRIENDSHIPS. STRIKING INSTANCE OF MANS DE- VOTION. BT PAIHIMAB niU. me^rin w '^ The very thought make, ml^ \^""" "" '^'^ «°°'" **ve3. good mothers; but fnends? No. Why, who ever I w?" "^f.'''" '"" " "'"""^ y«nt««. knew a woman who was not quite wilhng ^ r"" P*"* '"« ''•«>tB aud told the troth. the next tea-drinki':^ c^^T ^:^ZlS2lT^''^''' '''''^'^ slander each oth-rt /-»..../•-_ .. " "'^X ^'" ''"h a girl named Sally Skreeli slander each otherl Out of cowardice, pi^b- ably, they inevitably stab in the back Men certainly slander each other as much as women do. but there is a difference. When sto';?v'"or :^'"""y.''«*" '«"'"g a disgraceful story of another, circumstances may compel hm, to courtesy; but he never makes a sb^w of friendship. He will perhaps bow to the Jer- «.n he ha, abused, but he does not shake haVds arm in arm about the city with Z. VVhen two * *"" ^**^'° " ^«"- ' en are intimate you may feel confident that ^**'' ^''J^' ''>«> w«»«oM t.^y do not slander each other. It is hi, enemy ' He fell In love head over ImgIs. Now Sally's father wasn't worth A dollar or a foot of earth, And Jake's paternal parent owed Most every other man he-knowed } Bat Jake, who had a valiant heart. Vowed that he'd work and get a start* And with the help of Sally, dear, are intimate you may feel confident Vh"at I ^**'' *'"^' whowaseold r,( u -«■ each other. It is his enemy "* "^ P^tty— that is, pretty old. o» whom a man tells evil tales. I - But women who have just' robbed another woman of her character, as far as «.^S.--- k ss, will ask Tier to lunch, will embrace her at parting. wUl no;" .Je "^Ja^^i ZZ her' 7 . ''* "'"" '' '"'" "dear." -«»mea to caU her An old maid's matrimonial chance 1 Orow very alim as time adianoes. P|«tended that for her dear Jacob The heaviest cross she'd gladly take np j But, really, she cared no more For Jake than for the shoes he won. mx OOMPLXTW PnOOMAM, And thli eipUlus whjr tM\j Bkraela PropoMd to slinre Juke's bed and mealak Tbejr luarrietl. Tiiiir flfd oo apao»— Jake rcuted uld Uill Hci'ui;giua' pliuM And went to wu. k rem>lveil to make A fortDue I'ur lii« Hulljr'a oake. Pooraoul, he toiled with all hia nilKbt, From early luoru till late at night ; But, ah I no kind, approving word From Sally'it iipa waa ev«r heard. She lay urnuud, chewed wax and sung Love aongM ithe'd learned when she waa young ; Bofc- old love leitera she bad got From boobies, long since gone to pot ; Yawned o'er a scrap book filled with boah Collected by her Cousin Joah ; Trimmed her old hat in various waya With all the gew-gawa she could raise. In fitct, she proved heiself to be A slip-shod lump of frivolity. Poor Jake, ha worked and ate cold meals, Wore socks with neither toes nor heels, Washed his own clothes w hen Hunday came And aewed fresh buttons on the same. Oot breakfast while his Sally slept, Washed up the dishes, dusted, swept— There's no n ,. talking, Jacob strove To prove how perfect was his love. One day Sal ate too many benna, Grew sick end went to other scenea. Prom (hat day forth Jake t^ idoni spoke, Or smiled, or worked— hie heart was broke. In the poor-house now he sits and grievee And wipes his eyes on his threadbare aleevea. UoBAL.— I've told yon this to let yon see What an all fired fool ;< man can be. MERRY CHRIST tAS. BY MISS A. n. BRIGGS. 'Wtt tow to look back, through the vinta of years, t& the scenea of our childbnod, hd vivM sad To forget the atem pictures so blottt'd by tean, la tba happy eoooeit of an earlier day. Hid the plaaeing tllnaiona that ttnty nay weave. The dreams we may dream in bermystieal bowers. There's naught that our erednlou (kith may de ceive, Like the visions we saw in those innocent hours. Old Tims, bis vast circuit revolving around, Is nearing the stationa— is sbort'ning the way j From cycle to cycle, retracing the ground, Remembrance attends as our escort to-day. Again we are children— .»gain we are free,-- No cares to molest in the midst of our Joye— And Christmaa is coming, with old SanU 0. To deal out the gina to the giria and the boya. Again it ia even' jg— again, side by side, The little knit stockings f 'e hung in a row, hi the old-fashioned firepi ace, so roomy and wide, In hopes they'll be filled ftrom the top to the toe, With all aorta of goodies that little ones prise— With plum cakes and candies ; with nuts and ) with toys; With pretty wax dolls that will open their eyes; With knives, tops and skates for the ftiuloving boys. Oh, what pictures we make. Of old Santa, so queer I Of the rides he must take With his nimble reindeer t And we firmly resolve, as we Jump into bed, To catch a sly peep at his funny old head j Till Morpheus, wishing the secret to keep. Just touches our eyelids and puts ns to sleep. The hours hurry past, Without dreaming or waking-* Night is over at last For the daylight is breaking. And need it be told That we find, on arising, , Whatonrstoukiogs will hold Is a matter surprising ? We children, grown older, still share in the jeya Of the bright, laughinggirls and the fh)licsome boys; And we wish " Merry Christmas " to one %nd te all; To the grave and the gay ; to tlie great (it>d the small ; To the rich and the poor; to the old atd the young ; 'V^ A»m«»w •.n4in« S.rtA ^^^T^ A-^ —-^ To every climate ; to every zone Where theji)le8sings of Cbristendoiu evtf wen known. I in bcrmyatiail oofl flklth m*y d« M innocent boara. ring aronDd, Drt'nioK the wa/ 1 be gronnd, eart to-dajr. re are free, — ■t of our Jojt— old S«n(« 0. rie and the bojiL by etde, lung in ■ row, > roomy and wide, the top to the toe, .tie onea prise — ; with Duta and open their eyes; or the Aiu-IoTing irf ip into bed, y old bead ; )t to keep, Ota na to alacp^ ikin^' king. >ld lare In the Jejs A the fhtlicaoma ' to one «nd te le great It blithe he old ati tb» zone tdoui avcf wen ©onpplcte ppogpanp ^o. 2. —FOR School and Evening ENTERTAINMENTS. ARRANGED BY MISS A. O. BRIGGS. MUSIC. CLICKETY-CLICK MARCH. (Inst) A SUBSTITUTE WANTED. Chief E. ineer Dean, of the fire department, calle-^ u the jflice where I make shoes for a I'Viiig. and handed me a big white envelope, ootifying me that I was drafted, and must re- port myself for examination at Lawrence on the If 'h day of August. Now I consider it the duty of every ciiiren to give his life, if need be, for the defence of his country; so, on the morning of the eventful i8th, i put on a clean shirt and my Sunday clothes and started for Lawrence, to see if I could get exempted. Lawrence, as you know, is situated on the Merrimac River, and its principal productions are mud, dust, and factory girls, ''he city proper, at least that part I saw, consisted of a long, narrow entry up one flight of rtairs adorned overhead with a frescoingof gas me- ters, carpeted with worn-out tobacco quids, and furnished with one chair, two settees, and sev- eral huge square packing cases marked " Q. M. D." Scattered around this palatial en- trance-hall were S(jme forty or fifty conscripts, looking very much as if they expected to be exempted by old age before the young man ^^B with a f»mj^imia vni.s*..^k. aU^-.U ^.ir.. ^i. of their turn. Moat of them were doomed to disappointment, however, for while they counted the hours of delay, a door would suddenly open, and the tall young man would single out some one and march hiu. through the open doorway, to be seen no more, liy and by, after several hours' waiting, my turn came. "John Smith ! " shouted the doorkeeper. "T- it's me," says I. With a cheer from the crowd of weary waiters, I passed through (he open portal and entered a large, square room, where two persons sat writing at a table, and a third, evidently a surgeon, was examining a man in the last stages of nudity. One of the writers at the table, a young man with blue hair and curiy eyes, nodded to me, and dipping his pen in the ink, commenced : " John Smith, what's your name ? " "John Smith," says I. " Where were you born ? " " Podunk, Maine." "What did your great grandfather die of?" " Be hanged if I know," says L "Call it hapentoo." says he. "and youi' grandfather died of the same— did he? " "Mebbee so," says I. " Did you ever have boils ? " "Not a boil." "Or fits?" "Nary a fit." "Nor dilirium tremens?" "No sir-ce!" "Or rickets?" "i'il show you preily soon," suid I, becom- ing somewhat excited. i }' I •• Wd yoB tver havft tHe measles? " «iy, he "or the whodping-cough or the scarlet fever? •' Here I took off my coat "Or the itch?" a JZT "'''k '*"'* '• "*'^' '*'''-»"'J I shoved L?„^:?»K'r" °"^*!''>- !•>- '-hesof 7Zr£- COMPLETE PHOGHAM. "And cardiac disease.' "No? -said I. "And pericarditis.* ' Thunder I" said L " Stop talking ! Now count after me-one • • ;^J*-"J*» been itching fortL'"usrtei | frigh^"* ' '' ^^ ^' """"* '''^" ^^\f dt^d with^ „:_ » . — — • "*-"'"B «or me last ten minute, to knock your pesky head off. yZ Jtd.^ mean. low-Hved. contemptible whelp. "My dear sir." said the mild-spoken. gentle- »any surgeon, laying his hand on my arm. " "'" y°""^'f. I pray. Don't let your an^ passions nse. but take off your clothes so I can •ee what you are made of." So I suppressed my anger, and withdrawing to a corner, I hung my clothes upon the floor and presented myself for examination. "Young man." said the surgeon, looking me ^ght m the eye. •■ You have got the myo- "Hey!" "You have got the myopia." "Asthma I Two I" "Two!" I yelled. "Exostosis of the rightiistula! Threel- " Three I " I gasped. "Coagulation! Four!" "Murder." said I. -Four.'" "Confirmed duodenum of the right ventricle !" O. doctor! dear doctor! ain't you most through? I feel faint." "Through? No; not half through. Why my friend Pandora's box was nothing toZr' chest. You have sphinxiana. and glories./ and,conchologia and persiflage, and-'' th Jf 17 7 ''"'" ''''"^''*^ '° J '"ned against the table for support. ^of.HlSir.L ^"''.f'- °''^- anterior "Yes sir," said 1 '• anH \ ^^^a """"^ * permanent luxa little Bininier wla drop of s^t^hT' ^^fT"*^ °' "^^ "S^'' P'-'^nx." «, excel J. ,„..l!l'T/ ^'°"«.''^-' -a''" ! My only answer was a deprecatory gesture "And scrnfiilnnc ^;„.u-_: . ' * "^ an excellent eye-opener of a morning." "And there seems to be an amaurotic ten- "Pshaw!" says I. ice^s^alaurlct:- '* *^* •" ^'•^ "Was your famfly ever troubled with epi- lepsy ? said he, mounting a chair and feeling tu? top of my head. A J , — -'-I'lti.aiory gesture And scrofulous diathesis and omnipoditis." I sank to the floor in utter despair ;• Eluriation! " he yelled,-for he saw I was gomg fast,-" and maxiUarium, and-" ****** « # When I woke to consciousness again, I found "eaf b: \!:T °^ ^^'«'' - -P*^ ''-kel near by, and the surgeon astride my chest shoutmg something in my ear. of which, how- ever. I could hear nothing. I smiled feebly in acknowledgement of his attentions. At a sign from him, two attendan mW Kn«*r_ 1*/*. « 1 • "Only two of the boys." says I "and wh.„ ^"''""°"'- ^! ^ sign from him, two attendants they catch them from the n^ghbors' cWrdre; 7 T""' ^"1'^^^'"^ ''^^d ^im into a chd my wire always goes at 'em ^h^^^^fintl^ol" ^^:::: :^'S^}'^ >" "« ^-e with _„ ., , - *• '"^'Bitoors cniidren comb, the first thing." Jumping off the chair, he hit me a lick in before I had »,me to remonstrate, his arms were around my neck, and his head pressed against my bosom, the same way that Sophia drilss. ' ''"' *''"'' ^ "'"^ '^""*^' °^ "Just what r thought," said he ; - tuberculosis and hemoptysis, combined with « defect Jn the scapular membrane and incipient phthisis f" ^ "Heavens! " says I ; -what's that?" ., . . , , . . ' —"*••» "I UK race with he violence of his exertions,-they hoisted me cLded^''* ** examination pro- Finally after naming over a host more of ail- ments, be arose to his feet, drew a long breaUi wiped tlie perspiration from his face with a stray newspaper, and commenced. "Young man," said he.-and his eyes kH,, ened with delight ashespoke.-..you are reaH, the most interesting subject 1 ever met. xxeahy a most wonderful easel I doD't know when I have enjoyed a half hour so thoroughly Why, sir, with the exception of two, or at mosi THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. ^ — .."..aij. woum you be willing to come around to my boarding-house after tea, so that I can spend the evening aus^ :ultating after the other three ?" I was sorry to ■cfuse him. but I had promised Sophia Ann that I would be home to tea and I told him she would worry if I staid. Seeing there was a lady m the case, he politely excused me "And now. my good fellow." said he, grasp- •ng my hand warmly, "just go into the next room. Captain Herrick willgive you furlough to go home and provide a substitute, or pay your commutation fee. Boy. call the next on the "But. sir." said I. aghast at his concluding reti;7r"'°"'^^"'="'''--p'-- ••Really, my friend." said he. "the fact is. you have so many diseases I actually don't know which to specify, besides they serve to counterbalance each other and keep up a sort of equilibrium; such a constitution I'U warrant to stand any amount of hardship. Dr. Coggs- well will be glad to get your commutation fee ; shall be delighted to examine him." I did not stop to parley further, but going into the next room, procured my furlough, took the train for home and never looked behind until I was safe m the arms of Sophia Ann and my dear children. ' And now can anybody tell me where I can find a good substitute, warranted diseased in head heart, lungs and legs? To such a man I will give three hundred dollars down ; or if he prefer, at the rate of five dollars a piece for each symptom: and, I promise him. in behalf of our Uncle Samuel, food and clothing for three years, together with medical attendance hi''ra:r"^'^""™'"^"^"^\"''y°^ iiecall the sad vision of days long gone by. ;Ti8 vaiu that yon tell nic you'll never foraet me To (he^laud of the 6h«n.«,4 you'll ne'Sltwu Far ^way'from your sight you will cease to regret You'll won forget Kathleen and Erin-go-Bragh J (") Oh! leave not the laud, the sweet land of your childhood, ' Where joyously passed the first days of our youth' Where gayly we wandered 'mid valley and wild- wood, Oh ! those were the bright days of innocent truth RECITATION. BAY BILLY." THE WAR HORSE. A veteran's story, MUSIC. YOU'LL SOON FORGET KATHLEEN. OhI leave not yonr Kathleen, there's oo one can cheer her, Alone in the wide world onpited 8he';i sigh, Yoc may talk of horses of renown What Goldsmith Maid has done' How Dexter cut the seconds down' • And Fellowcraft's great run;— Would yon hear about a horse 'that once A mighty battle won ? 'Twas the last fight at Fredricksburg- Perhaps the day yon reck— Our boys, the Twenty-second Maine, Kept Early's men in check, Just where Wade Hampton boomed away The fight went neck and neck. Bij?ht stoutly did we hold the wing 'Gainst odds increasing still; Five several stubborn times we charged The battery on the hill, And five times beaten hack, reformed, And kept our column still. At last from out the center fight Spurred up a General's Aid, '•That battery must silenced be ! " He cried as past he sped. Onr Colonel simply touched his cap, And then with measured tread. To lead the crouching line once mora The grand old fellow came. No wouu«ied man bnt raised his head And strove to gasp bis name ; And those who oonld not speak nor sUr " God blesMd him » jnst the same. THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. #!l J;!' ! For he waa all the world to as, That hero gray and grim. Kight well be knew that fearful slope We'd climb with noue but him, Though while his white bead led the wajr We'd charge through thick and thin. This time we were not half way up, When 'midat the storm of shell, Our leader with his sword upraised, Beneath our bay 'nets fell; 4Dd as we bore him back, the foe Bet up a iearful yell. Our hearts went with him ; back we swept. And when the bugle said. "Up, charge again ! " no man was there But sadly hang his head; " ^v^'y^ no one left to lead oa now," The sullen SAldiers said. Jnst then, before the laggard line, The Colonel's horse we spied. Bay Billy, with his trappings on. And nostrils swelling wide. As though still on his g rolled With the names of earth's greatest in letters of gold— And his pale cheek flashed and his heart beat high, And he said— "Nor my name nor my song shall die." He paused, and earth's voice, silent so long, Grew sevenfold louder, and drowned his song. As the tide of time through the centuries rolled The rust eat in through the letters of gold; And newer ongs seemed sweeter to men, And the Po ,8 songs are not heard again, Save by a few with less heart than head, Who grope for his thoughts in a tongue that is dead. Scanty iiis guerdon, scanty his fame, j He lives in story scarce might but a name. Ill The Thinker sat pale in his lonely cell And mused on the thoughts he had shaped so well ; And his keen eye looked through the coming years. And he saw through the baze of his happy tears, His shapely thought through the world expand TUl its impress was stamped ou the sea and the laud; And he thought to himself, 'mid his vision of fume, — ■ " Surely the world will remember my name." And the Thinker died, and his thought went forth To the east and the west, to the south and the north. But talent such changes ou genius rang That the world forgot from whose brain it sprang ; And men deemed that the frolt of the thought of the sage W: „ue slow grown produce of many an aga Scanty his guerdon, scanty his fame, He left in story not even a name. MUSIC. "MOONLIGHT O N THE H UDSON. "-(Init \ A SMART HUSBAND. MR. BOWSER TEACHES MRS. BQWSRK HO*P T* " DO BUSINESS. I WANTEDtosend offfora lady's fashion maga. line, and on a dozen different occasions begged THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. I hi8 vision of •f Mr. Bowser to write the letter and send off the money. He kept promising and neglecting, nan like, but one evening he said : " Give me the name of that magazine and I will get a letter off to-morrow." " It's gone," I answered. " Humph I Do you mean to say that you wrote a business letter t " " I do. I ordered the magazine and sent in a year's subscription." "And chucked the $2 into the letter, I sup- pose?" *^ "Yes, sir." " Well, that's about what I should expect of you. You'll never see either money or maga- zine again. If some post-office official doesn't steal the money, they will gobble it at the end of the route and swear they never got it. Mrs. Bowser, you are as simple as a child. " " But it may come all right." " Yes, and we may discover a box of gold in the back yard. There's but one way to do business." "How's that?" " See this P. O. money order for thirty-eight ? 1 am going to send that to Boston to-morrow. It will go straighter than a crow, and there's no cause for worry. However, it's useless to try to teach a woman how to do business." Three or four days went by, and then he sud- denly inquired : "Have you heard from that magazine, Mrs. Bowser?" " Not yet." " I suppose not. When you do hear please let me know. After 40 or 50 years experience of this sort you may learn how to do business." Two days later he asked me again, and I was then able to show him a letter ackiiowledg- ing receipt of the money, and a copy of the magazine. " It seems to have gone through," he said, as he handed the letter back; "but that was owmg to Providence. Probably the parties had heard of me and hesitated to defraud you for fear I d raise a row." " What about the order you sent off, Mr. Bowser?" He jumped out of his chair and turned pale and gasped : " ^y gum I but I'd forgotten about that ! 