MRS. H. And I shall always feel proud because my hus band, John, has a kind heart and is so very different from his brothers, Samuel and Silas.

GRANNY. I can't jest hear all that is goin' on. Did that gal bring a fortune to John?

MRS. H. Yes, grandmother.

ANNIE. And that means that Frank can have a collegiate

course.

FRANK. And it means, also, that Annie can have five silk dresses to get married in.

GRANNY. Five silk dresses to get married in! Pooh! You don't mean it. One would be a plenty.

MRS. H. Yes, grandmother, a fortune of twenty-five thousand dollars!

GRANNY. Oh, dear! Is it possible? Is it possible? And this gal is Adalina Hardgrove, darter of Abram Hardgrove, of the state of Connecticut?

GRANNY. Jest what I've allers said—there's no place like old Connecticut!

[Curtain falls

HOW COLUMBUS FOUND AMERICA.-H. C. DoDer

Columbus stood upon the deck;

"Go home!" the sailors cried; "Not if I perish on the wreck," Great Christopher replied.

Next day the crew got out their knives

And went for Captain C.

"Go home," they yelled, "and save our lives."

"Wait one more day," said he.

"Then if I cannot tell how far

We're from the nearest land

I'll take you home." Agreed, we are!"

Answered the sea-sick band.

That night when all were fast asleep

Columbus heaved the lead,

And measuring the water deep,
Took notes and went to bed.

To-morrow dawned. Naught could be seen

But water, wet and cold;
Columbus, smiling and serene,

Looked confident and bold.

"Now, Cap! How far from land are we?”

The mutineers out cried.

"Just ninety fathoms," Captain C.

Most truthfully replied.

"And if you doubt it, heave the lead

And measure, same as I."

"You're right," the sailors laughed. "Great head!
We'll stick to you or die."

And thus, in fourteen ninety-two,
America was found,

Because the great Columbus knew
How far off was the ground.

"SOMEBODY'S."-RAE MCRAY.

As the writer involuntarily shrank from contact with a man lying in a drunk. in sleep on the pavement of our largest city, the friend at her side whispered, "Somebody's."

Somebody's baby, with laughing eyes,

Dimpled cheeks and a brow of snow,
Gladdening the weary mother's heart
At her daily toil-that was long ago.
Somebody's boy coming in from school,
With back-thrown masses of clustering hair
Smoothed by a tender mother-touch,

Followed by earnest mother-prayer.

Somebody's lover, an eager youth,

"Just a trifle fast but that's naught, my dear," So friends whispered, and she, with a woman's faith Gave her life to his keeping, without a fear.

Somebody's husband, lying prone

On the pavement foul, with a bloated face
Turned to the light of the midnight moon,
Vanished, of manhood, every trace.

Lying there in a drunken sleep,

While "somebody," faithful, despite all wrong,

Sends up to Heaven the martyr cry,

"How long, O pitying Christ! how long?"

HUGH GORDON'S IRON MILL-HORACE B. DUranz.

Written expressly for this Collection.

Hugh Gordon's iron mill employs
About a thousand hands;

And whether times be brisk or dull,
Enough of work commands;

A strike it never yet has known,
A panic never feels;

And we shall tell you how it keeps
In motion all its wheels.

To do this, we must take you back,
Some score of years or more,
When once a great financial crash
Swept all the country o'er;
Wage workers promptly were discharged
By scores and hundreds then;
And mills shut down, or else reduced
The wages of their men.

Without a warning or a word,

Their hands were sent adrift,

Those who had served them well and long,

As best they might to shift;

All work was scarce, and such as was
Might end at any day;

And to get that, men took just what
Employers chose to pay.

Hugh Gordon thought the matter o'er,
For just to tell the truth,

He felt the pressure of the times,

Embarrassed quite, forsooth;

How he could pay a thousand hands,

And run the mill beside,

And live it through were questions dark,

That he could not decide.

"The thought is painfai to discharge

These trusty men," said he.

"What should they do? How should they live?

To that I can't agree;

I'll bring this vexing question home,

And meet it face to face;

What should I say, or think, or do,

If I were in their place?

*Suppose the case. Have I not rights?
Am I the less a man

Because my hands are hard with toil,
My face begrimed and tan?

Have I no choice in contracts made

To suit contractors' views,

But tame submission to such change
And wages as they choose?

"Mast life and limb be constant risked
On rail, in mire, in mill,

While those who face the perils there,
Have neither voice nor will?
Here the employer makes mistake;
To me it seems quite plain,

That those who try to drive man thus,
Will find the trial vain!"

Just here, Hugh Gordon seemed to catch
Some new and startling thought;

For he exclaimed, “"Tis capital!

I'll try it on the spot!

I talk to them as men; and say,
Our interests are one;
And I will ask them candidly,
If yet the mill shall run.

"Some iron kings, perhaps, may laugh
At how I cure a strike;

And others think me mad; but they
May think just what they like;
I'll show them how they all are wrong;
For what they cannot do

Without great loss, I'll do with ease,
And get all safely through."

So when the great bell rang next morn,
To call its labor throng

Of grimed and forge-tanned men to work,
Hugh Gordon went along.

Why stops the mill? The furnace fires,

As fiercely seem to burn;

But not a hammer falls; the wheels

Refuse as yet to turn!

"What means all this? There's something wrong!"

One to another said.

"Perhaps we'll have our pay reduced, Or be discharged instead!"

Baid one,

"I know he's hardly pressed,

But if he'd only ask

Our help and counsel, not a man
I'm sure, would leave his task."

Hugh Gordon, hitherto unseen,
Came forward with a smile,
And said to Bennett, "Call the hands,
I'll talk to them awhile."

Then getting up beside the wheel,
While all came thronging round,
Thus brief he spoke, while silence reigned
Throughout the mill, profound:

"The times are gloomy, men, you know,
And money hard to get;
While my expenses are so great,
They scarcely can be met;

I can't discharge you; there is pain
Within the very thought!

For here, to build my business up,
You long and well have wrought.

"I cannot cut your wages down,
Without consulting first

To know if you are willing all
To help me meet the worst,
For I believe all contracts have
Two sides that must be heard;
And neither can be justly scorned
In thought, or deed or word—”

"That is the truth, sir! That's the talk
That workmen like to hear!"

Said Steel, who swung his dingy cap,

And gave a lusty cheer;

"Say but the word, sir, and we'll work

At any rate you please;

The world would hear of fewer strikes,
If men heard words like these."

"Three cheers for Mr. Gordon, boys
A score of workmen cried;
And out a thousand voices rang
Like roar of stormy tide!