girls are sumptuously stunning-I mean grand-so exquisite-so intense; and then the parties, the calls, the rides--oh, the past weeks have been ones of sublime harmony,"

"I s'pose so-I s'pose so," nervously assented the old man as he reached for his third cup-half full-“but how about your books, readin', writin', grammar, ru'e o' three-how about them?"

“Pa, don't!" exclaimed the daughter, reproachfully; the rule of three! grammar! It is French, and music, and painting, and the divine in art, that has made my school-life the boss-I mean that has rendered it one unbroken flow of rhythmic bliss--incomparably and exquisitely all but."

"The grocery-man and his wife looked helplessly across the table. After a lonesome pause the old lady said:-

“How do you like the biscuits, Maria?”

"They are too utter for anything," gushed the accomplished young lady, "and this plum-preserve is simply a poem of itself."

The old man abruptly arose from the table and went out of the room rubbing his head in a dazed and benumbed manner, and the mass convention was dissolved. That night he and his wife sat alone by the stove until a late hour, and at the breakfast table the next morning he rapped smartly on the plate with the handle of his knife, and remarked:

"Mari, me an' your mother have been talkin' the thing over, an' we've come to the conclusion that this boarding-school business is too much nonsense. Me an' her consider that we haven't lived sixty odd consummate years for the purpose of raisin' a curiosity, an' there's goin' to be a stop put to this unquenchable foolishness. Now, after you've finished eatin' that poem of fried sausage an' that symphony of twisted doughnuts, you take an' dust up-stairs in less 'n two seconds, an' pull off that fancy gown an' put on a caliker, an' then come down here an' help your mother to wash the dishes. I want it distinctly understood that there ain't goin' to be no more rhythmic fool'shness in this house so long as your superlative pa an' your lovely an' consummate ma's runnin' the ranch. You hear me, Maria?"

Maria was listening.

ANONYMOUS.

PETER'S RIDE TO THE WEDDING.

Peter would ride to the wedding-he would,

So he mounted his ass-and his wife
She was to ride behind, if she could,
"For," says Peter, "the woman, she should
Follow, not lead through life.

'He's mighty convenient the ass, my dear,
And proper and safe--and now

You hold by the tail, while I hold by the ear,
And we'll ride to the kirk in time, never tear,
If the wind and the weather allow."

The wind and the weather were not to be blamed,

But the ass had adopted the whim

That two at a time was a load never framed

For the back of one ass, and he seemed quite ashamed That two should stick fast upon him.

"Come, Dobbin," says Peter, "I'm thinking we'll trot " "I'm thinking we won't," says the ass,

In language of conduct, and stuck to the spot
As if he had shown he would sooner be shot
Than lift up a toe from the grass.

Says Peter, says he, "I'll whip him a little,”

“Try it, my dear," says she,—

But he might just as well have whipped a brass kettle; The ass was made of such obstinate mettle

That never a step moved he.

"I'll prick him, my dear, with a needle,” said she, "I'm thinking he'll alter his mind,”

The ass felt the needle, and up went his heels; “I'm thinking," says she, "he's beginning to feel Some notion of moving-behind."

"Now lend me the needle and I'll prick his ear, And set t'other end, too, a-going."

The ass felt the needle, and upward he reared;
But kicking and rearing was all, it appeared,
He had any intention of doing.

Says Peter, says he, "We get on rather slow;

While one end is up t'other sticks to the ground;
But I'm thinking a method to move him I know,
Let's prick head and tail together, and so

Give the creature a start all around"

So said, so done; all hands were at work,
And the ass he did alter his mind,

For he started away with so sudden a jerk,
That in less than a trice he arrived at the kirk,
But he left all his lading behind.

ANONYMOUS,

THE MILLS OF GOD.

[The reader will readily appreciate this delightful piece, and find in it a charm ing exercise for lofty, grand, and dignified recitation.]

Those mills of God! Those dreless mills!

I hear their ceaseless throbs and thrills,

I see their dreadful stones go round,
And all the realms beneath them ground;
And lives of men and souls of states,
Flung out, like chaff, beyond their gates.

And we, O God! With impious will,
Have made these Negroes turn Thy mill!
Their human limbs with chains we bound,
And bade them whirl Thy mill-stones round,
With branded brow and fettered wrist,
We bade them grind the Nation's grist!

And so like Samson-blind and bound-
Our Nation's grist this Negro ground,