1 ought to have had an acknowledgement three days ago." " Can't have been lost, eh?" "N-no." " It was the only proper way to do business, wasn't it?" "Of course it was, and of course it got there all right. I'll probably get a letter to-morrow." " But it's so queer." " I don't see anything so queer about it. 1 shall probably have a letter begging my pardon for the delay." A letter arrived next day. I saw by Mr. Bowser's perturbation when he came home that something was wrong, and he finally handed me the letter. It read : " No post-office order has beenreceiv-' from you. Please do not try any more chest ^ts on us." " But you did send it," I protested. "Oj course I did." " Directed your letter all right ? " "Certainly." " Staujped and posted it ? " " Look here Mrs. Bowser, you talk as if 1 didn't know enough to get aboard a street car and pay my fare 1 " "But it's so queer. There is but one busl- ness way of doing business, Mr, Bowser. After 40 or 50 experiences of this sort you may learn how to do business." He glared at me and was too insulted to reply. He went to the post-office and made complaint, and for the next two weeks that lost order was the topic of conversation. The offi. cials sought to trace the letter, and Mr. Bowser made affidavits to this and that, and the hunt was still going on when, in dusting off his secre- tary and straightening up his loose papers I found a letter scaled and addressed to the Boston firm. I had no doubt it contained the missing order. I quietly handed it to Mr. Bow- ser as he came home to dinner, and his face turned all colors before he could open it. " Mr. Bowser." I said, •• you men folks have curious ways of doing business. It is sing— " " I'd like to know Kow this letter got here ? " he demanded. " You left it here, of course." "Never! Because I scolded you about your careless way of sehding off money, and because you wanted to get even with me for it. you took THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. 1 ':i h 1 ' i i 1' u 'il 1 ■ 1 i 1 a iillt M thb letter from my pocket and detained it. Mrs. Bowser, this is the laststraw to the camel's load ! Do you want alimony or a lump sum ? ' ' Next day he was all right again, and he even stopped at the sale and brought me up half a dozen pairs of gloves Detroit fm Pnss. "BOY WANTED." People laughed when they saw the sign again. It seemed to be always in Mr. Peters' s window. For a day or two, sometimes for only an hour or two, it would be missing, and passers-by would wonder whether Mr. Peters had at last found a boy to suit him ; but it was sure to appear again. " What sort of a boy does he want, anyway ? " one and another would ask, and then they would say to each other that they supposed he was looking for a perfect boy, l id in their opin- ion he would look a good while before he found one. Not that there were not plenty of boys as many as a dozen used sometimes to appear in the course of the morning, trying for a situa- tion. Mr. Peters was said to be rich and queer, and for one or both of the reasons boys were anxious to try to suit him. " All he wants is a fellow to run errands ; it must be easy work and sure pay." This was the way they ulked to each other. But Mr. Peters wanted more than a boy to run errands John Simmonds found it out, and this is the way he did it. He had been engaged that very morning, and had been kept busy all the forenoon at pleasant enough work ; and, although he was a laiy fellow, he rather enjoyed the place. It was toward the middle of the afternoon that he was sent up to the attic, a dark, dingy place, inhabited by mice and cobwebs. " You will find a long, deep box there," said Mr. Peters, «• that I want to have put in order. It stands right in the middle of the room ; you can't miss it." Jim looked doleful. •• A long, deep box, I should think it was I " he said to himself, as the attic door closed after him. •• It would weigh 'most a ton, I guess ; and what is there in it ? Nothing in the world but old nails and ■crews and pieces of iron and broken keys and things— rubbish, the whole of it. Nothing worth touching ; and it is as dark as n pocket ■p here, and «9W ^sjdes, Hqw the wind blows in through these knot-holes ! There's • mouse ! If there is anything I hate, it''s mice I I'll tell you what it is, if old Peter thinks 1 am going to stay up here and tumble over his rusty nails, he's much mistaken. I wasn't bred.fpr that kind of work." Whereupon John bounced down the aKic stairs three at a time, and was found lounging in the show-window an hour afterward, wiien Mr. PeCers appeared. " Have you put the box in order already i' was the gentleman's question. " I didn't find anything to put in order. There was nothing in it but nails and things." " Exactly. It was the < nails and things ' that I wanted put in order. Did you do it? " •• No, sir. It was dark up there, and cold ; and I didn't see anything tha. was worth doing. Besides, I thought that I was hired to run errands." "Oh," said Mr. Peters, " I thought you were hired to do as you were told." But he smiled pleasantly enough, and at once gave John an errand to do down-town and the boy went off chuckling, declaring to himself that he knew how to manage the old fellow ; all it reeded was a little standing up for your rights. Precisely at 6 o'clock John was called and paid the sum promised him for a day's work: and then, to his dismay, he was told tliat his services would not be needed any more. The next morning the old sign, " Boy Wanted," appeared in its usual place. Before noon it was taken down and Charlie Jones was the fortunate boy. Errands— plenty of them. He was kept busy until within an hour of closing. Then, behold ! he was sent up to the attic to put the long box in order. He was not afraid of a mouse nor the cold, but he grumbled much over the box. Nothing in it worth his attention. However, he tumbled over the things, growling all the time, picked out a few straight nails, a key or two, and finally appeared with the message : •' Here's all there is worth keeping in that box. The rest of the nails are rusty and the hooks are bent or something." " Very well," said Mr. Peters and sent him to the lost-ofiice. What do vnis tl'.lr.k ? B" t'-~ close of the next day Charlie had been paid and discharged, a^nd the old sign bung in the window. THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. md sent liitn to "I've no kind of notion why I was dis- of Peters & Co. He had a little room, neatly chaiged." grumbled Charles to his mother, fitted up, next to the attic, where he spent his " He said he had no fault to find, only he saw evenings, and at the foot of the bed hung a that I wouldn't suit. It's my opinion that he motto which Mr. Peters gave him. " It tells doesn't want a boy at all." j your fortune for you ; don't forget it," he said. It was Crawford Mills who was hired next, when he laughed and read it curiously : " He He knew neither of the other boys, and so did that is faithful in that which is least is faithful his errands in blissful ignorance of the "long in much." " I'll try to be, sir." he said, and box " until the second morning of his stay, when in a leisure hour he was sent to put it in order. The morning passed, dinner time came and still Crawford had not appeared from the attic. At last Mr. Peters called to him : "Got through?" " No, sir ; there is ever so much more to do." " All right. It is dinner time now, and you jiay go back to it after dinner." After dinner back he went. All the short afternoon he was not heard from ; but just as Mr. Peters was deciding to call him again he appeared. "I've done my best, sir," he said; "and down at the very botton of the box I found this." "This" was a I5 gold piece. "That's a queer place for gold," said Mr, Peters. " It's good you found it. Well, I suppose you will be on hand to-morrow morning." This he said as he was putting the gold piece in his pocketbook. After Crawford had said good-night and gone Mr. Peters took the lantern and went slowly up the attic stairs. There was the long, djep box in which the rubbish of twenty-five years had gathered. Crawford had evidently been to the bottom of it. He had fitted pieces of &hingle to make compartments, and in these different rooms he had placed the articles, with bits of shingle laid on top, and labeled thus : " Good screws," "picture nails," "small keys some- what bent," " pictvre hooks," " pieces of iron whose use I don't know." So on through the long box. In perfect order it was at last, and very little that could really be called useful could be found within it. But Mr. Peters, as he bent over and read the labels laughed glee- tully, and murmured to the mice : " If we are not both mistaken, I have found a boy and he nas found a ioriune." Sure enough. The sign disappeared from the window and was seen no more. Crawford became the well-known errand boy of the firm he never once thought of the long box over wlich he had been so faithful. All this happened years ago. Crawford Mills is errand boy no more, but the firm it Peters. Mills & Co. A young man. and a rich one. " He found his fortune m a long box of rubbish," Mr. Peters said once, laughing. "Never was a I5 gold piece so successful in business as that one of his \\m> been ; it is good he found it." Then after a moment of silence, he said, gravely : "No, he didn't ; he found it in his mother's Bible— ' He that is faithful in that which is least is faithful also in much.' " MUSIC. - RUTH "—VOCAL. (Sacred Quaitette.) "RUTH. Entbkat me not to leave thee, Or to return fh>m following after thM^ For whither thou goeat I will go, Where thou lotlgest I will lodge, Thy peoDle shall be my people, And thy God, my Gkid, Where thon diest I will die. And (here will I be buried. The Lord do so to me and more also, If anght bnt death part thee and me. RECITATIONS. FROM THE FACTORY. BY J. A. ARKLBY. ' I'M coming home to die mother, when bright ' September leaves Have faded to a rusty brown, rad yellow s|(ia« the abeATM. THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. * t ^^Hiw -t 1 , \ 1 j R 1 1 1 I 1 t - 1 1- Nil When all the brisht and beftateoos hues that Bummer ranbeams bronght, Hare periahed, like my early life, and vaniahed into nanght; I'll be aa aad a eight aa anght beneath the Aotamn aky, How glad I am, how aad I am, to haaten home to die I " That dear old home 1 I mina it well, npon the breezy hill, How coald I leave Ita aheltering eavea /or thia hot, atifling mill ? And down the valley, green and cool, beaide the old mill brook, A hundred nameleaa bloaaoma bloomed, in n ^ny a pleaaant nook. The white sheep dotted all the hill, whoae fleecea, colored brown, Were by yonr patient ftngera wrought, to make my home-spun gown. I knew no pitin in those yoang daya, in homely comfort dressed, No racking congh, no deadly fear, my buoyant heart oppressed. Oh, mother dear! had I bnt stayed beneath your watchftal eye, I might not now be coming home, within yonr arms to die. " Ton know it was the other girls who worked and roomed with me. Ton cannot think how tannting that those thoughtless girls could be. They laughed so at the nseftal clothes your wis- dom did provide, I had to lay my home-spun hose and thiok-soled shoes aside. I binsh to think bow quickly I was led to jeer and laugb. And talk of nanght bat beanx and dress, and Joined their senseless chaff. I often cry to think of it, as sleeplessly I lie, Bnt O fbrgive me, mother! for I'm coming home to die. " A rush of tender memories cane of those same girls to-night. How lovingly they tended me from dark till morning light ! 'The tempting things they bronght to me from out their scanty store, And their troubled, anxious fhces aa they closed «y chamber d9Qr, And left me for their long day's work wifhin tba dusty mill, Are kindnesses I'll not forget till this poor heart is still. I know 'twill be the hardest thing to bid the giria good-bye. And tell them I am going home, I'm going home to die. " Now don't come out to meet me, when the train goes rattling down, Bnt stay at home, and wear for me, that old grajr \ wincey gown And muslin cap I laughed abont and said 'twaa such a fright, I want to see them on yon, and I'll know tiiat all is right. And I want to hear you spinning, and the mur- muring of tbe mill, And see the welcome light shine ont from the old honse on the hill. But, oh, you must not fret and grieve, for Heaven is very nigh Tour weary, suffering daughter, who is coming home to die." LET THE CLOTH BE WHITE. BY WILL CARLTON. Oo set the table, Mary, an' let the cloth he white! The hungry city children are comin' here to- night ; The children firom the city, with features pinched an' spare. Are comin' here to get a breath of God's nntaintcd air. They come from ont the dungeons where they with want were chained ; From places dark and dismal, by teara of serrow stained ; From where a thousand shadows are murdering all the light, Set well the table, Mary dear, and lei the cloth be white ! They ha' not seen the daises made fot the hearl'i< behoof; They never heard' the raindrops npon a cottage roof. They do not know the kimea of «>pbvr an' of breeae, They never rambled wild aa' free beneath the flHwat tCMt. THE COMPLETE PROGRAae. The /bod tb»t they h.' eaten w». moiled by others' greede, ' The Tery air their Inngs breathed wa« ftill o' poiHon aeeda^. The Tery air their souls breathed was full o' wrong and spite, Oo set the table, Mary dear, an' let the cloth be white! The fragrant water lilies ha' never smiled at them. Thy never picked a wild flower from off its dewy stem, Tney never saw a greensward that they could ■afely pass Unless they heeded well the sign thatsays. " Keen off the grass." God bless the men and women of noble brain an' heart Who go down in the folk-swamps and take the children's part t Those hungry, cheery children that keep ns in their debt, ^ And never fail te give us more of pleasure than they get I Set well the table, Mary, let nangbt be scant or small. The little ones are coming; have plenty for 'em ttJi> There's nothing we should furnish except the very best *' To those that Jesus looks upon an' called to him and blessed. THE EGGS THAT NEVER HATCH. Thkbb's a young man on the comer. Filled with life and strength and hope. Looking far beyond the present. With the whole world in his scope. He is grasping at tomorrow, That phantom none can ca'toh; To^ayisloet. He's waiting For the eggs that never hatch. There's an old man over yonder, With a worn and weary face, W.th searching anxious features, ^And weak, uncertain pace. He is living iu the futnre, With uo desire to ca«ch The golden Now. He's waiting For the eggs that never hatch. 4 There's a world of men and women. With their life's work yet nndone, Who are sitting, standing, moving Beneath the same great snn ; Ever eager for the future, But not content to snatch The Present. They are waiting For the eggs that will never hatch. —Merchant lYttutOer PRAYERS I DON'T LIKE. ' I DO not like to hear him pray Who loans at twenty-five per cent* For then I thiuk the borrower may ' Be pressed to pay for food and rent. And in that Book we all should heed Which says the lender shall be ble^t, As sure as I have eyes to read, It does not say , " Take interest 1 » I do not like to hear him pray On bended knees about an hoar, For grace to spend aright the day, Who knows his neighbor has no flooK I'd rather see him go to mill And buy the luckless brother bread And see his children eat their fill, ' And laugh beneath their hnmbi'e shad. I do not like to hear him pray,— " Let blessings on the widow be,»» Who never seeks her home to s»y,l- '' If want o'ertakes you, come tl> me." I hate the prayer, so long and load. That's offered for the orphan's weal, By him who sees him crushed by wrong And only with his lips doth feel. I do not like to hear her pray, With jeweled ears and silken di«ai, Whose washerwoman toils all day. And then is asked to " woik for lea.'* Such pious shavers I despise ; With folded arms and face demnra, They lift to heaven their "angel » eyea Then steal the earninge of the poor. I do not like such soulless pra.reni,^ If wrong, I hope to be forgiven,— No angel'B wing them npward |)eiin; They'ra lost a million miles from heana I THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. THE NEW BONNET. Ilji A r.iousH little maiden bongbt a fi>oli(h little bonnet, With • ribbon and • ftether. end • bit of lace npon it ; And, that the other maideua of the little town might know it She thonght she'd go to meeting the next Snnday Jnst to ihow it. ' But though the little bonnet was scarce larger than a dime, The getting of it lettled prored to be a work of time; So when 'twas fairly tied, and the bel la bad stop- ped their ringing, And when she came to meeting, anre enough, the folks were singing. So this foolish little maiden stood and waited at the door ; And she shook her raffles ont behijid and smoothed them down before. " Hallelnjah ! Hallelnfah I " sang the choir above her head. " Hardly knew yon I hardly knew yon 1 " were the words she thought they said. This made the little maiden feel so very, rery That she gave her little month a twist, her little head a toss: For she thought the very hymn they sang was all about her bonnet, With the ribbon, and the feather, and the bit of lace npon it. And she would not wait to listen to the sermon or the prayer. But pattered down the silent street, and harried down the stair. Till she reached her little bureau, and in a band- box on it. Had hidden, safe flrom critic's eye, her foolish little bonnet Which proves, my little maidens, that each of you will find In every Sabbath service bnt an echo of your mind ; And the silly little bead, that's filled with silly little airs, Will never get a blessing from serason or ftom prayei*. MUSIC . WAVES OF THE OCEAN-GALOP. (Inst Duet) RECITATIONS. WHAT IT IS TO BE FORTY. To discover a sprinkle of gray in your heard, A tbiDucHB of crop where the upland is cleared. To note how you take to your slippers and gown, And hug to the fire when you get borne from town — Ah, that's what it is to be forty. To find that your shadow has portlier grown, That your voice has a practical, business-like toue; (That your vision is tricky, which once was so bright. And a hint of a wrinkle is coming to ligbt— Ah, that's what it is to be forty. A sleigh-ride, a party, a dance, or a dine ; Why, of coarse you'll be prenent, you never de- cline ; But, alas ! there's no invite ; you're not " young folks," you see; You're no longer a peach, but a crab-apple tree — Ah, that's what is to be forty. A daughter that grows like a lily, a queen — And ttiat tilooms like a rose in a garden of green, A dapper young clerk in nn ice-cream saloon, Both a dude and dunce, is to carry off soon ; And a boy that is ten and the pride of your eye Is caught smoking vile cigarettes on the sly — Ah, that's what it is to be forty. At twenty a man dreams of power and itime; At thirty his fire has a soberer tiame ; At forty bis dreams and his visions are o'er. And he knows and he feels as he ne'er did before That a man is a fool till he's forty. "SHINE! BLACKING, BOSS?" Within the broad metropolis, Along its pavements gay, There is a sonnd we never miss As round we pick oar way ; While they at pennies toss. Will stop and with a business air Inqnire : " Shine 1 bbukin^, hoH * * THE COMPLETE PROGRAM, H cb once was 60 0, be It dark or bo it llgbfr— E'en during rain or sleet— No matter what the hoar of night, Borne " Arab " yon will meet ; He'H scan you o'er— boots tirst of all— With air of piquant aance, And then A-om out his mouth will drawl His cry: "Shine! blacking, bow?" When nature says that he must rest From labors of the day, He oarea not whure he makes bis neat — His head on steps he'll lay ; His feet he stretches 'cross some path- Then sleeps as if on moss, And wakened by some stumbler's wrath, He cries: "Shinel blacking, boss ? " When at the