go ar making such ungrateful speeches. When you know that the other day, when you said you would like a little bit of fish, I went out myself, miles and miles, and ordered it to surprise you." "And it was very kind of you, my own darling; and I felt it so much that I wouldn't on any account have mentioned that you bought a salmon, which was too much for two; or that it cost one pound six, which was more than we can afford." "You enjoyed it very much," sobbed Dora. "And you said I was a Mouse." "And I'll say so again, my love, a thousand times!" I said it a thousand times and more, and went on say ing it until Mary Anne's cousin deserted into our coalhole, and was brought out, to our great amazement, by a picket of his companions in arms, who took him away handcuffed in a procession that covered our front garden with disgrace. Everybody, we had anything to do with, seemed to cheat us. Our appearance in a shop was a signal for the damaged goods to be brought out immediately. If we bought a lobster, it was full of water. All our meat turned out tough, and there was hardly any crust to our loaves. As to the washerwoman pawning the clothes, and coming in a state of penitent intoxication to apologize, I suppose that might have happened several times to anybody. Also the chimney on fire, the parish engine, and perjury on the part of the beadle. But I apprehend we were personally unfortunate in our page, whose principa' function was to quarrel with the cook. We wanted to get rid of him, but he was very much attached to us, and wouldn't go, until ne day he stole Dora's watch, then he went. "I am very sorry for all this, Doady," said Dora. "Will you call me a name I want you to call me?" "What is it, my dear?" "It's a stupid name,-Child-wife. When you are go ing to be angry with me, say to yourself, 'It's only my Child-wife.' When I am very disappointing, say, 'I knew a long time ago, that she would make but a Child-wife.' When you miss what you would like me to be, and what I should like to be, and what I think I never can be, say, 'Still my foolish Child-wife loves me.', For indeed I do." I invoke the innocent figure that I dearly loved to come out of the mists and shadows of the past, and to turn its gentle head towards me once again, and to bear witness that it was made happy by what I answered. IN SCHOOL DAYS.-J. G. WHITTIER. STILL Sits the school-house by the road, Within, the master's desk is seen, The charcoal frescoes on its wall; Long years ago, a winter sun It touched the tangled golden curls, For near her stood the little boy, His cap pulled low upon a face Where pride and shame were mingled. Pushing with restless feet the snow To right and left, he lingered; As restlessly her tiny hands The blue-checked apron fingered, He saw her lift her eyes; he felt "I'm sorry that I spelt the word: Because"-the brown eyes lower fell- Still memory to a gray-haired man He lives to learn in life's hard school, From "Our Young Folks." THE DYING ALCHEMIST.-N. P. WILLIS. THE night-wind with a desolate moan swept by, The silent room, From its dim corners, mockingly gave back He drew a phial from beneath his head, And drank. And instantly his lips compressed, "I did not think to die Till I had finished what I had to do; I felt, -Oh, God! it seemeth even now- "And yet it is,-I feel, Of this dull sickness at my heart, afraid; Over my bosom like a frozen hand,- "And this is death! But why Like a chained eaglet at its parent's call? "Yet thus to pass away! To live but for a hope that mocks at last,- Night's better beauty, feeling, fancy, thought, "Grant me another year, Break for me but one seal that is unbroken! "Vain,-vain,-my brain is turning "Aye,-were not man to die, He were too mighty for this narrow sphere! Had he but time to brood on knowledge here,Could he but train his eye, Might he but wait the mystic word and hour. — "Earth has no mineral strange,— Th' illimitable air no hidden wings,- Seasons no mystery, and stars no spell, "Oh, but for time to track The upper stars into the pathless sky. - To tread unhurt the sea's dim-lighted halls,- "And more, much more,-for now Of weakness and mistrust, and bow it down, "This were indeed to feel The soul-thirst slaken at the living stream,- Dim,-dim.-I faint, darkness comes o'er my eye- 'Twas morning, and the old man lay alone. The storm was raging still. The shutter swung, The fire beneath the crucible was out; |