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Then foreman Bennett spoke, and said,

“The men are all agreed.
They'd rather lose full half their pay,

Than see the mill in need!”
Our tale is told. Hugh Gordon's mil

Has still a thousand hands;
And whether times be brisk or dull,

Full work enough commands;
A strike it never yet has known,

A panic never feels;
And we have told you how it keeps

In motion all its wheels.

HOW MARRIAGE IS LIKE A DEVONSHIRE LANE

JOHN MARRIOTT. The author of the following ballad, descriptive of the Devonshire lanos a alden time, was v.car of Broadclist.

In a Devonshire lane as I tottered along,
The other day, much in want of a subject for song,
Thinks I to myself, I have hit on a strain,-
Sure marriage is much like a Devonshire lane.
In the first place 'tis long, and when you are in it,
It holds you as fast as a cage does a linnet;
For howe'er rough and dirty the road may be found
Drive forward you must, there is no turning round.
But though 'tis long and not very wide,
For two are the most that together can ride;
And e'en then 'tis a chance but they get in a bother
And jostle, and cross, and run foul of each other.
Oft poverty meets them with mendicant looks,
And care pushes by them, overladen with crooks,
And strife's grazing wheels try between them to pass.,
And stubbornness blocks up the way on her ass.
Then the banks are so high to the left hand and right
That they shut up the beauties around them from sight;
And hence, you'll allow, 'tis an inference plain,
That marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.
But thinks 1, too, these banks, within which we are pent
With bud, blossom, and berry, are richly besprent;

And the conjugal fence, which forbids us to roam,
Looks lovely when decked with the comforts of home.
In the rock’s gloomy crevice the bright holly grows,
The ivy waves fresh o'er the withering rose;
And the ever-green love of a virtuous wife
Soothes the roughness of care, cheers the winter of life.
Then long be the journey, and narrow the way.
I'll rejoice that I've seldom a turnpike to pay,
And whate'er others may say, be the last to complain,
Though marriage is just like a Devonshire lane.

WHAT DROVE ME INTO A LUNATIC

ASYLUM.*_ELI PERKINS. What ruined me and got me into an idiot asylum was this: I used to have a strong contempt for lawyers. I thought their long cross-examinations were brainless dialogues for no purpose. Lawyer Johnson had me as a witness in a wood case. In my direct testimony I had sworn truthfully that John Hall had cut ten cords of wood in three days. Then Johnson sharpened his pencil and commenced examining me.

“Now, Mr. Perkins," he began, “how much wood do you say was cut by Mr. Hall?”

“ Just ten cords, sir," I answered boldly. “I meas ured it.”

" That's your impression ?" “ Yes, sir.”

“ Well, we don't want impressions, sir. What we want is facts before this jury-f-a-c-t-s, sir, facts !”

“The witness will please state facts hereafter,” said the Judge, while the crimson came to my face.

“Now, sir," continued Johnson, pointing his finger at me,“ will you swear that it was more than nine cords ?"

“ Yes, sir. It was ten cords—just—"

“There! never mind," interrupted Johnson. “Now, how much less than twelve cords were there?”

“ Two cords, sir.” *Fron St. Jacob's Oil Family Calendar, 1001, by permission

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“How do

you know there were just two cords less, sir? Did you measure these two cords, sir?” asked Johnson, savagely.

* No, sir, I

There, that will do! You did not measure it. Just as I expected,----all guess-work. Now didn't you swear a moment ago

that
you

measured this wood?”
"Yes, sir, but —”
'Stop, sir! The jury will note this discrepancy.”

“Now, sir," continued Johnson, slowly, as he pointed his finger almost down my throat, "now, sir, on your oath, will you swear that there were not ten cords and a half?”

“Yes, sir," I answered meekly. “Well now, Mr. Perkins, I demand a straight answer -a truthful answer, sir.” “T—-ten c-c-cords," I answered, hesitatingly. “ You swear it?” “1-1-0-0-do."