gates, some early dawn, St Peter's bell he'll ring, Unlike his mates, who look forlorn, His blacking-box he'll bring; And when St. Peter opes the door, For words he's not at loss ; He's ready with his gamin's roar To cry : " Shine, blacking, boss ?" BUBT ABNOLD. THE HAND THA I ROCKS THE WORLD. BY WILLIAM ROSS WALLACE. Blbbbimos on the hand of Woman I Angels guard its strength and grace In the palace, cottage, hovel, O, no matter where the place ! Would that never storms assailed it ; Rainbows ever gently curled ; For the band that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rocks the world. Infancy's tbe tender fountain'; Power may with beauty flow ; Mothers first to guide the streamlets; From them souls unresting grow. Grow on for the good or evil, Sunshine stream'd or darkness hurled; For the band that rocks the cradle Is the hand that rocks the world. Here upon our natal sod ! Keep, O keep the child soul open Always to the breath of God I All true trophies of the Ages Are from Mother Love impearled ; For the hund that rocks the cradle Is the baud that rocks the world. Darling girls, with Eden mtwic Ringing yet in each young heart. Learn and ireuHure household knowledge, Precious in Life's future part. When you'll too, exulting mothers, Bravely lioyed and gently girled. Feel tbe hand that rocks the crwdle Is the hand that rocks the world. Blessings on the hand of woman I Fathers, sons, and dHughtern cry, And tbe sacred song is mingled With the wortihip in the sky. Mingles where no tempest darkens, Rainbows evermore are curled ; For the hand tbot rocks the cradle Is the hand that rocks the world. BROTHERLY LOVE. What a hollow mockery is often the senti- ment expressed by the above words. To one instance of genuine fraternal affection, there are hundreds where the very relationship vjijch should bind one another in firmer tie; serves only as the whetstone of mean jealousy, despic- able spite and absolute hatred. Strange as it may appear, an elder brother often looks down with contempt at the manly, independent efforts of his younger brother to gain a position in the business world by his own exertions, and instead of encoir raging him and removing the obstacles in his path, he, piqued at that very independence, docs all that lies in his power to injure and harm him. Are there such bigoted narrow-minded broth- ers ? To our sorrow, we. must confess thnt there are, and to add to the obloquy and mean-spirit- edness of the action, it often happens that such a one pretends to the Chrisrian graces, is a shining light in his church, an kier, one, who by his /«frtf^/«^ would seem to be on the path of righteousness, but by \i\i pricHce violates the holiest of ties. rcr-— .pi It IS in accordance wiih his real nature that such a brother should act the hvT»o- crite, and cowardly give the thrust in secret, which he dared not openly do. THE COMPLETE PROGRAM, We can pity such a brother, for at hit heart corwcient- and remorse, like •erpenti' teeth, mutt be continually gnawing, and even his gray hairs will not shield him from the merited doom that v ill overtake him when once his duplicity, trickery, and hypocrisy are laid bare. To the brother who is persecuted, we advise patience and forbearance. An independent spirit, a plucky determination to work and win, an enterprising activity which has brought invariable success, will always awaken the jealousy of the less-gifted, who imitatt^t very actions which they pretend to deride; and. after all, such exhibitions of malice, spite and meanness are only the homage which conscious inferiority pays to superior merit. "I WANT MY BALLOON." :\ As I paaaed down the street, one bright snnny day, A'oomical sight met my gase — A scene that, for mixture of sorrow and hn, Will haont roe through all of my days. On the walk stood a child, who, with "ii^aii l.M" yells Of dismay, Bl«red np to the sky, Where a tiny red object was gliding away, And fast growing dim to the eye. As nearer I came, he londly bawled ont: " I don't want to loae it so soon ! 0, sir, catch it quick. O, make it come back I I want my nice, pretty balloon 1 " " Little lad," then I said, " It will never retnm. Why did yon let go of the string ? Pray did yon not know, when you loosened year hold, Yonr plaything wonld snrely take wing? " "Why, sir," sobbed the child, "I thoaght it wonld stay, And float eloae above me nntil I wearied of watching it bob up and down, And could draw it back to me at wilL Oh, won't yon please catch it— it's going so fast- Do stop my niue, rosy balloon I " • ♦ • ♦ • Ah ! many there be in this world'^ bnsy throng Who hold in their hands the fhiil string That bound to themselves wealth, laurels or love. Or some other valuable thing : Bat, alaal like the child, they loosened their Parhape msMl/ testtng its power } nut realised too late, whut their reokleasness wroinilit, As they wati'h«> gain But too oft 'tia humanity's dmmi, To, by their own fully, lose what they prise most, And then cry for the vaulshMl balloon. GRAN DM AS REST. " Ht giveth hU beloved Oeep." OBAMDMA was tired and weary. Weary with team and with pain ; Pot by the staflfanc' the rocker, She will not need them again. Into sweet rest she hath entered, No more to suffer or weep, After life's long, fltlul fever Grandma has fallen asleep. Hills that she loved now enfold her, Hid in their boHom she lies ; Heeds not tht« song of the robin, Beauty of liloHom or skiea. Over her bed the green grasses Soon will HO lovingly creep; Ont 'mid the daisies and clover Orandma is lying asleep. Best the worn feet now forever, Dear wrinkled hands are so still. Pulseless the heart that no longer Borrow can quicken or thrill. Tears will glide o'er her gently, Fading the shadowland deep, Drive back thy tears, wonld yon wake her? Orandma has fallen asleep. Oh I beantiftil rest for the weary, Beantifhl sleep for the trae, Lying so peacefully ever. Under the sunlight and dew. Floats throngh onr heartstrings a qniver Like breath of a whisper sweet, " He giveth— to his beloved-" And grandma has fallen asleep. LIBBIB J. SUEBMAM. MUSIC. " LIFE'S DREAM IS O'ER." {Vocal Duet.) IlT QmtnUo .>-The night shades are falling, And fiMt father uoand as ; THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. W «lr raoklcMOMa TIm bright noon la giMming, And darkly llghu th« rale; TVnor .-Fw, fkr from my oonntry, And Ar flrom tby loving unlie, AloDo must I wkoder, And ue'er mo tbao again. 6Vm/ro/to .--Ob, aDgeia of heaven I reiMr/-M/ beart ever aball be tbino, loT*. CbntnUo : wuard liim from evil I Otntn, > uml r, . •.-Ah I wby oMiet thoa not be L inf cwul Ob, I' vti . ».y one r iment» A montv'Mt, fftimU j. Thy hear. 'r. ,; oiag on my breast, Llfe'e long uream ia o'er, life'a dre^m ia o'ar Farewell ( FareweUI (II.) ContraUo .-Oh, tell me if ever, When life's storms beat against thee, And bright hopes are broken. If then tbon wilt think of me ; Tenor. -The night winds are sighing. Of hopes that are dying, Forever my darling. Shall they breathe sweet thonghbi of th«e. CABIN PHILOSOPHY. J»' torn de back-log, ober, dar— an' pnll yonr atoo'ea np uigher. An' watch dat 'posanm cookiu' in de skillet by deflre: Lemme spread my legs out on de bricks U, make my feelin'sflow. An' I'll grin' yon out a fi»c' or two, to take befo' yon go. Now, in dese busy wnkin' days, dey's changed de Scripter fashions, An' you needn't look to miraknla to ftirnisb you wid rations ; Now, when you's wantin' loaves o' bread, yon got to go and fetch 'em, An' ef you's wantin' fishes, yon mns' dig your wnms 8d' ketch 'em ; for you kin put it down aa aartin dat the time is long gone by, When sassages an' 'taters use to rain fum out de sky I Ef you stumble on a hornet'a-naa'an' makede crlt- tera acattar. Yob needn't atan' dar Ilka a fool an' argffv da matter ; An' when de yallar fever come« an' aettlaa all nroon', ' Tie better dan de luranteeu to shuffle out o' town I Dar'a heap o' dreadful mnalc in de very flnea' fiddle ; A ripe an' metier apple may be rotten in de mid- dle; De wiaea' lookin' trabeler may be de biggw' fool- Dar's a lot o' solid kickin' in the humbles' kiudo' mule; De preacher ain't de boliea' dat war's de meekea' look. An' doea de londea' bangin' on the kivor ob da book I De people paya deir bigges' bills in bnyln' lota an' lau's ; Dey soa'ter all deir picayunea aroun' de peanut Stan's ; De twenties an' de flftiea goes in payin' orf deir rents, But Heben an' de organ grinder giu de coppei cents. I nebber likes de cullud man dat thinks too much o' eatin' ; But frolics froo de wnkin' days, and snoozes atd« meeting' ; Dat jines de Temp'ance 'Ciety, an' keepsagittin' tight, An' pulls his wa»«rmilliona in de middle obde night 1 m ys think sbost it ketf r, tes', diskiver dal ully, an' put it to liie Dese milerterry nigger chaps, with muakete in deir ban's, Perradin' froo de city to de music ob de ban's, Had better drop deir guns, an' go to marchin' wid deir hoes An' git a honest libbin' as dey chop de cotton- rows. Or de State may put 'em arter while to drillin' in de diches, Wid more'n a single stripe a-runnin' 'cross deir breeches. Well, you think dat doin' nuffin' 'tall ia misrht* IMS': flafet*' phm ia gin'nilj da so' an' nice, Bat it busted upde renters You see, dey bofe waa human bein'a jea' like me »n' yon, idelnbly Paradise I THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. ■'•'. An' dey couldn't reggerlate deirselves wid not a thing to do ; Wid plenty wuk Itefo' 'em, an' a cotton crop to make, De;'d nebber thought o' loafin' rouu'au'chattin' vid de snake. — iSnibner'a Magatine. THE SIN OF OMISSION. UABOARET E. 8ANQSTBB. It iaa't the thing you do, dear, It's the thing yon leave undone, Which gives yon a bit of a heart-ach« At the setting of the sun. The tender word forgotten. The letter yon did not write. The flower you might have sent, dear, Are your haunting ghosts to-night. The stone yon might have liflod Ont of a brother's way, The bit of beartsome (x>un8el You were hurried too mnch to aaj, The loving touch of the hand, dear, The gentle and winsome tone That you had no time nor thought for, With troubles enough of yonr own. These little acts of kindness So easily ont of mind. These chanches to be angels Which even mortals find,— They come in night and silence. Each chill, reproachful wraith, When hope is faint and dagging, And a blight has droppe'l on &ith. For life is all too short, dear. And sorrow is all too great, To suffer our bJow compasaion That tarries until too late. And it's not the thing yon do, dear, It's the thing you leave undone, Which gives you the bitter heart-ache At the setting of the sun. READING. PENALTIES OF CIVILIZATION. THE LITTLE CARES AND WORRIES THAT AF- FLICT CIVILIZED MEN. What taxes we do pay for being civilized ! fust loo^ at those two pictures, the one of a sav- age and the other of a civilized man sallyihg forth for his day's work. The savage seizes his bow and arrow, and perhaps his toina|iawk, and bounces out of his tent, leaving Mrs. S. to bring water from the stream and to skiimish around for dry wood to build a fire wherewith to cook the squirrel, opossum, rattlesnake or other vermin he may bring home for dinner. Mr. Nineteen Percentury has eaten a light breakfast, consisting of fried fi^h; omelette aux fines herbes, beefsteak and wheat cakes, preceded by an early glass of seltzer water, and is about to start for business. First he puts on his arctics, then his hat, then his overcoat, then his wristlets, then he feels in his pocket to see if his watch is there, and compares it with the parlor clock to ascertain whether they agree] feels in his inside breast pocket to assure him- self that certain documents are there ; feels in his outside breast pocket to know that his hand- kerchief is all right ; slaps his pantaloons pocket to satisfy himself that his wallet has not been left in his dress trousers (he calls his busi- ness garments pantaloons or pants and his social ones trousers ;) then he looks inquiringly to- ward the ceiling, trying to think whether there is anything else. Here Mrs. N. P. comes in, a consulting inquirer. " Have you got your pen knife ?" No, he has not, and he is sure to want it dur- ing the day. It is found on the table in the next room. He places it in his right hand vest pocket. " Have you got your pencil case and memo* randumbook?" No — hunt — found— left hand vest pocket. " Cigar case ?" He feels left hand overcoat pocket. " Yes, all right." "Match case?" Feels — yes — examined — empty — replenishei — left hand pantaloons pocket. "Office keys?" Feels — yes — all right. "Latchkey?" Feels pistol pocket — yes. "Card case?" Searches through six pockets — no — must be in dress waisicoai. It is — empty — replenishes — left hand vest pocket. " Don't forget those letters you have to mail." " Oh. no." Letters want stamp— none in the THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. ase and memo- [)ty — replenishei houM— never mind— get them at druggist's, only he is always out of them— letters to be carried in hand. " Don't go without your paper to read in the cars." " Oh, dear, no, where is it? " Paper found —left hand overcoat pocket. " Umbrella ? It might rain." •' Ugh ? " He doesn't know — dubious — looks out of window. "See weather i' obabilities — newspaper — safest pcriiaps to take it. Um- brella propped up against table, handy." "Now, are you sure you have the right change for your car fare ? " Full change, pocket— pants pocket— no — ten cents borrowed from w.fe— all right— now he'll be off. Buttons up overcoat, pulls on gloves, picks up letters and umbrella. " Good bye." "Oh! Have you got your eye glasses ? " Umbrella and letters placed on chair, glasses taken off, coat unbuttoned — exploration through numberless pockets — no — probably dress waist- coat — yes — upper left hand vest pocket — button up — umbrella, letters — all right. " Good-bye." " Oh I Niney, dear, you bettei leave me a little money before you go, I want to pay Madam Hazelquirke to-day." " 1 ! ! " And this is civilization. MUSIC. "CHANSON DES ALPS." (Instrumental.) COLLOQUY. CHRISTMAS AT LYNDALE HALL; or, THE GRE/.TEST CATCH OF THE SEASON. Adapted by Miss A. 0. Briggs, for several Ladies and Gendemen. Characters. John Farland Lady Clara Farland Miu Ada Rou A bsCbelof frOiu luSla. A wealthy gentlemtin. Hit wife. Lady GUii»'b daughter. KaUOhallia ^ John Parland'H niece. Counl Eienzo ' A youug nobleman. Lord Anuetlejf A gueat at Lyuedale Hall. Several other Ladiei and GenUemen Onesta. Mrt. Green The housekeeper. Harry Fakin$ Footman. Other Servanti. Scene i . Pau/ Hylton, in his bachelor apart- ments in India, is reading a letter. Having finished the letter he givi-. vent to his pent up thoughts and emotions in the following soliloquy: Paul H. Heigh-ho ! How time passes I It is fifteen years, this very day. since I sailed for India. Fifteen years since, standing on board the steamer Ocean Queen, I bade farewell to the only tried and true friend I had in the world. I shall never forget his last words. "Remember, Paul," said he, " that whether you win or fail I am your friend and brother. While I have a shilling, half of it is yours ; while I have a home, you shall share it. II India fails, come back to me. Return when you may, your first visit must be at my house." For the first few years we exchanged letters by each outward-bound and returning steamer, but after his marriage with Lady Clara Ross, that wealthy and aristocratic yoimg widow, there has been a continual dropping off, until if I hear from him once or twice a year I think myself fortunate. Perhaps the extra demands on his time and attention by Lady Clara and her daughter leaves him but little leisure for correspondence. This good, long letter, just received, breathes forth the same kind sympatliies as of old. A longing comes over me to return to my native land— to grasp again the hand of warm-hearted John Farland. I can never feel at home here. The scenery, the climate, and the people are uncongenial. I will close up my affairs and sail on the next steamer. John shall know nothing of this. I will answer his letter in per- son and treat him to a genuine surprise. Scene II. A nicely furnished libracy at Lynedale Hall. Paul Hylton is ushered into the room V Footman, Mr. Farland is about the premise*. I will call him. Your card, please. THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. ^ulH. Never mind the card nor the name. Tell him a friend wishes to see him. (£>// footman.) Well, I declare, these clothes do look a little out of place in such an elegant mansion— I never once thought of them. I am too careless about such things! but John won't care whether I'm dressed in style or out of style if he is at all as he used to be. Wonder if he'll know me I {^Enter John Farland, bows and fresents kis hand, but does not recognise him.) John F. Your countenance is familiar, sir, but I really can't call you by name. Paul H. John, don't you know me ? John F. (Gnatiy surprised.) It can't be Paul, Paul Hylton 1 Paulff. Paul Hylton it is, indeed 1 Come to spend Christmas with you. y. F. [^Shaking his hand warmly.) Welcome home, old boy, I am so glad to see you ! Meant to give me a surprise, did you ? Well, well, you have succeeded admirably. Did you get my last letter? ( They take seats.) Paul H. Yes ; just before I left India. It was in fact that good cheering message which confirmed my decision to return. John F. Glad something started you f Just think, it is fifteen years since you left us ! Paul H. Yes ; fifteen years, John, of hard work and worry, of self-exile— of strange vicis- situdes. Do you think me nruch changed ? John F. Now that I know you, I can see that you look, on the whole, quite natural; only time has added a stray wrinkle or so to the forehead and touched with a slight frost those raven locks; but it was your voice that I first recognized— there was no mistaking that, Shoul you have known me had I dropped down unexpectedly in India ? PaulH. Yes; I think I would have known you anywhere. y. F. Come back to stay ? PaulH. Well, yes. I guess so. I'm heartily tired of India. It may do for fortune-seekers, but it is not a place I would like to make my home. J. F. So the world has not prospered with you, Paul? I'm sorry. You deserve a better fate. My old-time promise holds good. If you „_ „, „„j, „aj, vuinc to mc. \tuiter Lady Clara.) iMtlyC. Oh.beg pardon, {Mthavti^ haughty I toss of the head.) I did not know you were en- ! gaged. Perhaps, with a house full of visitors, you can spare time for more than one. 7. F. ( Very meekly. ) To be sure, my .dear, to be sure ! I am very remiss, Lady Clara. Let me introduce my old friend, Paul Hylton, to you. (Makes a very haughty bow.) He— he ( J^ith hesitation) has come to spend Christmas with us. [She surveys Paul slowly from head to foot.) What room will suit Mr. Hylton best? He will want good fires— England is very cold after India. Lady C. I understood you, that our list of friends was quite complete. You had bettei send for the housekeeper, There are no rooms to spare. (Sweeps haughtily out of the room.) y. F. (Rubbing his hands and looking per- plexed.) Lady Clara is— is tired to-night ; we have so many guests. Paul. H. John, be quite frank with me. I am an uninvited guest ; if I have come at an inopportune moment, 1 will go away and return after the holidays are over. y. F. Nothing of the kind,— how can you speak so, Pr'iil ? You are my friend and guest —welcome a.ways as flowers in May. Lady Clara is rather peculiar ; she has always been amongst grand people, you know. I think it would, perhaps, be as well not to say that you have been unfortunate before her. She would not understand, you see. I'll ring for Mrs. Green, the housekeeper. (Rings the bell. Enter Mrs. Green. ^ Mrs. Green, this is my old friend Paul Hylto come from India to make us a visit,— have you any pleasant room vacant ? Mrs. Green. (Surprised and delighted.) Bless my stars! I guess I know this gentleman ! Can it be possible that you are Paul Hylton ? I used to live at your house when you were a little boy. Do you remember me ? Paul H. (Shaking hands with her.) Mrs. Green, you dear old soul, how are you ? I have often wondered what had become of you. Mrs. G. I left town shortly after your father died and your beautiful home was broken up. That was a rascally piece of business, cheating the orphan out of his rightful property 1 I never could get over it. Your uncle wanted me to stay and live with him but I could not think of such A thing. Weii, he and his family are all dead now with the exception of a scape* grace son who drank and gambled until he lest THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. « the home hit father left him. to it didn't do them much good after all. Paul H. That is generally the case with ill- gotten gain. It was % gigantic fraud. The per- petrators covered up their tracks so well, the law could not reach them, but, it seems re- tribution did. J. F. Have you a nice room for our old friend, Mrs. Green ? Mn. G. Beg pardon, Mr. Farland, I was so surprised 'o see him again that I quite forgot to answer y r question. I'll look the house over and see that he has the best room there is to spare— bet your life on that. {^Exit Mn. Green. ) Paul H. My mother, you know, died when I was quite young and Mrs. Green was as good to me as a mother could be. Father used to say, " Be a good boy, Paul, and obey Mrs. Green, for if she should get discontented and leave I don't know what we could do." I was very much attached to her, and cried heartily when she went away. J. F. Yes, she is a most worthy woman. 