he set there a good while, thinking and thinking to hisself, and then he got the frog out and prized his mouth open, and took a teaspoon and filled him full of quail shot,-filled him pretty near up to his chin,—and set him on the floor. Smiley he went to the swamp, and slopped around in the mud for a long time, and finally he ketched a frog, and fetched him in, and give him to this feller, and says:

"Now, if you're ready, set him alongside of Dan'l, with his fore-paws just even with Dan'l, and I'll give the word." Then he says, "One-two-three-jump!" and him and the feller touched up the frogs from behind. and the new frog hopped off, but Dan'l give a heave, and hysted up his shoulders-so-like a Frenchman, but it wasn't no use, he couldn't budge; he was planted as solid as an anvil, and he couldn't no more stir than if he was anchored out. Smiley was a good deal surprised, and he was disgusted too, but he didn't have no idea what the matter was, of course.

The feller took the money and started away; and when he was going out at the door, he sorter jerked his thumb over his shoulders-this way-at Dan'l, and says again, very deliberate, " Well, I don't see no p'ints about that frog that's any better'n any other frog.

Smiley he stood scratching his head and looking down at Dan'l a long time, and at last he says, "I do wonder what in the nation that frog throwed off for; I wonder if there aint something the matter with him, he 'pears to look mighty baggy, somehow." And he ketched Dan'l by the nap of the neck, and lifted him up, and says, "Why, blame my cats, if he don't weigh five pound!" and turned him upside down, and he belched out a double handful of shot. And then he see how it was, and he was the maddest man. He set the frog down, and took out after that feller, but he never ketched him. And "

Here Simon Wheeler heard his name called from the front yard, and got up to see what was wanted. And

turning as he moved away, he said, "Just set where you are, stranger, and rest easy,-I aint going to be gone a second."

But the stranger did not think that a continuation of the history of the enterprising vagabond, Jim Smiley, would be likely to afford much information concerning the Rev. Leonidas W. Smiley, and so started away.

JOE.-ALICE ROBBINS.

We don't take vagrants in, sir,

And I am alone to-day,

Lestwise, I could call the good-man—
He's not so far away.

You are welcome to a break fast

I'll bring you some bread and tea;
You might sit on the old stone yonder,
Under the chestnut tree.

You're traveling, stranger? Mebbe
You've got some notions to sell?

We hev a sight of peddlers,

But we allers treat them well.

For they, poor souls, are trying
Like the rest of us to live;

And it's not like tramping the country,
And calling on folks to give.

Not that I meant a word, sir;

No offense in the world to you-
I think, now I look at it closer,
Your coat is an army blue.

Don't say? Under Sherman, were you?
That was-how many years ago?
I had a boy at Shiloh,

Kearney, a sergeant,-Joe!

Joe Kearney, you might a' met him?
But in course you were miles apart.
He was a tall, straight boy, sir,
The pride of his mother's heart.

We were off to Kittery, then, sir,
Small farmer in dear old Maine;
It's a long stretch from there to Kansas,
But I couldn't go back again.

He was all we had, was Joseph;
He and my old man and me
Had sort o' growed together,
And were happy as we could be.

I wasn't a-lookin' for trouble
When the terrible war begun,
And I wrestled for grace to be able
To give up our only son.

Well, well, 'taint no use o' talking.
My old man said, said he:
"The Lord loves a willin' giver,"
And that's what I tried to be.

Well the heart and the flesh are rebels,
And hev to be fought with grace;
But I'd given my life-yes, willin'—
To look on my dead boy's face.

Take care, you are spillin' your tea, sir;
Poor soul! don't cry: I'm sure
You've had a good mother some time-
Your wounds, were they hard to cure?

Andersonville? God help you!

Hunted by dogs, did you say?
Hospital! crazy seven years, sir?
I wonder you're living to-day.

I'm thankful my Joe was shot, sir.
"How do you know that he died?”
"Twas certified, sir, by the surgeon;
Here's the letter, and-"Maybe he lied!"
Well, I never! you shake like the ager.
My Joe! there's his name and the date;
"Joe Kearney, 7th Maine, sir, a sergeant,
Lies here in a critical state-

"Just died-will be buried to-morrow-
Can't wait for his parents to come."
Well, I thought God had left us that hour,
As for John, my poor man, he was dumb;

Didn't speak for a month to the neighbors,
Scarce spoke in a week, sir, to me;
Never been the same man since that Monday
They brought us this letter you see.

And you were from Maine! from old Kittery?
What time in the year did you go?

I just disremember the fellows

That marched out of town with our Joe.

Lord love ye! come into the house, sir:
It's gettin' too warm out o' door.

If I'd known you'd been gone for a sojer,
I'd taken you in here afore.

Now make yourself easy. We're humbler,
We Kansas folks don't go for show.

Sit here-it's Joe's chair-take your hat off:
Call father? My God! you are Joe!

HARMOSAN.-RICHARD C. TRENCH.

Now the third and fatal conflict for the Persian throne was done,

And the Moslem's fiery valor had the crowing victory won.

Harmosan, the last and boldest the invader to defy,

Captive, overborne by numbers, they were bringing forth to

die.

Then exclaimed that noble captive: "Lo, I perish in my thirst;

Give me but one drink of water, and then let arrive the worst!"

In his hand he took the goblet, but, awhile, the draught forbore,

Seeming doubtfully the purpose of the foeman to explore. Well might then have paused the bravest-for, around him, angry foes

With a hedge of naked weapons did that lonely man enclose. "But what fearest thou?" cried the caliph, "is it, friend, a secret blow?

Fear it not!-our gallant Moslems no such treacherous dealing know.

"Thou mayst quench thy thirst securely, for thou shalt not

die before

Thou hast drunk that cup of water-this reprieve is thine,

no more!"

Quick the satrap dashed the goblet down to earth with ready hand,

And the liquid sank forever, lost amid the burning sand.

"Thou hast said that mine my life is, till the water of that cup

I have drained, then bid thy servants that spilled water gather up!"

For a moment stood the caliph as by doubtful passions stirred

Then exclaimed, “ Forever sacred must remain a monarch's word.

"Bring another cup, and straightway to the noble Persian

give:

Drink, I said before, and perish-now I bid thee drink and live!"

THE BLACKSMITH OF RAGENBACH.

In the principality of Hohenlohe, now a part of the kingdom of Wirtemberg, is a village called Ragenbach, where, about twenty years ago, the following event took place. One afternoon in early autumn, in the tavern room of Ragenbach, several men and women, assembled from the village, sat at their ease. The smith formed one of the merry company; he was a strong man, with resolute countenance and daring mien, but with such a good-natured smile on his lips that every one, who saw him, admired him. His arms were like bars of iron and his fist like a forge-hammer, so that few could equal him in strength of body.

The smith sat near the door chatting with one of his neighbors, when all at once the door opened, and a dog came staggering into the room,-a great, powerful beast, with a frightful aspect, his head hanging down, his eyes bloodshot, his lead-colored tongue half way out of his mouth, and his tail dropped between his legs. Thus the ferocious beast entered the room, out of which there was