SCHLAUSHEIMER DON'T GONCILIATE.-VON BOYLE. His name vas Schlausheimer, vot mendedt furnitoor and put cane seats in de pottoms of a shair. He had vone vife py his secondt marriages, und she called him her secondthandt huspandt on accoundt he vas marriedt pefore to anoder vomans py de name Gretchen, vot had red hair und green eyes. Schlausheimer used to say he vas pooty vell marriedt, not on accoundt he vas marriedt many, like old Brigham Young, but on accoundt he vas marriedt mooch250 pounds avoirdutroy,-dot vas his vife. Mrs. Schlausheimer she vas fat like a peer barrels, und Schlausheimer he vas fat like a match. Dey had ten shildren petween dem. Two vas boys, two vas girls, dree vas a dwin, two vas a driplet, und vone vas a quadruped-or I tink dey called dot douple pair dwins a quartette, on accoundt of de noises dey made. Und he had on accoundt of his first vife py de name Gretchen, also, ten shtep-shildrens. Und efery single vone of dot shtep-shildrens vas dwins. I vent vone tay to Schlausheimer's on accoundt he did not brought a shair he vas mending pack, und I found dem playing de Franco-Prussian war. "Vot's all dot droubles?" said I. Vell, Mrs. Schlausheimer had a proomshtick her hand in, und she vas drying to poke a cat or sometings from oudt de ped unter. She look up und say: "Mr. Von Boyle, I can do notings mit dot Schlausheimer." "Did you tried moral bersuasion mit him once?" says I. Vell, pefore she could answer dot, dot cat comes vrom de ped unter oudt, und it vasn't not any cat at all; it vas Schlausheimer, und he says: “Mr. Von Boyle, I vill told you de kindt of moral bersuasions my vife makes use mit me oudt. She calls me tay pehindt yesterday a oldt lager-peer saloon." Den Mrs. Schlausheimer broke in: "But didn't you told me I vas a voman's rights confention?" Den Schlausheimer broke oudt: "But didn't you nearly, mit a proomshtick on accoundt of dot, proke my arm?" Den Mrs. Schlausheimer she says: "But dot vas his own fault, Mr. Von Boyle. I vas shoost going to rap him a little on de head, und if he didn't put up his arm it vouldn't got hurt, like a fool. Schlausheimer, efery cent he gets, he shpend him in vhisky. Und den he haf sooch a pad indisposition he comes und peats me home." "Vell," says I, "can you not in some manner gonciliate him?" "I do eferytings I can found oudt," says she," to gonciliate him. I schold him, I pull his eyes, und scratch his hair, I kicks him de bedt oudt,-but he don't gonciliate." ONE IN BLUE AND ONE IN GRAY. Each thin hand resting on a grave, A mother knelt and left her tears O'er many a rood of vale and lawn, The reaper death had reveled in His fearful harvest home. The last red Summer's sun had shone From yonder forest charged the blue, The hush of death was on the scene, In that oppressive stillness A pall of glory spread. I know not, dare not question how Of each upturned and stirless face I thought of Willie's clear blue eye, That clustered on a fearless brow Of Harry, with his raven locks, Of how they clasped each other's hand How hand in hand they bore my prayers A noble heart beneath the blue, The dead, with white and folded hands, I looked and saw his blood, and his; Of blended years flashed o'er me, when A blindness of the eye and brain- When men are smitten suddenly Who overstare the sun; And while blurred with the sudden stroke That swept my soul, I lay, They buried Willie in his blue, And Harry in his gray. The shadows fall upon their graves; And through the twilight of my soul The starlight comes so silently, So hope's revealing starlight sinks They ask not there where yonder heaven Smiles with eternal day, Why Willie wore the loyal blue Why Harry wore the gray. MURILLO'S TRANCE.-MARGARET J. PRESTON. "Here, Pedro, while I quench these candles, hold From sun to sun. I wonder if they think That the dead knights, Fernando and the rest,— And (mindful still He chid, at whiles, some lagging worshipper, Cheaper than waxlight, and 'twere best to pray So shuffling on, he neared Soul-harrowing picture of the stark dead Christ, A chasm of shadow clove the checkered floor, "Why, Pedro, only see! The boy kneels still! What ails him, think you? Here And all the while, as to and fro I've wrought,— Observe! he takes no heed of aught I say: As moveless as the statues Niched round, a youth before the picture knelt, His hands tight clenched, and his moist forehead strewn With tossings of dank hair. Upon his arm -"I wait,-I wait," he said, "Till Joseph bring the linen, pure and white, so long!" FATHER, LEAD ON. My Father God, lead on! Is dark as night, I stay Just as thou wilt; lead on! For I am as a child, and know not how Although I know not when I ask not why; lead on! Mislead, thou canst not. Though through days of grief And nights of anguish, pangs without relief Or fears that would o'erthrow My faith, thou bidst me go, With thee is light; lead on! When dark and chill at eve the night-mists fall, |