1 guess our household machinery would wabble some if we didn't have her for a regulator. (Aa/* Challis opens the door and starts back at seeing a stranger,) Kate C. Oh, excuse me I Uncle, can I speak with you a moment ? J. F. Certainly, my child. {Leaves the room afe^u moments, then returns.) Paul H. Who was that beautiful young girl, John? Lady Clara's daughter? John F. Oh, no; thank fortune, she has none of the royal blood in her veins ! She is my poor dead sister Nellie's child— one of the dearest and best girls in the world ! Since her mother's death she has made her home with us. When she comes back I'll call her in and intro- duce her. Paul H. Thank you. She has a sweet face, and if, as I judge it to be, it is an index to her disposition, I shall be glad to make the ac- quaintance. 7 /". Yes, poor girl. Tier parents are both dead, and she is quite alone in the world. I am the only near relative she has and I would lay down my life for her any time. You can see for yourself how matters stand. Everything is not as harmonious as it might be. Kate is the sunshine of my home. Paul, as you value your own peace of mind, never marry an imperious, self-willed woman.: Paul H. It is most surely the one great calamity from which I should hope to be spared. {Kate knocks at the door— Mr. Far. land opens it. ) Kate Challis. All right. Uncle. Mrs. Green has arranged things very nicely. J. F. Glad to hear it. Come in Kate and let me introduce you. {She st-fs into the room.) Mr. Hylton, this is my niece Miss Kate Challis. {They shake hands.) Kate and I will try and make you feel at home, won't we, Kate ? Kate C. Of course we will. {Bell rings) I have often heard Uncle speak of you and of the good times you used to have when you were boys together, so I feel well acquainted with you. I know we shall enjoy your visit exceed- ingly. y. F. Kate, was that the first dinner bell ? Kate C. Yes, sir ; it just rang. y. F. We must go down to the drawing-room or Lady Clara will be quite out of patience. Scene III. In the drawing-room. It is filled with guests when Mr. Farland, Paul Hylton, and Kate enter. Kate very quietly seats her- self. No one pays her the least bit of attention. Mr. Farland introduces Paul. Lady Clara and her daughter. Miss Ada Ross, exchange significant glances. He appears will ask me ,^■5 well. He is nearly b stranger he«>, ;'tiu knov 7- F. \'o\x are a good jjirl, Kate. Give me a i'ws r"'^ tnen ru s away. {She pretends to kiss fii'M. ) P ^ ;/ //'. Kiss me too t I am not your uncle. b!tt ', am his oldest friend, and here is a piece oi mistletoe — see! j '}'. F. Yes, give him a kiss Kate. Poor Paul ! '• Kv'j has no one in the wide world to kiss him. (SAe drops her head bashfully. Paul takes her hand and presses it to his lips. She smiles and leaves the room. ) Scene VI. Tableau .-—The Belle of the Ball. Represents a ball-room with the dancers on the floor. Scene vii. John Farland and Paul Hylton alone in the library. y. F. So you think you must leave us, Paul ? Where are you going? Paul H. To London, John, to seek my fortune. y. F. If there should be any way in which you would like to start do not hesitate for want of capital. Remember, Paul, my purse is yours. We are brothers, you know. If I were a bachelor— («jfAj sadly)— M I were a bachelor, you should share my home, but a married man can't always do as he would. Paul H. I can not think of staying longer. I know a lengthy visit would not be at all pleas- ing to Lady Clara. y. r. .. vdy Clara, I am sorry to say 5 mr,^ one of .. lost amiable of' women. Paul, luanks, John, for your kind ofls - j | assistance. If I have good luck I hope nof o need financial help, but there is one boov: j \ must ask before I go. Give it to me and I shall j be the happiest of men. Paul, you know you i.:. Paul M Give ire youv w iTt* [y F. jViy nie.:« Kat* I luul-il. Your nie»«i~ best ^\x\ in the world ! y. F. Willingly, most willingly; but Paul,- my dear boy, what will you keep her on ? Kate cannot n/e on air, ycj know, Paul //. I wiU find the ways and means if you A il! b'lt give your consent. y. i'. \ &\\\ sc giad i There is no one I care for 80 mtich as you, Paul. I would rather give Katie to you than to a prince. Go and ask her yourself— see what she says, and bring her to me. Paul H. I'm afraid she will feel insulted by an offer of marriage from an old, old bachelor I lik;' me ; I can but test my fate, and if she ^ hould refuse, I must abide the consequences, (suppose. (Exit Paul.) y. F. Popping the question is something new in his line. He will find it rather an awkward affair. Well, well, may success attend him. ( Takes hi} flute and plays to while away the time —Enter Paul with Kate on his arm.) Paul H. Kate has promised to be mine, John. Give us your blessing. y. F. That is yours in perpetuity, my chil- dren. May yours be a peaceful and happy home if not the abode of wealth and luxury. Kate C. I shall not mind being poor at all Uncle, I'm used to it. I can help Paul in many ways and not make myself a useless burden on his hands to support. If we live in London, it will be so near you can come and see us often. y. F. You may depend on a visit from me whenever I need a fresh supply of sunshine, and that will probably be quite often. We must tell Lady Clara. ( They look at each other in c'ismay.) Paul, you had better take the news 'self. • I H. Well, if I must, I must, but I had ■^ iiei face the dragon in his cave. Nevermind ' Here goes I ( E.vit Paul. ) i..«•£.'. and you, old enough to be her father!. I '. ' :,N,i!.i call you both two precious simpletons. THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. sweetest, truest, s and means if boudoir. Lady Of course, if Mr. Farln d has given his con- sent. I liave nothing to do in the matter. Miss Challis is not under my control. I may, per- haps, be permitted to say, I think it a singular arrangement for two persons entirely without fortune to marry. I hope it may end well. PaulH. It is a little singular, Lady Clara, I confess, but love can accomplish wonders. Lady C. So it seems. When is this affair to come off? Paul ff. I am going to London for a week and shall hope to claim my bride on my return. Lady C. In a week ! It will be impossible for her to leave so soon. Paul I^. You need not trouble yourself con- cerning a wedding outfit. I will see that she has everything needful for the occasion. Lady C. You will need no very elaborate out- lay. Being penniless and of no social standing, you will of course expect a very quiet wedding. PaulH. Most, certainly, I should prefer it under any circumstances. Grand weddings sel- dom turnout well. We will reserve our wedding feast until we can invite our friends to a home of our own. Lady C. Which will not be very soon, I fear. Paul H. «Then we can do without it. A man's life does not consist in the multitude of his riches nor a true woman's happiness in the splendor of her entertainments. Kate and I can be happy together even in the obscurity of our poverty. Lady C. I don't know about that. I should prefer a little less love and a little more luxury. Paul H. Tastes differ. Lady Clara. A love- less home would be to me the most desolate of desolations. I must take the next train so I will bid you good-bye. Scene IX. The Wedding Day. TJte family in the drawing-room with the exception of Kate. Enter Paul Hylton. y. F. Why, Paul, what makes you so late ? It is neariy time for the ceremony. PaulH. The train was delayed on account of an accident on the road. Where is Kate ? Lady C. Oh, she is in her room crying her precious eyes out, I suppose, for fear you would not come, 7- F. {Rings for a servant who enters the room.) Take this package to Miss Challis and inform her of-Mr. Hylton's arrival. Lady C. It is so late she had better dress be- fore coming down. 7. F. An accident on the road ? Anything serious ? Paul H. No injury to life or hmb, 1 believe, but a smashing up of several freight cars in a collision. We were obliged to wait until they could clear the track. Lady C. Have you a place to take your bride, Mr. Hylton ? Paul H. Oh, yes, we shall have very com- fortable quarters,— as good a home as persons in our circumstances could expect. Lady C. I am glad to hear it, Mr. Hylton. Kate has lived with us so long we, of course, have some interest in her welfare. y. F. Did you succeed in securing a good position, Paul ? Paul H. Measurably well. It will do until I can find something better. {Enter servant with the mail.) Lady Clara opens a letter ad- dressed to Mr. John Farland and family, and starts back in surprise. Lady C. Here is a card from Parkwood Grange. {Reads.) Mr. and Mrs. Paul Hylton at home after January 15th I Can it be possi- ble, Mr. Hylton, you are the gentleman who ha* recently purchased Parkwood Grange? Paul H. The same mysterious personage. Lady Clara. It has been the one dream of mv life to buy back my eariy home. I learned, on my arrival, that it was for sale and instructed my agent in London to make the purchase. The arrangements are now completed, and after a short wedding trip we shall settle down under the old paternal roof. y. F. {Stepping forward and grasping his hand.) Well done, my boy, I congratulate you. Does Kate know anything of this? Paul H. Nothing at all. She probably has been expecting upper apartments in some crowded tenement block in London. She mar- ries me for myself you see. y. F. So then our little Kate has secured the greatest catch of the season. How is that. Miss Ada? Miss A. R. It seems, Mr, Farland, you took our little jest in earnest. I shall look for Some- thing besides riches when I marry. Nothing short of the little "Countess," would suit me. y. F. AhM see. When Coint Rienzo can THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. \ talk a little better English, we may expect another wedding. Miss A, R. I have a desire for rank and sta> tion. I do not fancy untitled gentlemen. Blood it what tells, you know. y. F. Yes, the good rich blood of robust health is the best blood I know of. I should much prefer it to the sickly blue blood of titled aristocracy. Lady C. I think Mr. Hylton. ( IVith a defer- tntial smile) it would have been better had you appeared in your true character. Paul H. I made no mention, whatever, of my financial affairs ; but as you seemed to take it for granted that I lacked the means to wear better clothes, I suffered you to remain unen- lightened on that point as long as it should be for my pleasure to do so. My little experience at Lynedale Hall has done me a world of good. It has showed up in their true light the false distinctions in social life; it has proved the truth and sincerity of my old friend, John Farland, and given me the sweetest, noblest little wife man was ever blessed with. Ijody C. Had we known your real standing yours should have been one of the grandest weddings on record. It is all your fault, Mr. Hylton. J^tul H. No apologies are due, Lady Clara. The arrangements are all right. I would not wish them otherwise. Lady C. We must cut short our discourse. The clergyman has arrived and we must pre- pare for the ceremony. Scene x. Tableau. A QUIET WEDDING. MUSIC. PEACEFULLY SLUMBER. Pbaosfolly slumber, my own darling sop; Close thy deer eyelids, and sweetly sleep on ; I A.1I things lie buried in silence proforind. ■ Sleep ; I will scare e'en the goats floating round. Tis now, my dearent, thy life'8 early May ; Ah ! but to-morrow is not as to-day ; Trouble and care round thy curtains shall soar; Tbeu child, tbou'lt slumber so sweetly no more. AngelM of heaven ns lovely an thou, . Float o'er thy cradle and smile on thee now. Later when angels around thee shall stray, 'Twill be to wipe but thy teardrops away. Peaoefully slumber, my own darling one, Watch by thy bedside, till dark night is gone; Careless how early, how late it may be, ' Mother's love wearies not watching o'er thee. OPTIONAL FRANK RUBYS CHRISTMAS. BY P. HAMILTON MYERS. 'TWAS Christmas Eve; the snow fell fast, Fell through the twilight, dun and grey; And now a breese, and now a blast, , The wind went whistling on its way. Through all the city's whitened streets Gift-bearing people homeward sped ; In car and stage were crowded seats And crowded roofs were overhead. Pedestrians, bending to the storm, Signalled in vain the autocrat, Who stamped to keep his great feet warm,-" Jehu in oil-cloth coat and hat. But all was mirth, each heart was gay ; Well could they storm and tempest stem : Twas eve of blessed holiday, And happy homes awaited then/*, — Homes in which joyous shouts would ring, Homes radiant with the light of bliss, Wherv; red-lipped children climb and cling To win the first paternal kiss. Piled presents and the fireside glow, — On such a scene one fain would dwell ; But of this night of sleet and snow I have another tale to tell. Frank Ruby's years were forty-five ; "And half that period and more," He said, " I've labored hard to drive The wolf of hunger from the door. "Yet here we are, this night of storm— Our cabin floor is bare and rough, Our fuel scant, we are not wurm, We fieldom have quite food enough. "Our rhilren are too thinly clad Though they are good as good can be; And Edwin, oh, my darling lad! He sleeps beneath the briuy sea." Patient and pale, beside him stood His wife, aud begged liim not to yrieve- Sbe told him that the Lord was K"od, And this, His biesued Christmas Eve. THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. " Perhaps he looki upon as now In pity." so the womaa said. Franic Ruby's was a wrialcled brow, Frank Baby shook a doubting head. "To-morrow all the town will feast: I longed to get some treiit for yoa, But did not dare to spend the least Because the rent was almost due." " 'Tis right," she said, " for I hare dared (Remember, it is Christmas time!) To spend— nay, husband, be not scared! It was for Mem, and but a dime. " 'Twas but this once ; you know, my dear, Thejt never had a toy before ; — " Is it the rattling wind they hear, Or mortal hand that shakes the doo r? They hnste to open, they bring a light : An old man bending 'neath a pack. Begs food and shelter for the night; His white hair streams adown his back. They help him in ; he scarce can hear The words of welcome which they speak ; And yet he feels the warmth and cheer For smiles light np his aged cheek. He lowers his bundle to a chair. Shakes from his clothes the clinging snow, Shakes it from cap and beard and hair Then sits beside the fire's full glow, — And laughs while Frank piles on the wood And rubs his hands before the blaze ; And when the good wife brings him food, He laughs again, but little says,— And little they, so deaf is he. So busy with his frugal meal. And with that cup of steaming tea. Whose warmth his very heartstrings feel. Two little Christmas stockings hung Gaping beside the roaring hearth ; " And have you children ? Are Ihey yonng ? " The old man asked with air of mirth. They nodded, and he shook with glee. " Ha, ha! " he said, " I've guessed aright. And, surely down the wide chimney Old Santa Clans will come to-night." They made bis bed before the fire. With blankets which they ill could spare; And, wearied all, they soon retire, But not without an evening prayer. Morn came, and still the snow did fall. Frank feared his ancient guest would stay ; He >new there was not food for all : — Alas, for snob a Christmas Day I He hears his children leap from bed. He hears their voice of noisy mirth. As shivering (eaqh in nightgown red) They hasten to the fireless hearth. "O, father, father! come and see What Santa Claus brought me and ais,— • Our stockings ftill as full can be ; And on the top, see, what is Mte^" They rush \a him in eager strife ; Their little hands outstretched they hoM ; In each he sees — as sure as life ! — A bright broad disk of coined gold. " What can it mean ? It is some trick I " Husband and wife astounded say. They rise, they dress themselves full quick, They haste to where the stranger lay. Their ancient guest he sleepeth well : Frank Ruby gives him many a dhake ; He seems enchained by some strange spell Never was man so hard to wake. Once ..ore ! he rises nimbly now, He biands erect in manly grace ; He tears the '^\ite wig from his brow And fling;r 1 1 < (alse beard from his face " My son, my son ! " the fatlier cries. Dame Ruby swoons upon his nerk ; "Tis Edwin stands before their eyes, Saved from the sinking vessel's wreck. To paint a pleasure great as this, A joy so tender, so divine. Such lasting ecstasy of bliss, — Needs more presuming pen than mine. The parents think not of the pelf, T) r .A^ ies " roll upon the floor; They )i.:y ihink of Edwin's self Nor ask nor guess if he has more. Not so with him, thelMisterous youth, Who from the land of gold had come. And who had labored hard, in truth, To gain and bring some thousands homa " I've also brought my own strong arm," He said, *' nor e'er again will stray." Frank Ruby fAtred no future harm, Frank Ruby kept that holiday. He called his poorer neighbors in ; A smoking turkey graced his hoard ; He laughed, as those may laugh who .fin And thenceforth tnisted in the Lo^^'^., THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. \ If AS gi;»r?c a^ -t-he telephone. Oni. nig!;i .i weli-known merchant of a town In the West, who had been walking 'or some time in the d-;,wnward path, came out of his house and started out for a night of carousal with some old companions he had promised to meet. His young wife had L .ought him with im- ploring eyes to spend the evening with her, and had reminded him of the time when evenings passed in her company were all too short. His little daughter had clung about his knees and coaxed in her pretty, willful way for papa to tell her some bed-time stories; but habit was stronger than love for wife or child, and he eluded her tender questionirg by the deceits and excuses which are the convenient refuge of the intemperate and so went on his way. When he was some distance from his house he found that in changing hi? roat he had for- gotten his purse, and he could not go out on a drinking-!. out without any money, even though his family needed it, and his wife was econo- mizing every day more and more in order to make up his deficits. So he hurried back and crept softly past the window of his own home, in order that he might steal in and obtain it without running'the eauntiet of other questions or caresses. But as he lou 'd through th window some- thing sta ' his fe"!. There is a fire in the grate withi. -for the night was chill— and it lit up the pretty little parlor and brought out in startling effect th» pictures on the wall. But thes< vere r.. ininj^ to the picture n the hearth. ! There, in the soft glow of the hre-light, knelt | his child at her mother's feet, its small hands clasped in prayer, and its fair (. ad bowed ; and as its rosy lips whisj -d eac! word with childish distinctness, the 1, •'ot V ened, spell- bound, to th words whicl e h elf had so often uttered at his own momer's knee : " Now I lay me down to sleep." His thoughts ran back to boyhood hours ; and as he compressed his bearded lips, he could see in memory the face of that mother, long ago gone to her rest, who taught his own infant lips prayers which he had long forgotten to utter. The child went on and completed her little verse, and then as prompted by her mother, continued : "God bless mamma, papa, and my own self "—then there was a psi se, and she lifted her troubled blue eyes to her mother's face. "C;od bless papa," prompted the mother, softly. " God bless papa," lisped the little one. " And please send him home sober." He could not hear the mrther as she said this ; but the child followed in i clear, inspired tone — "God blesf papa— and please— send him— home sober. Amen." Mother and child sprang to their feet in alarm when the door opened so suddenly ; but they were not afraid when they saw who it was re- turned so soon. But that night when little Mary was being tucked up in bed, after such a romp with papa, she said in the sleepiest and most contented of voices : ' " Mamma lod answers almoif. tj quick ai the telephone, doesn't he?" J^'rom the Bapti . eekly. ANTIETAM. I. I'VE wandered o'er Antietam, Jolin And stood where foe met foe Upon the fields of Maryland So many years ago The circling hills rist just the same As they did on that day, When yon was fighting bine, old boy, Ana I was fighting gray. n. The wlntlip- strenm runs 'neath thebridifc Where Bi. inside w n bifi fame; Th. locust trees upon the ridge B yond are ther< ihp same. The irds were singing mid the trees— T . . 