“Now," continued Johnson, as he smiled satirically, “ do you know the penalty of perjury, sir?”

“ Yes, sir, I think

“On your oath, on your 8-o-l-e-m-n oath, with no evasion, are you willing to perjure yourself by solemnly swearing that there were more than nine cords of wood ?”

“ Yes, sir, 1

“Aha! Yes, sir. You are willing to perjure yourself then? Just as I thought (turning to the Judge); you see, your Honor, that this witness is prevaricating. He is not willing to swear that there were more than nine cords of wood. It is infamous, gentiemen of the jury, such testimony as this.” The jury nodded assent and smiled sarcastically at me.

“Now,” said Johnson, “I will ask this perjured witness just one more question.

"I ask you, sir-do you know-do you realize, sir, what an awful—a-w-f-u-1 thing it is to tell a lie?”

“Yes, sir,” I said, my voice trembling.

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And, knowing this, you swear on your solemn oath, that there were about nine cords of wood ?”

"No, sir, I don't do anything of

“Hold on, sir! Now how do you know there were just nine cords?”

I don't know any such thing, sir! I-" “ Aha! you don't know then? Just as I expected. And yet you swore you did know,----swore you measured it. Infamous! Gentlemen of the jury, what shall we do with this perjurer ?”

“ But I-"

“Not a word, sir,-hush! This jury shall not be insulted by a perjurer! Call the next witness !” This is why I am

now keeping books in a lunatic asylum.

LITTLE JO.-Mary MCGUIRE.

Written expressly for this Collection.
I wonder if old Santa Claus will come to-night!

He couldn't find the way last year;

I wish he had, for little Jo was hereDear little Jo! we're better off a sight,

Than what we were last year

When he was here.
We hadn't fire to keep us warm last Christmas day:

And not enough, not near enough to eat,

Just bread and tea; but not a bit of meat On Christmas day! I didn't care to play,

The snow kept falling fast

And sleighs went past.
Once when I brought my blocks and things to Jo

He moaned as if it hurt him just to look,
Then partly cried, and pushed the picture book;
His sorry eyes looked straight at mother, so,

And she said “Hush, and go away,

Jo doesn't want to play.”
And not a soul came in the whole day through,

And we were there alone all day, you see,
Mother and I, and little Jo-we three;

And then toward night the wind arose and blew,

And I remember now so plain,

How all the snow turned into rain. That made it lonesomer, you know,

And little Jo grew worse toward night,

And moaned so pitiful, his face was white, Why, just as white, and cold, almost, as snow.

You see we hadn't fire to keep him warm

Through such a storm.
That's why I had to go to bed so early;

Mother said first I might kiss little Jo,

I didn't do it every night, you know,
But this was Christmas night,-his hair was curly,

And scattered on the pillow, soft and bright:

I noticed then how solemn and how white, And lonesome mother look she didn't talk,

Except to bid me say my prayers, and say 'em low,

So's not to waken Jo;
And then to see how careful I could walk.

She didn't say another single word;

But kissed Jo as he stirred.
Once in the night I woke-the rain still poured

Against the window; mother sat beside

Jo's bed, and when he tossed about and cried She soothed him with a hymn about the Lord,

The dear Christ-child who on one Christmas day,

Long years ago, within a manger lay. There was such comfort in that pretty hymn,

Or else in mother's voice,-I nestled deep

Within the coverlid and went to sleep, Still hearing in my dreams -though faint and dim

The sound of rain, and mother singing low,

Singing to little Jo.
Next morning I woke suddenly and sat

Up in the bed; the dreadful storm had passed.

Mother was up and sewing just as fast ! It made me very glad to notice that;

She hadn't sewed since Jo was took that way,–

That's why we were so hungry Christmas day.
I dressed me quick, and went to Joey's bed;

He hadn't wakened yet, and lay so still ;
His little bands were crossed: I never will

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