1 bullets on that day When you as fighting blue, old boy, And I was lighting gray. m. T SAW aop&fn iTiA T>iin1fA«* aV.»»«|. That stood beside the wood, Where Hooker made that famous cfaaige That Jlill so well withstood. »y her mother. and my own and she lifted ther's face. 1 the mother, ittle one. ' ober." er as she said clear, inspired ! — send him^ ir feet in alarm nly ; but they fhu it was re- len little Mary r such a romp >iest and most it 1.S quick ai ti / 'eekfy. hn ne W. he brid,^ eea— wy, ^ai]gM /ours was then, though flghting blue, 10 me, though flghting gray. J icnrked th*i spot where Mansfield fell- Where Richurdwon was slain With Stark and Donglnas mid the com, And Brand amid the grain. Tlmir names are sacred to us, John ; They led us in the fray. When you were flghting northern blue, And I the southern gray. vr. I thought of Burnside, Hooker, Meade, Of Sedgwick, old and brave ; Of 6tonewalI Jackson, tried and true That strove the day to save, I bare« week. Ef I should try da. on to-morror, I would git de collar from de policeman befo' |I could walk up an' down all de alleys in Detroit widout an onkind remark bein' remarked tome Only yisterday, as I was gwine up an alley to look fur my dog, a white man Jked oberh,sback fence an' said. "You is jist one tZ ■" T '""'^ '"«".-dem chickens is gone ! De world 'pears to hev reached dat stage when nobody believe an' everybody doubts Ef I git on a street kyar. de contctor wants his cash befo' you set down. Ef I lo on de railroad a pusson cum 'round befo' we hev gone five mile, an' demands de fare Ef go to de postoffice fur a stamp, de clerk reaches out ftjc my two cents afore he tears de stamp ofl. Ef I want to borry shugger or tea de naybursar'jistout. Ef I go to"! nt a ho"; d owner wants a month's rent in advance. De good ole days, when man had faith in man, an' to doubt a man's word meant dat he was a ras- cal, hev departed, probably nebber to return nomoah. It grieves an' pains me. I want to hev faith an don't want to doubt, but de state of affairs affects me mo' or less. 1 fine myself hesitatm' when Waydown Beebe wants de loan ob my Sunday coat to 'tend a pray'r-meeun'. I fine myself fishm' foi excuses when PicKles Smith wants de loan ob half a dollar fii, a week I cotch myself wonderin' ef Shindig Watlcins takes me fur a haystack when he wants to borry my new rug to lay in front ob his stove . ; "°''\ '. "" " H^"/- i^"i5 »Ule ob thines .s too bad 1 It fills me with sorror to think fb It an 1 m greatly afeered, my frien's. dat it is neber goin' to grow no belter. T4 TUB COMPLETE PROGRAM. '•' WHERE DO YOU LIVE? I kuOTT % man and his name was Horner, Who used to live on Grumble Corner, Grnmble Corner in Cross-Patch Town ; And he never was seen without a frown. He grambled at this and be gmmbled at that ; He growled at the dog, he growled at the cat ; He grumbled at morning, he grumbled at night ; And to grumble and growl were his chief delight. Ho gmmbled so much at his wife that she Began to grnmble as well as he ; And all the children wherever they went^ Reflected their parents' discontent If the sky was dark and betokened rain, Then Mr. Homer was sure to complain. If there was never a cloud about He'd grumble because of a threatened drought. His meals were never to suit his taste ; He grumbled at having to eat in haste ; The bread was poor, and the meat was tongh, Or else he hadn't half enough. No matter how hard his wife might try To please her husband, with scornful eye He'd look around and then with a scowl At something or oilier begin to growl. . One day, as I loitered along the street, My old acquaintance I chanced to meet Whose face was without the look of care And the ugly frown that it used to wear;— " I may be mistaken, perhaps," I said, As, after saluting I turned my head ; * " But it is and it isn't the Mr. Homer Who lived for so long on Grumble Corner." I met him next day, and I met him again. In melting weather, in pouring rain. When stocks were up and when stocks were down Bnt somehow a smile had replaced the frown. It puzzled me much. And so, one day, I seized liia hand in a friendly way. And said, " Mr. Horner. I'd like to know What can have happened to change you so ? " He laughed a laugh that was good to hear. For it told of a conscience cnlm and clear ; And he said, with none of the old-time drawl, * Why, I've changed my residence; that is all." ** Ch.TBged your residenc e ? " " Yes," snid Horner " It wasn't healthy on Grnmble Comer, And so I moved. 'Twas a change complete ; .... — _..... ,, „.,., .„„ ,„,^ ,.,. ^,,^.j.-„._jjjgj2ircct.' Now every day ns I move along The strsete so filled with the busy throng. I watch each face, and can alwsya tell Where men and women and children dwell Aud many a discontente«* mourner Is spending his days onOinmble Comer, Sour and sad, whom I long to entreat To take a house on Thanksgiving Street. - MARY'S LAMB WITH VARIATION* Mollis bad a little lamb As black as rabber shoe, And every where that Mollie went He emigrated too. He went with her to church one day— The folks hilarious grew To see him walk demurely Into Deacon Allen's pew. The worthy deacon quickly let His angry passions rise, And gave him an unchristian kick Between his sad brown eyes. This landed lamby in the aisle ; The deacon followed fast And raised his foot again, — alas I That first kick was his last ; For Mr. Sheep walked slowly back About a rod, 'tis said, And ere the deacon could retreat He stood him on his head. The congregation then arose And went for that ere sheep ; When several well directed butts Just piled them in a heap. Then rushed they straightway for the do«f With curses long and loud. While lamby struck the hindmost man And shoved him through the crowd. The minister had oilben heard That kindness would subdue The fiercest beast, " Aha ! " he said, " I'll try that game on you." And so he kindly, gently called, " Come, lamby, lamby, lamb, To see the folks abuse you so I grieved apd sorry am." With kind and gentle words he cam* From that tall pulpit down. Saying, " Lamhy, lamby, Iamb,— Best sheepy in the town ! " The 'amb quito dropped his humble air, -■ .id rose from off his leet. And when the parson landed he Was past the hindmost eat THE COMPLETE PROGRAM, 7f kM he shot ont the open door, And closed it with a slam, Jle named a Califoruia town I think 'twas " Yuba Dam." MUSIC. READING. "JT IS MY MOTHER I " In one of the fierce engagements with the rebels, near Mechanicsville, in May, 1864, a young lieutenant of a Rhode Island battery had his right foot so shattered by a fragment of shell that, on reaching Washington after one of those horrible ambulance rides, and a journey of a week's duration, he was obliged to undergo amputaHon of the leg. He telegraphed home, hundreds of miles away, that all was going well, and with a soldier's fortitude composed himself to bear his suffering alone. Unknown to him. however, his mother, one of those dear reserves of the army, hastened up to jom the main force. She reached the city at midnight, and the nurses would have kept her from him until morning. One sat by his side fanning him as he slept, her hand on his feeble, fluctuating pulsations which foreboded sad results. But what woman's heart could resist the pleadings of a mother then ? In the ' darkness she was finally allcvved to glide in and take the place at his side. She touched his pulse as the nurse had done ; not a word was spoken, but the sleeping boy opened his eyes and sa.d, •• That feels like my mother's hand •_ who is this beside me ? It « my mother ! Turn up the gas and let me see mother 1 " The two dear ones met in one long, joyful, sobbing embrace, and the fondness, pent up in earl, heart, sobbed and panted and wept forth Its expieesion. The gallant fellow-just twenty-one-his .-g amputated on the last day of his three years' service, undf went opera ^on after operation, -v:. at last, wucu death drew nigh and he vras to J by tearful frierds that it only remaine;: to make him comfortable, said, <• I have looked aeath in the face too many times to be afraid now. Leaning his head upon his tender mother's breast his spirit took its flight to join the noble band of hero martyrs who have so valiantly laid down their lives upon their coun- try's altar. A PRACTICAL JOKER. " Now you say that you have always been s loving, faithful wife, and that your husband had no cause for complaint, do you ?" asked a lawyer of an Indiana woman, opposing her husbanci's petition for a divorce. " Yes, sir, I do say that very thing," was the reply. •• You never threw sticks of wood at him, or hot water over him, did you ? " •• Oh, I don't know, but I 7nay have done that once or twice in a playful way." " Oh. you did ? And ueie you joking when you chased him all over tiie house with a red- hot poker?" " Yes, I was ; and he knows it, too." " Didn't you sew him up in the bed-clothes one night and pound him with a club ? " " Well, now, the idea of a man trying to get a divorce from his own lovin' wife for a little joke like that ! ' ' "Oh, so that was a joke too, eh? Was it intended for a joke when you knocked him down cellar and threw three fiat-irons after him? " "Of course it was. I always was a jokey kind of woman." " I should say so. You thought it a joke when you locked him out of the house with the thermometer below zero, and he had to sleepin th - hen-roost. That was a joke, eh ? ' " "Pshaw, now! He's gone and told you of I that httle caper of mine, has he ? Well, he never could take a joke, nohow." " A few more jokes of that kind would have killed him," The judge thought so. too, and gave the man his •• bill ; " whereupon his r.pouse of the past, said : "The idee of a man bein' allowed a divorce from tli.^ true and lovin' wife of his buzzum for a few little jokes like that I There ain't no jus- tice in it!" * re THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. MR. BLIFKIN'S FIRST BABY. That first baby was a great institution. As soon as he came into this " breathing world," as the late W. Shakespeare has it, he took com- mand in our house. Everything was subservi- ent to him. He regulated the temperature, he regulated the servants, he regulated me. For the first six months of that precious baby's existence he had roe up, on an average, six times a night " Mr. Blifkins," said my wife, " bring a light, do ; the baby acts strangely ; I'm afraid it will have a fit.'* Of course the lamp was brought, and of course the baby lay sucking his fist, hke a little white bear as he was. " Mr. Blifkins," says my wife, " I think I feel a draft of air ; I wish you would get up and see if the, window is not open a little, because oaby might get sick." Nothing was the matter with the window as I knew very well. "Mr. fllifkins," said my wife, just as I was going to sleep again, " that lamp, as you have placed It, shines directly into baby's eyes, strange that you have no more consideration ! " I arranged the light and went to bed again. Just as I was dropping to sleep — "Mr. Blifkins," said my wife, "did you think to buy that broma, to-day, for the baby?" " My dear," said I, " will you do me the injustice to believethat I could overlook a mat- ter so essential to the comfort of that inestima- ble child?" She apologized very handsomely, but made her anxiety the scapegoat. I forgave her, and without saying a word to her, I addressed myself to sleep. " Mr. Blifkins," said my wife, shaking me, "you must not snore so~you will wake the baby." "Jest so— jest so," said I, half asleep, think- ing I was Solon Shingle. "Mr. Blifkins," said my wife, "will you get up and hand me that warm gruel from the nurse-lamp for baby?_the dear child, if it wasn't for his mother I don't know what he would do. How can vou slppn so^ Mr. Blif- kins?" "I suspect, my dear," said I, "that it is because I'm tired." " Oh, it's very well for you men to talk about' being tired," said my wife. "I don't know what you would say if you had to toil and drudge like a poor woman with a baby." 1 tried to soothe her by telling her she had no patience and got up for the gruel. Having aided in answering to the baby's requirements, I stepped into bed again, with the hope of sleeping. "Oh, dear! " said that inestimable woman^ in great apparent anguish, " how can a man, who has arrived at the honor of a live baby of his own, sleep when he don't know that the dear creature will live till morning ? " I remained silent, d after awhile, deeming that Mrs. Blifkins had gone to sleep, I stretched my limbs for repose. How long I slept I don't know, but I was awakened by a furious jab in the forehead from some sharp instrument. I started up, and Mrs. Blifkins was sitting up in the bed, adjusting some portions of the baby's dress. She had, in a state of semi-somnolence mistaken my head for the pillow, which she customarily used for a nocturnal pincushion. I protested against such treatment in somewhat round terms, pointing to several perforations in my forehead. She told me I should willingly bear such trifling ills for the sake of the baby. I insisted upon it that I didn't think my duty, as a parent to the immortal, required the sur- render of head as a pincushion. This was one of the many nights passed in this way. Thf truth is, that baby was what every man's f st baby is— an autocrat, absolute and unlimited. Such was the story of Blifkins, as he related it to us the other day. It is a little exaggerated picture of almost every man's experience. RECITATIONS. PLUCK AND PRAYER- Thebe wa'n't any use o' frettin', And I told Obadiah so, For ef we couldn't hold on to things We'd jest got to let 'era go. •-•JUS ui ;a:a; Alouf^ with the rest of ns, An' It didu't seem to be wnth oni To make eiob a dreffle fuss. whin* THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. 77 To be tore, the barn was most empty, An' com an' pertaten sca'oe, An' not much of anything plenty an' cheap Bat water — an' apple-sass. Bat then,— as I told Obadiah— It wa'n't any nse to groan, For flesh an' blaod couldn't stan» it; an' he Was nothin' but skin an' bone. Bat laws I ef yon'd only heerd him, At any hoar of the night, A-prayin' out in that closet there, 'Twonld have set you crazy quite. I patched the knees of his trousers With cloth that was noways thin, But it seemed as ef the pieces wore oat As fast as I set 'em in. To me he said mighty little Of the thorny way we trod, But at least a dozen times a day He talked it over with (}od. Down on bis kuees in that closet The most of his time was passed; — For Obadiah knew how to pray Much better than how to fast. But I'm that way contrairy, That ef things don't go jest right, I feel like roll in' my sleeves up high An' gittin ready to fight. An' the giants I slew tliat winter I a'n't goia' to talk about ; An' : didn't even complnin to God, Tho' I think that he found it oafc With the poiut of a cambric needle I dmv the wolf from the door, For I knew that we needn't starve to death, Or be lazy because we were poor. ia' Obadiah he wondered. An' kept me patcbin' his knees, ay' f bought it strange how the meal held ont, ^;i' strange we didn't freeze. But I said to myself in a whisper, " God knows where his gift descend* ; An' 'tisn't allis thr t faith gits down As fur OS the finger-ends," ^c I •toui'tu^i) hitva no one reckon My Obadiah a shirk ; For some, you know, haTO the gift to pray An' othMB the gift to work, THE CLASSMATES. BY HISS A. O. BRIGGS. ' TwAS midnight, and the halls of YmU Were desolate and lone. Commencement day had come and paaiei And with it all had gone Of those who oft in daily qnest Of learning there had met.— All gone?— Ah, no, within ita walls Six classmates lingered yet. Six classmates lingered yet to spend An hour before they part In social converse, friend with friend, In interchange of heart, To breathe their plans for ftatnre day* Into each other's ears, And set a time to meet again In the dim lapse of years. " I go," said he of the lofty brow, " I go in search of fame. I would twine me a wreath from the ku«| bough; I would win a deathless name For me shall the nation's shout ascend, And the clarion blast ba blown ; — I scorn to tread earth's by-way patha^ Unknowing and nnknown." Then he the gentle-bearted spake : "I haste to the light of home ; I go where the loved of my kindred dwel^ And ne'er may I wish to roam. I claim the hand of my fair young bride^ And, far from worldly strife, Will dwell content in the shady bowera Of sweet, domestic life." Then spake the one of thoughtful mien: " I'll nature's realms explore ; — These shallow draughts from Learning's Kmnl But give me thirst for more. Philosophy shall teach to ma Her grand, unerring laws. And Science lift the mystic veil From each mysterious cause." " I leave," said he of tho stalwart form, " These balls for a foreign shore. I would worship the goddesc Fortune aow^ I would gather the shining or*. My ships shall dot the spacious mu. My buildings fill the land ; And sums, untold, of preoione g»ii 8hall be at my comuumd," n THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. '!■ \ " Since li/e ia short, at best, Why vex the mind with needlen oare*?— The sodI with ragne nnrestr— I'll quaff the sweets from pleaaare'a bowl • And merrj shall I be. * A life of seir-inaicted toil Is Hot the life for me.** *• I bnild," aaid the one of sober speech, " No fanes of crambling clay ; I fling ndt time as worthless chaff That winds m-y bear away ; Vy highest aim shall be to tread The path my Sarior trod, To cheer the drooping sonl and lead The erring back to God." ••♦•••• Long yean had passed .wthey met agais- But ah I how changed were they! With raven locks and aubnm curls, Old Time had mingled gray ; The stalwart form was bowed with years, Care-marked the loftly brow ,w The old men, gazing through their tears, Contrasted Mm with now. Pirst spake the one who sought for ftme: 'I've climbed the topmost height. And placed above thera all my name In burning letters bright ; I've feasted on a nation's praise,-— But oh ! I'm weary now j— I find the laurel wreath of fame Hay press an aching brow." Then he who lived for love came forth. With feeble steps a;jd slew ; A mourner's sable weeds he wore ; His heart seemed crushed with wosi ••My earthly joy is o'er »» he said. In sorrow's plaintive tone, " My loved ones sleep the sleep of death: rm left on earth alone." *' Alas ! " sighed piuasnre's devotM, " A foolish choice was mine I I've drained the diege of pleasure's cap-. Its wormwood and its wine, Its wild delusions lured me on With many a biroken vow.— «. oKtiucr ana s niSef iumu I OMBe bMteM yott atir." Then spake the one who toiled for gold "I've wealth at my command ; I've ships upon the boandless sea. And buildings on toe land j I live in splendor, but alasl Joy dwells from me apart ;— I find that gold is not the thing To satisfy the heart" Then he of thoughtful mien replied i " I've delved for learned lore. The truths I've gathered seem to m« But pebbles from the shore ; While far beyond my mortal ken Unnumbered treasures shine, Guarded by mysteries too deep For finite powers like mine." Then Biwike the philanthropic one With mdiance on his brow ; " I've sought not wealth, nor love, no> f*m %, Nor pleasure's faithless vow ; But I have found enduring joy • And brighter grows the way Till from earth's darkness we eme:^ To heaven's eternal day." And then and there a solemn pledge Was registered above, To spend their few remaining yean In bumble deeils of love. All selfish aim9 ignoble seemed ;— Too sordid,— too confined I— The grandest, noblest work of maa To gnide and bless mankind. MUSIC. THE MANAGING WIFE. A LESSON FOR HUSBANDS. AOArTBO BV HUS A. O. BRIOes. FOR A LADY AND GENTLEMAN. Scene r. a pleasantly furnished mm. Hfr, Ezra Newton sits by his desk looking over kii yearly account. Mrs. Newton sits *y the tatl» kntttmg He seems busy for a few monunf.>, <»Jterthe curtain rises, then closes his book and looks up. Mrs. Newton. Well, how do you come out? Mr. Newton. I find that my sxnf ns*s .H-..r- ing the last year, have been thirty-Wve» c«^ over a thousand dollars. THB COMPLETE PROGRAM, -seven ctots Mn. N. And your income has been a thou- sand dollars ? Mr. N. Yes, I managed pretty well, didn't Mrs. N. Do you think it managing well to exceed your income ? Mr. N. Ha ! ha 1 what's thirty-seven cents ? Mrs. N. Not much, to be sure, but still something. It seems to me that we ought to have saved instead of falling behind. • Mr. N. But how can we save anything on this salaiy, Elirabeth? We haven't lived extravagantly. Still it seems to have taken it all. Mrs. N. Perhaps there is something in which we might retrench. Suppose you mention some of the items. Mr. N. The most important are house rent, one hundred and fifty dollars, and articles of food, five hundred dollars. Mrs. N. Just one-half for the table ! Mr. N. Yes, just h;ilf. and you'll admit that we can't retrench there, Elizabeth? ! Hke to live well. I had enough of poor board in boarding houses before I married. Now, I mean to live as well as I can. ' Mrs. N. Still we ought to be saving up some- thing for a rainy day, Ezra. Mr. N. That would be something like car- rying an umbrella when the sun shines. Mrs. N. It is a good thing, however, to have an umbrella in the house for fear it may be needed. Mr. N. I can't controvert your logic, Eliza- beth, but I am afraid we shan't be able to save anything this year. When I get my salary raised it will be time enough to think of that. Mrs. N. Let me make a proposition to you. You say one-half of your income has been ex- pended on articles of food— are you willing to allow me that sum for the purpose? Mr. N. You'll guarantee to pay all bills out of it? Mrs. N. Yes. Mr. N. Then I'll see to the rent, the coal and gas bills and shift the entire responsibility of i!»-oviding for the table upon you. It will be a weight off my shoulders ; but I can tell you savings. Mrs. N. Perhaps, not ; at any rate I will engage not to exceed my allowance. Mr. N. That's right I shouldn't relish having any additional bills to pay. As I am paid every month I will hand you half the money. Remember, you are to set a good table and live within your means. What s left you may have for pin money. Mrs. N. All right I You'U see howl can manage. Scene ii. Mr. and Mrs. Newtm in the sam* room. He has his fiaptr, she, her knitting. He looks upfront hU paper and addresses his wife. Mr. N. You manage to keep busy, little woman. One would think we had a large fam- ily by the way you click those knitting needles —as though your very life depended on it. I declare, if you are not knitting a child's stock- ing—who's that for, pray ? Mrs. N. For the poor little motherless boy on the alley. His father is so busy cobbling for others that he don't seem to know his own little boy's feet are bare. Mrs. Smith has just given him a pair of new shoes out of their Store, and I have volunteered to furnish him with stockings. Mr. N. I suppose you buy the yarn out of your pin money. Mrs. N. Most certainly. When I am so prospered as to be getting rich out of my pin money I feel it my duty to help others who are worse off than myself. Mr. N. Getting rich ! ha ! ha ! I guess not very fast. Mfs. N. I have not been running behind- hand. Has your board been satisfactory ? Mr. N. Couldn't wish for better. You are a first-class cook— that's one thing. Mrs. N. And an economical one, that's another. I see that nothing is wasted. We have lived well and yet I have managed to lay by a little. How is it with you ? Mr. N. That's more than I can say. I've not exceeded my income, however. We have lived fully as well, and I don't know but better than we did last year. How you can save any- thing is a mystery to me. Mrs. N. It is all in knack. Ezra. i ve some good news to tell you. Can you guess what it is? A rise in salary ? You must have gone to guessing Mr. N. my dear. Mrs, N. Mr.N, THE COMPLETE PROGRAAf. •cliool \ Yes. I'm to have twelve hundred dol- lar, a year I will still be as good as my word. You shall have half of it. Mn, N. Thanks f That will give me a bet- ter chance to increase my savings. Mr. N. He, or she. that is faithful in small things shall be made ruler over greater ones. Scene hi. a nicely furnished parlor, Mr. and Mrs Newton sitting by the table. Mr. N. This seems something like it. I shall not mind the difference in rent-only a hundred dollars-when we can have all the modern improvements and a landlord who is famed for keeping things in good repair. Mn. N. Yes. and don't you think I have done well to save enough to furnish our netv parlor? The old furniture was getting some- 1 what antiquated. ' Mr. N. You have indeed, my dear. How could you doit? Mn. N. Knack, I tell you. Ezra. Mr. N. I don't know how it is. I can never come out ahead. I might as well pay the extra hundred dollars rent, for I have saved no more smce my salary was raised than before. There's a hole in my pocket somewhere. It will leak out. j Mrs. N. Let me look it up and mend it for youthen. Here's a document, my dear, which may be of interest to you. {Hands him a paper) Mr. N. (Reads it and see.ns greatly surprised) How is this. Elizabeth ? A deed for this house and lot ! There must, surely, be some mistake. Mrs. N. A veritable deed— no mistake about It ! I have bought us a home out of my pin money. I am your landlady. Give me the two hundred and fifty dollars per year for rent and we soon shall have an accumulated fund from which to draw when necessity requires. Mr. N. You are a manager, that's a fact. How did you do it ? Mrs. N. Not by miserly pinching and starv- ing, but by the good common sense method of making the most of everything, taking advan- tage of the market and paying cash down every time. The accumulations of the past ten years have been loaned at legal rates to responsible parties— the owner of this building being one of my heaviest borrowers. They Y.z.vf k.-r.t tH=^ secret well, and allowed me tg treat yeu to a pleasant surprise. Mr. N. You shall have your rent promptly, my good landlady, and I've half a mind to give you the whole purse, since you are such a wonderful financier. Mrs. N. Not quite so bad as that, my dear, but remember the truth of the old proverb ; "It is not so much what a man earns. a« what he saves that makes him prosperous." MUSIC . PERSONAL INFLUENCE. ' There is nothing that will let the light into the soul like personal influence ; nothing that can lift one up out of the darkness, and lead one mto the divine and quickening light, and I baptize one into the spirit of faith, hope, love, and charity, like the magic power of a good example ; nothing that can inspire, exalt, and punfy. like the magnetic rays of healing and helpmg that beam out of the eyes of noble men and women. If your life has been deep and broad in its experience, then you have seen lives that were better than yours ; lives whose pure I light shone upon you from a screner height than I you could reach, just as the drooping flowers, some chilly morning, have looked up through the thick fogs and caught a glimpse of the bright sun which scatters the mists and opens the glad blossoms to the warm life-giving light. Whose life is not sometimes wrapped around with fogs ? Who has not looked up from his life-work and seen no cheering sun above him— nothing but a heavy, leaden sky hanging over his pathway ? And tlien, perhaps, you have almost doubted the sun itself-doubted goodness and doubted God— until you have seen the clouds break away, the fogs lift, and doubt vanish before the beautiful radiance of some shining example? I tell you that I believe, more and more, that what the world needs to reform and redeem it is, not so much a sound theology, or a profound philosophy as it needs holier, purer, diviner lives— lives that shall be the light of men, THE PICKET GUARD. BY MRS. HOWLAND. " All qniet along the Potomac," they say. " Ei«j6pi uow aud then a stray picket ' Is shot as he walks on his beat to and A«) By a rifleman in 4ihe tbiokeV THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. »TUi BOthlng— • private or two now and then, Will D«t count In the news of the battle; Not a. • -Mr loat— only one of the men, Moaniig out, all alone, the death-rattle. All quiet along the Potomac to-night, Where the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming ; Their tents in the rays of the clear autumn moon Or the light of the watch-flrea, are gleaming • A tremulous sigh on the gentle night wind Through the forest leaves softly is creeping, While stars up above, with their glittering eyes Keep guard— for the army is sleeping. There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread, As he tramps from the rock to the fountain And thinks of the two in the lone trundle-bed, Far away in the cot on the mountain. His musket falls slack—his face, dark and grim, Orows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep— For Iheir mother— may Heaven defend her I I The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then That night, when the love yet unspoken, Leaped up to his lips— when low, murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken. Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling. And gathers his gun closer up to its place. As if to keep down the heart-swelling. He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree— The footstep is lagging and weary ; Yet onward hegoes through the broad belt of light Towards the shades of the forest so dreary. Hark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves ? Was it moonlight so gloriously flashing? It looked like a rifle—" Ha t Mary, good-bye I " And the life-blood is ebbing and plashing. All quiet along the Potomac to-night- No sound save the rush of the river ; While eofl; falls the dew on the face of the dead— The picket's off duty forever. Would like a handsome bonnet, Inspect* a moii> ster heap. But none will suit her fancy ,all too poor and chcapl She wants somesilken hose-would be glad to buy- Looks at several pairs, thinks they come to high I Clerk reflects upon it, thinks it plain to see That they surely would not come much above the knee ! She would be glad to purchase a fine and hand* some shawl ; But this one is too large, and that one is too small •, This one is too gaudy ; that one is too plain ;— When they get some new ones she will call again. Clerk surveys the counter groaning with its pile, " Glad to see her always ! " thinking all the while If he dare but do it he the words could find To give her far more truthfully the true state of his mind. She stands and overhauls the goods very much at leisure ; Finds fault with everything just as suits her pleasure ; At last she makes a bargain— Oh, let the truth be said! She draws her purse and purchases a spool of cotton thread ! Hauling over calico, tumbling over lace, Looking at the ribbons, smiles upon her face,— ' Tis really very fanny how the clerks are hoi^. ping- How nothing aeems to suit the taste of a lady shopping ! SHOPPING. Hauliko over calico, tumbling over laoe • Looking at the ribbons ; smiles upon her fnce,- Tis really very fanny how the clerks are hop- ping— How nothing seems tosnit the taste of a lady shopping. Examines some delalne« r tbSnks them quite too dear; The* wUl never amwer ttn-y'r© w old and queer, THE UNFINISHED STOCKING. < ■ BY SARAH K. BOLTOK. Lay it aside-her work ; no more she site By open window in the western sun. Thinking of this and that beloved one In silence as she knits. Lay it aside ; the needles in their place; No more she welcomes at the cottage door The coming of her children home once more With Bweet and tearful face. Lay it aside; her work is done and well ; A generous, sympathetic, Christian life ,— A faithfal mother and a noble wife ;— Her influence who can tell ? Lay it aside— say not her work is done ; No deed of love or goodness ever diea, But in the lives of others mnltipUee • Say it is just begun. V :] J I MUSIC. COLLOQUY. LEMUEL DRAYTON'S FORTUNES AND MISFORTUNES. TNE COMPLETE PJtOGRAAf. DRAMATIZED BY MISS A. O. BRIGOS. Characters. Mr. Drayton, Mrs. Drayton, Lemuel Drayton, Mabel Orne, Rev. Mr. Tnu/ant, Ladies and Gentlemen, Conductor, Baggage Man, Young America, Prise Package Vender, Newsboy, Passengers. Scene i. Mr. and Mrs. Drayton and their son Lemuel at the breakfast table. Lemuel. I've been a thinkin'. Dad. as we hain't got nothin' to du 'ceptin' the chores, that 1 11 go down to Bosdng. Mrs. Drayton. {Springing from her chair and pmm'g her hands to Lemuefs temples) O, /. fimJ:' ;y, Ummey. are yo' gittin* crazy ? You're !»',tom- lohave another bad spell in your head. I k."w. Yo' wus took afore a talkin' strange. Zcbuion, you'd best to harness up old Gray an' go fur Dr. Jones. I'll make yo' a good dose of catnip as soon as I can, Lemmey. and put a mustard drafl ontoyer stummick. L. Don't be spooney on a feller, old lady. When a man has got money it'snothin' strange he should wanter see furrin parts. Don't they alius go tu the continent in all novels ? I sold my sorrel colt yesterday for seventy-five dollars, cash down. I guess et you'd as many green- backs as I've got you'd wanter see a few sights. Mrs. D. O, Lemmey, my dear son, yo' can't be seris f L. Yes, I'm as seris as ever Parson Brown f^ to a funeril. I've heern tell of Bosfing and I'm bound to see it. There's a powerful lot of great sights there. There's the Airther- keneuni and the Bunker Hill Monument and the State House an»1 ciitVi;r<' tho.. -aii .u_ n.-v. Of the Universe. It's got a grpt name and I reckon it's worth iQQkJn' at, Mrs. D. Yo' don't think of goin' yita svhile? Jest wait a few weeks, and not surt off so kinder »> iddi Mebbee I shall feel more rcconciliated lu it then. L. I'm goin' this very day. I know jesi .ow It 11 be ef 1 keep puttin' it off. I shan't n ver git started. Mr. D. Wal, ef you go Lem, y.u'll have ter look out fur pickpockeu. They're thick^rn skeeters 'round a frog pond. Some on 'en. are rigged up in the slickest store clothes and Wear great ?.ig rings on their fingers. « ,th sharp kmvesshet up into 'em. I've heern tell as how they'd tech a spring, and thf, knives would fly open and cut through you' pocket, slick and clean, without your never knowin' nothin' about It. L. I'll look out for them fellers. Dad, bet yer boots, I will I It'll take a purty sharp chap tu git ahead of me. Mrs. D. Can't yo* take along the old gun Lemmey? T-n't got no lock but they won't know it an' most foli-a ar' afeerd of fire arms. L. The old gun— 1 ha! 1 guess you're a gittin' strange in your head insted o* me. No ■ I shan't take nothin' of the sort 'ceptin' my umbnll. Ei they git tu close tu me, I'll hit 'cm a whack over the head with that, and I reckon they 11 understand that I mean business, and n. mistake, by that time. Mr. D. (taking out an old fashioned lea the* Pocket book) Here, Lem, you'd best to put your money intu this and keep a good look out for fear you'll lose it. You'll hev to hussel ef you take the fust train. I'll go out and be harnessin while you're gittin' ready, and then 1 11 drive down tu the station. (Exit Mr. Dray, ton.) -^ Mrs. D. Seein' you're sot on goin', I 'spose I mought as well give in ; but you'll hev to fix up right smart, 'cause you'll see lots of folks in Bosting. L. Yis, that's so, Marm. I calkeriate tu set off in good style. Mrs. D. Yo' can wear them new clothei you're Dad brought to the auction, and your new green satin jacket that Mehitabel Grant made. I've got yoer two standin' collars done up nice and stiff, and I'll give yo' my last year's green and ysiiar satia bunnit strings for a neck-tie. Yo' can take along your overcoat ef it should be cold and your linen duster tu travel ia. TMM COr tlkerlate tu set Wl. Itm, rhati all hunk^-dorat flnil my clothti, Mar ? Airs. D. They're in tothcr room on the spare bed, Yo'cango in thcif- and dress yourself. (Exit Umtul. Mrs. Drayton Aurrys about put- ting him up a lunch and packing his satchel. L. (ComtngKut in his shirt sleeves.) Where's my neck-tie ? {Mrs. D. brings it to him) You'll hev tu tie it for me. Mar, I never could tie one fit tu be seen. Mrs. D. Wal, set down, then, and I'M fix it on all nice for you. {He sits Jow "I'i she tiesit for him) Oh; dear! I wish I : feel so about your goin't It's bea me that 3uthin' isagoin' .u happen I JL Hal hat Marm, you act as though I was a baby. Guess I'm old anuff and big anuff tu take care of myself. So you needn't worry 'bout me. Mr. D. {Poking his. head in at the door) Huny up, Lem, I'm waitin*. L. Don't fret old man, we've got plenty time. I'll be out soon as I can git ready. [Mrs. D. helps him put on his coat. He puts OH his hat and swings his duster over his arm.) Mrs. D. Here's your satchel with your comb and brush and a change of clothes- cause you'll want to keep fixed up slick, yo' know, and I've put yo' up a lunch in this basket so yo' won't git hungry on the road. {He takes satchel, basket and umbrella). L, Now good-bye marm. Don't worry 'bout me. 'STM PJtOOKAJtf. n I Mabel Ortu. Is this engaged ? ^- (^iushing and stammering). E-engaged? Wal, no, I hain't exactly, though Mary Ann Hinks has took quite a shine tu me and I did buy her a bussom-pin of a peddler last sprint ; but. then, that hain't nothin'. • Mabel O. uf course not. May I sit down ? L. To be shure I Set right down ! Don't be afccred of crowden me ; I guess I can stand it cf you can. {She takes a seal). Be you en. gaged, may I ask? M. O. No. {Pressing her handkerchief to her mouth to keep from laughing). L. You hain't ! Wal ntyw. that's curis ! 'Spect you've had a sight of beaux, though.— pretty gate allers does. ( Takes out hts pocket hook and looks at it and puts it back into his pocket). M. O. Why, how you talk I L. Do I? Wal. I'm a man of truth, and whatever I say I'm in a'rnest about. I'm a man of truth, ef I be a man of property. M. O. Oh ! so you are wealthy ? L. Sarting ! or else I shouldn't bs a trav- elin" fer pleasure. I've got seventy-five dollar right in here. ( Tapping his pocket). M. O. {Endeavoring to suppress a smile). Really, sir, what may I call your name? L. Lemuel's my name— Lemuel Drayton— and yours ? M. O. Mabel Orne. Z. Mabel 1 That's a good deal like a novel name. I read one 'tother day whert the gal's name was Mabel ; and she killed two babies Mrs.D. Good-bye Lemmy. (Exit Lemuel "^r ,' """^' ' ^":' ^'^'^ '''"*=^ t'^" babies rrs. D. puts her checked apL «itltr f ' .^?.' f " °i',r"^" '° ^' ^^' ^^'^^V- ' ^ope Mrs. D.puts her checked apron up to her eyes). Oh, dear! oh, dear ! It's beat into me suthin's a goin ter happen 1 Scene ii. In the Car. Seats an arranged to resemble the inside of a car. Several passen- gers are already seated. EnUr Lemuel. He takes a hand satchel from a seat and putting {A boy slops you hain't like her. M. O. I should hope not, sir. in front of LemueF s seat). Young America. Did you find a hand satchel on this seat when you came in ? L. Yis ; I found one. Wasityourn? Y. A. Yes, it is mine. I left it here to securt it on the floor apprv^aUs the seat. He feels J\\ "'"'^ """«•."«««' here to secur. of his pocket to seTkis money is />lf {: r!.."!' "'"^^r"^ '"'.^ '""^ '^^^-^ ",. of his pocket to see if his money is there, puts on his linen duster, throws his overcoat over the back of the seat, sets his lunch-basket and satchel on thenar at his feet, settles himself in his seat and looks around at the passengers. In front of him sits a nicely dressed gentleman reading a paper. One hand, ivitk a sssssit-' ring on the little finger, is resting on the back of the seat. Lemuel eyes him su^iciously. A lad)/ enters and stop* tti hit ueU, You've got cheek to take a seat alread) engaged. L. Don't give me any of your sass, you lit tie runt you, why did'nt you stay here and takt care of your truck then ? K A. Simply because I didn't choose to. If you had known putty, you would have passed by the seat when you saw it was engaged. L. You git out ! Do you spose you can make !)^ ^a5> ^ IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 1.1 1^ y. Lfi l» 112 |3j6 Kg ■a Ih u 1.25 iu 12.2 1.8 1.6 150mm * % /■J ^> / o / /APPLIED J IIVMGE . Inc ^^ 1653 East Main Street ■JSS '.^ Rochester, NY 14609 USA .=S'.j5 Phone: 716/482-0300 .^=r.== Fax: 716/268-5989 C 1993, Applied Image, Inc., All Rights Reserved ,\ i\ J,V <> 9> v\ !u ?•. TffE CO.^PLETE PROGRAHt. over my me 'bleve any dch nontenie ? The seau it all free in these ere cars. Y. A. You're a greeny. Hand •atchel and I'll find another seat. L. {Handing him the satchel). There, take It and be off, or I'll whack you over the head with my umbrill. K A. Let me ifwe you do it, old hayseed I L. {Riiing and brandishing his tmtbrtlla). I mean business, young sass-box, and don't you foigetitl M. O. Oh ! don't strike him. Mr. Drayton, I shall be frightened out of my senses if there is a fight in the car. (Lemuel settles down into his seat. Young America seats himself at the fur- ther end of the car, facing him). , Z. Wal, if it's a goin to scare you so, I won't wellop him, but he desarves it — the little up- start! Y, A. Ha 1 ha ! ha ! He's too green for any thing! Z. Do you hear him, Mabel ? M. O. Yes, but never mind. L. Jist as you say, Mabel, I won't tech him ef you don't want me tu, for I've took a power- ful shine to you and I guess you hev to me — hain't you now ? (Looks at her enquiringly.) M. O. I— I don't know, Mr. Drayton. (Puts her handkerchief to her mouth to keep from laughing.) L. You needn't be so bashful 'bout owiiin' it up — 'taint nothin' to be ashamed on. Look here ! ( Placing his arm over the back of the seat) why can't you and I make a bargain ? I hain't engaged and you 'haint engaged and we're both on usas good lookin' asthe next one ; and I've got two cows to hum— a red and a brindled You look as though you were bom under a lucky planet, sir. Just buy a package and try your luck. L. I don't know.— would you Mabel? Mebbey I'd better try my luck. 'Twould be a nuff sight easier than airnin a livin on a farm. Yis, I guess I'll take a package. (Feels in his pocket for the money and finds it gone. He starts to his feet in dismay.) He's got it ! Stop him! Ketch holt of him! I knowed he was one of them fellers the minnit I sot eyes onto him ! Help me hold him somebody, quick 1 (He seiMes the gentleman, in front of him, by the shoulders. Mabel Ome leaves the car unnoticed by Lemuel in his excitement). Passengers. (Excitedly). What's the matter? What's the matter? L. Seventy-five dollars gone like a streak i Sarch him ! I demand that he be turned inside out, rite on the spot ! Conductor man, here I You jest see after this fine gentleman, ef you please ! Conductor. What has he done ? L Done? Hain't I jest told you? He's picked my pocket of fayther's red leather wallet, and seventy-five dollars that I sold my colt for— that's what he's done ! Sarch him ! ( 7he passengers are greatly excited. Several gentlemen leave their seats and gather around Lemuel and the suspected individual. ) Rev. Mr. Trufant. If the gentleman wishes to search me he is at perfect liberty to do so. Go on, sir. L. Won't you strike, nor grab holt of my throat, nor nothin ? Rev. Mr. T. I'll not molest you, — proceed! (Lemuel gives a thorough search, but finds queer one— both on 'em the master-hands to turn out nothing except a black pocket book containing a the butter that you ever seed! Our butter allers few dollars, a pocket handkenhiej' and a pearl brings the highest price, and, I vum, ef you'll have me, you shall sell all the butter them two cows makes, and no questions axed as to where the money goes. And you shall dress in silk every day, and satin tu,— by jingo ! (Enter boy selling priae packages. ) Priie Vender. Prize packages ! Prize pack- ages! Several thousand dollars given away ! Buy a package, sir, and inake your fortune. L. Be ye in airnest 'bout the prizes ? P. V. Certainly, sir, I wouldn't dare be so bold about selling any bogus affair. Several thousand dollars often given away at one haul. handle knife). Rev. Mr. T. Are you satisfied ? L. Sarting I be; but it's mighty where that wallet went to. Conductor. The gentleman whom you have just had the honor of searching is the Rev. Dr. Trufant, of Boston— one of the most eminent clergymen in the place. L. Oh, my gracious! — a mipister! Marm would be the death of me ef she should find out that I had called a pickpocket a minister! I mean a pickpocket a minister I— hanged ef I kno^ what I du mtUt any how. I'm so THE COMPLETE PROCRAif, tt What's the matter? r grab holt of my flustered I can't seem tu tell 'tother from which. Conductor. It's my opinion, if you have lost any money, that the girl who sat on the seat with you has got it. She looked like that kind of a character. L. She? She? Why she was as pritty a ga! as you'd see in an age ; and I was about as good as engaged tu her. ( The passengers laugh outright.) You needn't lafTI I know I never seen her till this mornin', but there's sich a thing as love at fust sight Conductor. Especially when the ob'ect is a red leather wallet with seventy-five ("iOllars in it It seems the young lady believes in love at first sight, too. L. (Disconsolately.) Wal, the money's gone ; and ef she's got it, I'll never believe in nobody agin I I wish I was to hum— I don't feel well. I won't go to Bosting— consarned ef I will I I'll go back in the next kears that's goin' my way. Conductor man, you jest hold up a minnit while I git out. Conductor. You'll be obliged to wait till we reach the next station— two miles ahead. (Lemuel sighs and takes his seat.) News Boy. Papers! Papers 1 New York and Boston dailies ! All about the murder ! L. What murder? (In great consternation.) Who's killed now, I wonder? Anybody on this ere train ? What will happen next I News Boy. Buy a paper, sir, and read all about it. (Hands out paper.) L. Where's the murder? News Boy. In New York— A dreadful thing ! Body hacked all to pieces I Buy a paper, sir ? L. No I haint got no money to buy nothin'. Conductor. How are you going to pay your fare home ? /- Oh, I've got anuflf left for th<\t I guess in my jacket racket.— LucV.y I kept a little change out o' the wallet. Conductor. You don't seem to enjoy your journey very much. L. You're right there, Boss ; ef I ever live tu git home alive, I'll never be fool enuff tu think of goin' oflftravelin' again for pleasure. Baggage Man. Baggage rechecked ' Bag- 3=o- -=— "j.jnva 1 \iQ ucmttct.'^ /iny o3g?agc, wr? /. None but what I kin take care on myself. It's enuff to lose my money, let alone givin' up my baggage into the bargain. You don't play none of your games on me, old feller. Baggage Man. Ha ! ha I You're from the country I reckon. Haven't traveled much. L. No, but I've traveled enuflf to-day to lam a thing or two. You don't ketch me in sich a box agin—not much I Conductor. Aldeena Junction! Junction! Passengers for the Falls change cars I L. Mr. Conductor, is here where I git out? Conductor. Yes ; you'll have to wait half an hour and then take the next train back. Where do you live ? L, In Spookey Holler, sir. Conductor. I hope you'll get home all right. L. Yis ; I hope so. Ef you ever come my way jest cum over tu our house and make us a visit. Good-by. Conductor. Thanks! Good-by. Scene III — Lemuers return. Mrs. Drayton is cut feeding the chickens when she sees Lemuel coming up the street Thinking it must be his ghost returning to infonn her that he hasjusi been killed, she rushes into the house where her husband sits reading, and, throwing herself into a chair, commences wringing her hands in agony. Mrs. D. He's killed I he's killed ! My Lemmey's dead and I've seen his ghost. It'« a comin' up the road with them same ciothes on that he wore away— the green and yaller neck tie that I tried onto his neck this very mornin*. and the new jacket that Miss Grant made and his umbrill and satche! and dinner basket— jest as natural as life! O Lemmyi Lemmy ! I knowed suthin' was agoin tu hap> pen! Oh, dear! 0\i, As2^c\ (Buries her fact in her checked apron and sobs disconsolately. Footsteps are heard outside.) Oh, goodness, gracious! he's come! he's come! (Mrs. D, rushes frantically into anoi.ier room and stands peeking through the nearly closed door.— Enter Lemuel). Mr. D. Lem, what are you back so soon for? L I've seen anuff of the worid I Consam Bosting ! and consarn the huH worid entirely ! I've had my pocket picked and I don't know nothin' about nothin*. Mrs. D. (Comity^ into the room.) Your THE COMPLSTE PXOGHAM. t pocket picked I {J)iimpka$Ufy.) I said so. I knowed suthin' was agoin to happen 1 Twas beat into me ! ( Lemtul thrmvs his hat down on the table, and out rolls the missing pocket-book. ) L Gracious Peter ! it's here ! it hain't ben filtered I The gal was an angel arter all i Hurray ! Hail Columbia I happy land ! Come, Mann, let's have a little dance. (Seises his mothef's hand and pulls her around the mom. In his viild antics he upsets the churn, which is placed behind a screen — out of sight. ) Mrs. D. There, now, Lemmey, jist see what you have done! You've upsot that hull chumin' of cream I Didn't you know no bet- ter? Mr. p. Be you crazy, Lem ? Set down and tell us all about it. L. 'Tain't no use cry in' for spilt milk nor spilt cream nuther. Mar, seein' the money's all right. ( lakes a seat. ) I remember it all now — slick as can be. I was dreadfully skittish 'bout losin' my money, and took it out of my pocket and put it inter my hat and then forgot all about it. Bimeby a feller cum along sellin' priie packages warranted tu win a fortir.'. I thought I'd jest go in for a share, so I put my hand in my pocket for the money and found it was gone. One of them slick chaps with a big ring onto his finger sot in front of me — I tell you what, I raised a rumpus with him. I grabbed him by the collar and searched his pockets for him but didn't find nothin', and, — land of Goshen ! who do you think he was, Mar? I hope tu die ef he wan't a minister from BostingJ So you see, Dad, taint alius a sure thing 'bout them big rings, 'cause other folks besides pickpockets sometimes wear 'em. I guess it's jest as you say. Mar, that I ain't fit to go to fun-in parts. I'll stay to hum and put my money intu the bank and marry Mary Ann Hinks. I don't want to travel no more. I've seen anuffof the world I Yis, I'll marry Mary Ann and settle down fur life in Spookey Holler. FAULT FINDING. If any one complains tliat most people are lelfish, unsympathetic, absorbed in their cwn pursuits, their own happiness and their own sorrow, the chances .ire, ten to one, that the cpinplainant is conspicuous for the very faults he condemns. His thoughts are so concen- trated on his cwn affairs, that he is impatient because other people are similarly preoccupied He is unable to enter into their grief or their joy. When he is wretched, he is amazed and indignant that any one can be happy. When he is happy he thinks it intolerable that other people should be so oppressed with their pwn sorrows as not to make aierry with him in his gladness. He has so high an estimate of the importance of his own work that he thinks other men ought to spend u large part of their time in watching and admiring it, and he wonders at the selfish- ness which keeps them at their own occupations, when they ought to be showing their sympathy with his. This absorption in everything that relates to himself is the explanation of the universal indifference of which he complains. To secure sympathy, we must give as well as take. The country that exports nothing will have no imports ; but if it infers that all the rest of the world is in wretched poverty, with n? mines and no timbers, and no glorious harvests, the infer- ence will be a false one. As soon as a man finds that he is beginning to think that all human hearts are cold let him suspect himself. When an iceberg floats away from tl en fields which lie near the pole, it cools d j.-s into which it drifts ; the very Gulf-stream Sf-^ks in temperature as soon as the mountain of ice touches it. In the crowd, it is the man that pushes hard- est whQ thinks that everybody is pushing him ; it is the man who is resolved to make his way to the front, who complains that everybody vants to get in front of hinu If people speak roughly to you. it is doubtless because you first spoke roughly to them. The world o'f humanity is a looking-glass in which ycu see reflected your own features. THE WOMAN NEXT DOOR, You all know her. bnc it is who pokes her hesd cut of the window every time *'cur (^^11 rings, and never knows who threw the dead cat over into your yard. She is the Khedive who secures a rsNrved 8 are ao coneen- it lit is impatient larly preoccupied heir grief or their he is amazed and happy. When he ;rable that other ;d with their pwa ry with him in his of the importance :s other men ought ' time in watching lers at the selfish- own occupadons, ig their sympathy ng that relates to of the universal lains. To secure 'ell as take. The Ig will have no ill the rest of the with an mines and arvests, the infer- It he is beginning s are cold let him y from tl en it cools a .j.t Gulf-stream sr'^ks ; mountain of ice that pushes hard* threw the dead ecures a rsaerved wn i L 1 ii-' i ! ?iri; f ■hi: u ^Mm i THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. •eat at the knot-hole in the fence and lets her neighbor know what the rest of the neighbor- hood had for dinner. She sets her ash barrel, invariably, several inches past her party Hne, so it scourges over on your sidewalk. She has something less than a million chil- dren, and they make a play ground of your front stoop and use their own as a front parlor. They look upon your front gate as their own personal property and swing on it until they break the hinges. They pick your choicest flowers and leave iheir carts and hobby horses in your path- way. She cooks cabbage three or four times a week and gives you the benefit by throwing open all the windows. She always beats her carpet on wash-day and makes your shirt fronts look as though they were ironed with a brick. The children begin playing foot-ball next to your bedroom just about bed-time and don't finish the game until after midnight, and then wake you up in the morning quarreling about who won the game. They have, at least, half a dozen pet cats that fight their battles nightly under your chamber window until you haven't a bootjack, shoe brush, or any other get-at-able within your reach; and their watchdog sets on your front steps and barks an howls alternately from early evening until daylight. When a new family moves into the neighbor- hood, she sits by the closed blinds and takes an inventory of the furniture and reports to her chosen friends in the block the result of her investigations. In the winter she sees that her snow is shoveled onto your side walk and chokes up your gutter until it gets red in the face. She runs from one to the other witli all the choice bits of gossip she can pick up and manages to keep the whole neighborhood in a very active state of fermentation. A funeral is a picnic to her, and she swaps comments on the appearence of the coffin and the mourners over the front balcony. When her funeral day comes around, there isn't water enough in the neighborhood to get up a good sized weep. held by the hand a boy of fourteen. a« both stood gazing at the tent, shook his head in • solemn manner and observed : " It's no use to cry 'bout it now, sonny, kas* we am not gwine in dar no how." " But I wanter." " In course you does. All chillen of your size run to evil an' wickedness, an' dey mus' be sot down on by does wid experience." " You used to go," urged the boy. "Sartin, I did, but what was the result? I had sich a load on my conscience that I couldn't sleep nights. I cum powerful nigh bein' a lost man, an' in dem days de price of admission was only a quarter, too." " Can't we both git in for fifty cents ? " " I 'speck we might, but to-morr«r you'd be bilin' ober wid wickedness and I'd be aback* slipper from church. Hush up, now, kase I hain't got but thirty cents, an' dar am no show fur crawlin' under de canvas." The boy stfll continued to cry, and the old man pulled him behind a wagon and continued : " Henry Clay Scott, which would you rather do— go inter de circus an* take de awfullest lickin' a boy eber got or have a glass of dat red lemonade an' go to Heaben when you die ? Befo' you decide, let me explain dat I mean a lickin' which will take ebery inch of de hide off, an' I also mean one of dem big glasses of leJnon- ade. In addishun, I would observe dat a circus am gwine on in Heaben all de time an' de price of admisshun am jest to be good an' mind all dat is said to you in dis world. Now, satt, what do you say?" The boy took the lemonade, but he drank it with tears in his eyes. A RELUCTANT CHOICE. After the circus had opened to the public yesterday, a gray-haired colored brother, who 8 ON THE SHORES OF TENNESSEE. "Movs my k,rm-chair, fhithfhl Pompey, In the sunshine bright and strong, For this world is fading, Pompej,— Massa won't be with yon long; And I lain would hear the south wind Bring once more the aonnd to ma Of the wavelets softly breaking On the shores of Tennessee. Monmflil thongh the ripple:! mnnnar, As they still the atory tell. How no Teeaels float the banner That Fto loved •« long aad wall, THE COUPLETS PROGRAM. f My I 1 JL| Idwll lirtw to tlw Bodo OiMming tlwt afKin I m* Stan and atripH on aloop and aballop^ Mling ap tha Tmu And, Pompey, whila old Maaaa'a waiting For death'a laat diapatoh to oome, It that exiled atarry iianner Shoald oome proudly Hdlliig home, Ton ahall greet it, alaTo no longer Voice and hand ahall both be ftee That about and point to Union colon. On the waveo ofTenneaaee" ** Ifaaaa'k berry kind to Pompey ; But ole darktty's happy hen, When he'a tended com and cotton For eae many a long-gone year. Crar yonder miaaia' aleeping— No one tenda her grare like me ; Mebbe ahe would miaa the flowen She need to love in Tenneaaee. 'Pean like ahe waa watohin, Maaaa, If Pompey ahonid beaide him atoy; Meblte ahe'd nmember better How for him ahe used to pny ; Tailing him that way up yonder White aa anow his aoni would be. If he aerved the Lord of HeaTea While ha lived inTenneaaee." Sileatly the tean wen rolling Down the poor old dusky face, A% heatepped behind hia maater, In hia long aoonstomed plaoc. Then a ailenoe fell around them Aa they gaxed on rook and trea^ Pictured in the placid waten Of the rolling Tenneaaee. Maater dreaming of the battle When he fought by ]Xarion'asid^ When he bade the haughty Tarleton Bow his lordly crest of pride; Man, nmembering how yon aleeper Once he held upon hia knee, En ahe loved the gallant soldier Balph Vervair, of Tenneaaee. StiU the aoiith wind fondly lingen 'Mid the vetenn'a ailveiy hair ; Still the bondman, cloae beaide him, Standa behind the old ann-chair. With his dark-hned hand nplifled Shading eyes, he bends to aee When the woodland, boldly Juttiic TniM aalde the '~ Thua he watdiea cloud-bom ahadowi Olide fh»i tree to moonUIn eteat, Softly creeping, aye and ever. To the river's yielding breaat Ha 1 above the foliage yonder Something flntten wild and free f "Maasal Massal Hallelqjahl The flag'a oome back to Tennessee I " " Pompey, hold me on your shoulder. Help me stand on ibot once more, That I may aalute the colon As they paaa my cabin door, Hen'a the paper signed that fteea you { Give a Ireeman'a about with me-- ' Qod and Union I ' be our watohwoid Evermon in Tenneaaee." Then the tnmbling voice gnw lUnter, And the limba nftased to stand ; One pnyer to Jeana— and the aoldier Glided to that better land. When the flag went down the river Man and maater both wen ftee. While the ring-dove's note commingled With the rippling Tenni JEALOUSY IN THE CHOIR. Silver-noted, Lily-throated, . Starry-eyed and golden-haired. Charming Anna, The aoprano. All the singen' hearts ensnared. Long the tenor Sought to win her. Sought to win her for his bride | And the baaso Loved the laaa so Day and night for her he aighedL The demeanor Of the tenor To the baaso frigid gnw } And the baaao, As be was ao Mashed, of oourae gnw ftlgid tea Anna smiled on Both, which piled oa To their mutual hatred ftael ; So to win her Basa and tenor •wore «fc«y>d flg^t a vocal da«L THE COUPLETS PROGRAM. Arkkadthai Uks ■ Vennor Oyekwa howling o'«r tbe plain ; SMif whigh TooaUi* Th« bHS, he split his bMd in twain. Oiowled the beaeo TillhewuM I«w to hear him waa a tieat; Lower atill he Went nntil he 4^t the solea of both his feet Charming Anna, The soprano, Mourned a weeic for both these fellows; Then she wed the Man who fM the THnd into the organ bellows. THE SHOTGUN POLICY. Two men were standing at the gate of a coun- try farm yard whittling sticks and giving each doU about managing women. " Talk sassy to •em," the man on the outside of the fence said, "an* ye'll see how they'll be fetched down." Just then the cabin door opened, and a red- headed, long-necked women yelled : " Say, 'Zeke, ther flour's out I " "Out whar?" he yelled back. "Out'n the bar'l." she answered. " Wall, put it back an' cover it up tighter," he replied, while the outside man grinned. "Don't you see how she's hacked a' ready?" he laughed, when the fiery topknot disappeared. " I does," spoke the elated victor. Presently the same shrill voice cried : " 'Zeke, I'se gwine over to mar's, an' ef ye think their measles are ketchin', I'll leave ther baby hyar." " Dunno whether they's ketchin' er not," re- plied the husband. "I've never seed 'em ketch enything." Again the head was drawn back, amid ap- plause from the outside. The next time the door opened the muzzle of a shotgun was poked — SI, sut. _ .,.•.„„ „,„„,, on ine sauCy man. " 'Zeke," came the solemn voice. " Melindy," he gasped, looking in vain for MDM place to dcklgi. " *Zeke," she continued, " ther flour's out" "Ail rite, I'm off ter the mill at once," he answered, shiveringly. " 'Zeke, I'm gwine overtermar's fer a spell ; d'ye think the measles is ketchin' ? " " No, Melindy, I seed pap ter day, an' he sed the children wus all well." " Kerrect," she said, lowering the gun, " I'm off. Ye can sorter clean up the place 'till I git back, but be shore ter stay inside while I'm gone." "All right." he answered meekly, moving aside to let her p&as.—A//anta Constitution. KATE. Thebb's something in the name of Kata Which many will condemn ; But listen, now, while I relate The traits of some of them. There's Deli-Kate, a modest dame, And worthy of you r love ; She's nice and beautiful in fiame^ As gentle as a dove. Commnni-Kate's intelligent, As we may well suppose ; Her faithful mind is ever bent On telling what she knows. There's lutri-Kate, she's so ohaeon Tis hard to find her ont ; For she is often very sore To put your wits to rout Prevarl -Kate's a stubborn maid. She's sure to have her way ; The oivilling, contrary Jade Objects to all yon say. There's Alter-Kate, a perfect peat, Much given to dispute ; Her prattering tongue can never tt^ Yon cannot her re/hte. There's Dislo-Kate, in quite a f^t, Who fails to gain her point ; Her ease is quite nnfortnnate, And sorely ont of joint Equivo-Kate no one will woo ; The thing would be absurd, She is so Ciithless ^ud nntme, Yon cannot take her word. There's Vindi-Kate, she's good and tme^ And strives with all her might Her dnty faithfully to do, And battle for theright THR COMPLETE PROGRAM. t\\ TWtIi Butt-KaK • «oaBti7 !•« ; Qnlto A»d of rani mmdw • 81m likM to trsinple tbrongh tb* Aod loTM tlMavcijirMiia. Of »n tha maidaiu yon nn And, Thara'a nona Ilka Edn-Kata ; Bacania aha alarataa tba mind And alma to aomathing grant DICORATIVE. **I HAW • tnnnal \ " tha maldan anid, ^ And oloaer to tha drammer drew ; "Thay nlwaya naka me feel afraid Of aome dlaaatar ; don't they yon ? " And then tba drnmmar abook bla nuna. " Yon'ra lafa enough with me," anid be. . whataTar bappena to tha train, Yon alwaya can rely on me I " And, with aaraplitting wbUtle'a abriak, Tha train plnnged in the black abyaa ; Tba drnmjj.er sought her bloming ebeak. And fraaooed it with manly kiaa. Emboldened by her aweet alarm, Ae on they tore tbrongh that eolipaa, He laid her bead npon bla arm. And Mexed a dado on her lipa. " Ah, me ! " tba maiden aweetly amiled, Aa abe arranged her tnmbled hat. And once again the aonbeama filed ^^ In at the window when they aat ; " Ah, me ! for onoe that borrled peat Waa robbed of ereiy atartllng fear. I thank yon for yonr intereat ; Excnae ma, air ; I gat oiT hen 1 » And ao aba left bim drowned in aigba, And on the aea of aoft dreama toaaed Of her aweet lipa and pan, bright ayea^ So qniokly gained and qniokly loat To dream ! bnt, ah, at laat to wake And learn that in the tonnePa din, Bhe'd aeixed npon her chance to anaka Hia watch and chain and diamond pin H|||l ^■ftit' 1' (i Hill A WORD OF ADVICE. YooNO men, you are the architects of your own fortune.. Rely upon your own strength of body and .oul. Take foryour star, self-reliance. ,s-^ ar,c5 hiduBiiy. inscribe on your banner, "Luck U a fool, Pluck it a hero " Don t Uke too much advice ; keep at your helm and steer your own ship, and remember that the great art of commanding is to uke a fair share of the work. Dont practice too much humanity. Think well of yourself. Strikeout Assume your own position. Rise above the envious and the jealous. Fire above the mark you intend to hit. Energy, invincible determi. nation, with a right motive, an the levers that move the world. Don't drink. Don't chew Don't smoke. Don't swear. Don't deceive. Don t marry until you can support a wife. Be in earnest. Be self-reliant. Be generous. Be civil. Read the papers. Make money and do good with it. Love truth and virtue. Love your country and obey its laws. If this advice be implicitely followed by the young men of the country the millennium is near at hand. HOME GLIMPSES. BY MRS. If. A. KIDDBR. Wi paaa from time to time On the dty'a great highway, And only see The multitude. And the ahopa ao bright and gay. Perhaps an area-gate And a baaement home quite bank And the anziona. Pallid fiMsea Of the chUdnn playing there. Ay, little we have seen, Aa we went with harrying ftei On our missions, Large or little. Of the bomea atetw the atnet Bnt now we glimpeea get That bleaa our eyes each di^ Of the happiest, ooiiest Hearths and bomee As we take our aSrial way. How many changing soenee, My neighbor, we may trace OrtlM >lriIljMl n.^1. I.l- Knmble home And the earmea's dwelUqg-plMeak THB COMPLETE PEOGRAM. A, modMt UbU Ml, A Ibod wifli walUng nigb— And now « mother Biagiag aweet Her Iwbyt lallaby. A worn num eittlng down At the window taking rest, A little bright And enrly hand Boft leaning on hia breaat Tea, it ia aeTea p. m. Aa we speed along np-towa, And many a modeat Lamp ia lit, And the cnrtaina not pnlled down. And Terjr glad are we— To all the wortd akin— We now may get Aglimpee of heaven On earth, from the homea within. There many bleaainga aweet And many a joy are aent. For love and peace And hope may dwell In the hambleat tenement THREE FRIENDS. Thibi were three demons came out of the deep • Prienda that blighted the eye to see ; That frightened the dreamer oat of his sleep, And chilled the heart with a sodden leap And nambed the brain with their stealthy creep. A ghastly, terrible, horrible three. " War" waa one, and his anble pinme Shadowed a face that waa cmel as hate; He awakened the dawn with the snllen boom Ormnrderons gnns; like a pall of gloom Hong the smoke of his breath, and pitiless doom His mailed hands held like a sod) less fate. Life was his meat and hia drink was gore'; Red to his knees he walked in blood ; Laughed as he raged down the carmine shore, Raising his voice in the horrid roar And shrieks of his victims, aa more and more They swelled the ghaatly flood. And "Rum " waa another one, grisly and grim ; Crueller, ten times told than you'd think : Hiaerv nnianna.* «*. 1 1 %. , ' ' » — . .,„ DiTBiicrs Brim, Death eternal, and hate, and sin. Want and woe ; he poured them in. And gave to the world to drink. Hia victims were numberleaa aa the * ^ft\ t^ Maiden and yonth and hoary age ; The wisdom and courage of my lands, HearU of manhood, and dimpled handa, Tbey came to bis death feast, ghoatly bMidi^ Weak fools and the strong-minded sage. And the third— h« came with a goblin amil* Gentle and kind he seemed to be; Bat the heart of the fiend waa foil ofgnUa, In hia merriest momenta all the while His thoughts were cruel, his plana war* vUai He waa the worst of the three. At feast and wedding he sat elate. With luscious lips he kissed the bride; He petted the little, he pleawd the great, While he wrecked the home and destroyed tha atate, With a away like the rule of an iron fittai That you couldn't reaist if you tried. Oh, woe was the home where he entered In I He darkened the hearthstone that heatood bj And Ikcea pale, and wan, and thin, Looked up in fear at his mocking grin, And the victims knew, aa they acooped him in, Th^ were ho^^less slaves of the demon " Pie.'* Bwlinffton /ToNfays. THE COWBOY. H« came ttom the land'of the setting sun. This biasing atar of the first degree ; A cowboy bold, all ripe for ftin, The home of the tenderfoot to see. His eyes were black and bis hair was long; : . rim «r Wa hat was soft and wide : A d >iis gmm mpam ««•«# 1 With -"rr"finnitfMmmi_ ifm'r His mnBiJiii^i0^'ii'y^-^-^x'^ ,X. , 1V> the I The small He waa a terror to city cure. A pistol was thrust through his leathern belt And a knife reposed in his horseman'a bootk Every inch a king he doubtless felt ; A Western hero, right on the shoot I He ogled the ladies day by day As be gracefully ambled to take the air ; Oh, he was a daisy, this cowboy gay ; One of the brave who deserve the fair. What sensitive maids, in his mind, were seen Hopelessly pining for him in Tain, What scalpa of awaioa, with Jealoni>y green, Adnnad tUa conqnering lord of tiia pUinI flMA^ll III . ^ _ - fc. » '. ■ wMWilM-MiHMiliiJIi^Biiww^^jr " ' Jl b«y IMoMi «ttk InySi^m,. ' » a terror to citv en™. "* w,^ THE COUPLETS PROGRAM. H« weloomMl (ha tanglflfbot, hot and atrong ; And terrible oatha thia creature awore I For a deadly oonfllot he a««med to long, HIa thirat waa ei<«Milve for hiimnn gore, Till he atlrr-d up a Keuileuiao, mild and allm, Who wielded dailjr a bloodleaa pen. Bat " the aand " waa there, all the aame, in biro; And ha want for the braggart right there and then. Ha raaohad for that cowboy'a ringleta long, Aad palled him down from hia wild maaUng ; And wiped the atreet with the buokakina atrong, While the spur* reaoundem abora onto BXBKCISB ON A walU?" asked Mr. Spoopendyke conducted hit wife to the y«rd and descanted at length on the menu of the nMciiine. " In a few weeks Ml be able to make a mile a minute." he said, as he steadied the appara- tus against the clothes post and prepared to mount " Now you watch me go to the end of this path." He got a foot into one treadle and went head first into a flower patch, the machine on top, with a prodigious cr.is!i. "Hadn't you bcitti ije it up to the post until you get on?" suggL!,ted Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Leave me alone, will ye?" demanded Mr. Spoopendyke, struggling to an even keel. " I'm doing most of this myself. Now you hold on and keep your mouth shut. It takes a little practice, that's all. Mr. Spoopendyke mounted again and scuttled along four or five feet and flopped over on the grass plat. "That's splendid!" commended his wife. •• You've got the idea already. Let me hold it for you this time." " If you've got any extra strength you hold your tongue, will ye?" growled Mr. Spoopen- dyke. " It don't want any holding. It ain't alive. Stand back and give me room, now." The third trial Mr. Spoopendyke ambled to the end of the path and went down all in a heap among the flower pots. "That's just too lovely for anything ! " pro- claimed Mrs. Spoopendyke. "You made more'n a mile a minute, that time." "Come and take it off I " roared Mr. Spoop- endyke. "Help me up! Dod gast the bicycle I " and the worthy gentleman struggled and plunged around like a whale in shallow water. Mrs. Spoopendyke assisted in righting him and brushed him off. "I know where you make your mistake." said she. " The little wheel ought to go first, like a buggy. Try it that way going back." " Maybe you can ride this bicycle better than i can," howled Mr. Spoopendyke. " You know all about wheels 1 What you need now is a lantern in your mouth and ten minutes behind time to be the City Hall clock ! If you had a bucket of water and a handle you'd make a steam grind-stone I Don't you see the big wheel has got to go first?" " Y«s, dear," murmured Mrs. Spoopendykf, "but I thought if you practiced with the little wheel at first, you wouldn't have so far to fall," "Who fell?" demanded Mr. Hpoopcndyke. " Didn't you see me step off? 1 tripped, that's all. Now you just watch me go back." Once more Mr. Spoopendyke started in, but the big wheel turned around and looked him in the face, and then began t< stagger. •• Look out I " squealed Nus. Spoopendyke. Mr. Spoopendyke wrenched awsy and kicked and strugled, but it was of no avail. Down he came, and the bicycle was a hopeless wreck. " What'd ye want to yell fori " he shrieked. "Couldn't ye keep /our measly mouth shut? What'd ye think ye are, anyhow, a fog horn ? Uod gast the measly bicycle I " and Mr. Spoop- endyke hit it a kick that folded it up like a bolt of muslin. "Never mind, my dear," consoled Mrs. Spoopendyke, 'I'm afraid the exercise was too violent anyway, and I'm rather glad you broke it." " I s'pose so." snorted Mr. Spoopendyke. ' ' There' s sixty dollars gone. " " Don't worry, love. I'll go without the car. pet and curtains, and the paint will do well enough in the kitchen. Let me rub you with arnica." But Mr. Spoopendyke was too deeply grieved by his wife's conduct to accept any office at her hands, preferring to punish her by lelfing his wounds smart rather than get well, and thereby relieve her of any anxiety she brought on herself by acting so outrageously under the circumstances — Brooklyn EagU. AN INQUISITIVE CHILD. One of those unnaturally bright children who are always getting people into difficulties was at a prayer meeting the other evening, with his mother, when he asked aloud : " Ma, say ma— who was Dinah More?" "Hu-u-sh." whispered his mother cauti- ously. "It's a hymn." " No. it ain't ma " <>nn»;n...<1 *!.• L c.t " it's a woman's name ; who's say going home to Dinah More?" "Willie," said hii mother in a ghastly vofct. THB COMPLETE PROGRAM. It means # "you're disturbing the meeting, going to lieaven to die no more." "Dine no morel Oli, ma; don't tliey eat anything there?" His mother explained as well as she could, and WiUie sat still for half a minute, his bright eyes roving about the church. Then he asked m a shrill whisper : " Ma, is God out of town ? " "No- that was the end of my courtship. Ton see I started wrong, Askin' advice of Jacob an' takin' him along; For a team may be better fer plooghin,' an' hayin' an' all the rest. But when it comes to cour/in'— why, a single boss is best! ROLL CALL. BY N. G. SHEPHErtB. "Corporal Green ! " the Orderly cried ; " Here ! " was the answer loud and clear, From the lips of a soldier who stood near ; And " Here ! " was the word the next replied. " Cyrus Drew ! "—then a silence fell— This time no answer followed the call ; Only his rear man had seen him fall Kii'ied or wounded, he could not telL MO THE COMPLETE PROGRAM. wv. BlMt. There they stood in the Aiding light, These men of battle, with grave, dark looks, As plum to be read as open books. While slowly gathered the shades of night. The fern on the hill-sides was splashed with blood, And down in the corn where the poppies grew, Were redder stains than the poppies knew, And crimaonilyed was the river's flood. For the foe had crossed from the other side, That day, in the face of a murderous fire, That swept them down in its terrible ire ; And their life-blood went to color the tide. " Herbert Cline ! » At the call . re came Two stalwart soldiers into line, Bearing between them this Herbert Cline Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name. "Ezra Kerr I "—and a voice answered, " Here I " " Hiram Kerr ! " but no man replied : They were brothers, these two;-the sad wind siglie