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To the dim lit porch of a fisher's home
Slowly two earnest talkers come;
They sit on the worn bench side by side
Where the woodbines partly their faces hide.
“Clyde,” 'tis Molly's low voice, “I will answer soon;
I will tell you one night by the harvest moon."

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In the little port 'tis a holiday,
Fo: the old to rest and the young to play.
The sun has gone down in a bank of red,
And a star or two peeps overhead;
Yet still at old Humphrey's Fort are seen
The villagers dancing upon the green.
On a strip of beach, mid the jutting rocks
Whose slippery sides stay the waves' fierce shocks,
A group of maidons are seeking shells,
By the rest unseen till their shrieks and yells
From the depths of the roaring gulf below
Bespeak their presence and fearful woe.
One moment's confusion, one answering cry,
Then all to the wall in their anguish fly;
Firs: over its crest young Vivian springs,
Then follows Clyde Howe, as a loud cheer rings
From the men behind, who are slipping fast
Down the long rope ladder; and ere the last
Has touched the slant beach of crumbling shale
Horror strikes them all, and each cheek turns pale.
See! Clyde Howe in the angry billows leaps,
Is struggling hard with the tide that sweeps,
Sweeps Molly far out on a mountain wave,-
Sweeps both to their death, and a cold, deep grave!

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“ This purse of gold, and ten purses more,
To whoever brings safe that girl ashore !"
Young Vivian's voice has grown shrill with fear,
But no one remains his words to hear,
Save the women above, for the men have sped
For a lifeboat housed in the coast-guard shed.
Onward, yet onward, brave Clyde swims out,
Now lost in the trough, now tossed about;
And weaker, yet weaker the drifting maid
Still struggles, scarce seen in the twilight shade
Now Cyde--now both in the gathering gloom
Drift swift from sight to their awful doom!

Hark! out from the shadows there comes a cry,
'Tis a shout of joy and of victory!
Old men and women gaze eager down
Where Vivian waits with an anxious frown.
Huzza! 'tis the lifeboat, one stroke more,
And she rides the huge breakers safe to shore.
“Take this purse, brave Clyde,” young Vivian said;
But the hero proudly shook his head,
And trembling they stood, nigh about to swoon,
When up from the sea came the harvest moon.
"Sweet Molly, will you be my prize?” said Clyde;
And she answered, “ Yes, I'm the pilot's bride."

À GAME OF CHESS.-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS.*

[ COPYRIGHT, 1889. )

CHARACTERS.

FISHER PLODDER, an absent-minded man who is writing a manual on “The Art

of Cultivating the Memory." MAJOR TURLINGTON, whose pride consists in his invincibility at chess. Guy Leigu, who should have known better but did not. MARIAN TURLINGTON, about to be made a victim of her father's pride. AUNT MINERVA, male to be loved, but having the misfortune to lack lovers. FANNY, a humble maid who is positive that she is the daughter of titled parents

too modest to put in a claim for her.

SCENE.—Drawing-Room, with stove. Door in center. Entrance

at each side. Table with books. Handsome furniture, and piano. Flowers in stands. Aunt Minerva and Fanny discovered, the latter tidying the room.

AUNT MINERVA. I must say, Fanny, that for a servant you give your tongue many liberties.

FANNY (durting). I only said, ma'am

AUNT M. You only said that it was a shame to marry my niece to a man she has never seen.

Fanny. Her father has never seen him either, ma'am. Nor have you.

Aunt M. But he has seen me somewhere, it appears, and has openly expressed his admiration of me. A man of peculiar wit, a wide, far-seeing man whose judgments are singularly mature.

*Anthor of " A Bonnet for my Wife," in No. 28; and other Comedies and Farces especially suited for Parlor aud Amateur Theatricals, which will be found in Dramatic Supplements appended to the earlier Numbers of this series A descriptive Catalogue seat free.

Fanny. Yes, he's not young.

Aunt M. Nor should any husband be young. Youth means flippancy, gush of sentiment, changeability. A husband should be

FANNY (eagerly). Yes-yes-
Aunt M. (severely.) A husband.
FANNY. Oh!

Aunt M. Besides, who could come more highly recommended than Mr. Jonathan Chester? Our friends say every thing that's kind of him, his heart and his fortune. Ah! if he had only met me-that is, I mean to say, Fanny,-and mark this, girl,-age is a recommendation in a husband.

FANNY. Naturally you think SO, ma'am.

AUNT M. Naturally I do nothing of the sort. Show me the man, young or old, who gives me encouragement-Fanny, you are simply unbearable. I certainly am not a mere chit of a girl, but it does not follow that I should view Methuselahs with matrimonial intentions.

FANNY. I only meant, ma'am

AUNT M. You only meant it to be impudent. Do you think I did not hear you tell cook that you would rather marry a baby than the baby's grandfather! Highly indelicate in an unmarried woman to speak thus. You never hear me express myself in such language, I am sure. But enough of this. It is sufficient for me to say that when a girl like Marian falls in love with a foolish young man

FANNY. Of course, Mr. Leigh's foolish jf to be young is to be foolish. In that case I am foolish. So is Miss Marian. While you, ma'am

AUNT M. Do not presume to say that I am foolish.
FANNY. I had no such intentions, ma'am.

Aunt M. 'Tis well, and to end the matter let me say that you shall connive at no more meetings between Mr. Leigh and Marian. The other gentleman arrives this morning.

FANNY. Oh, ma'am, has he ever had a wife before?
Aunt M. Certainly not.

FANNY (hopefully). I thouşbt, that may be he might-he might turn out to be—to be my father.

Aunt M. It is about time for you to give up expecting to find your father, Fanny. Are you not happy with us?

Fanny. But you're not my father, and I'd like to know who I am. It's no fun to know you're a foundling and that your name may be Smith, Jones or Robinson. Oh, dear!

Aunt M. Let well enough alone. Well, as I say, Mr. Jonathan Chester arrives this morning, and he marries Marian this evening. That is all you need to know.

FANNY (aside). All I need to know, but I thirst for more.

AUNT M. And when you have finished dusting this room you will go to Marian. Keep her in sight.

FANNY. Yes, ma'am.
AUNT M. No more meetings with Mr. Leigh.
FANNY. No, indeed, ma'am.
AUNT M. Remember now.

Fanny. I never forget what I remember, ma'am. I must inherit that from my unknown father.

AUNT M. If I fin you again derelict in your duty, I discharge you at once (going). Remember.

[Exit. FANNY. Old cat! (mimicking,) “ If I find you again derederelict in your duties I discharge you at once.” Discharge me! as though I were a pistol. I'll discharge my duty to Marian first if it blows my head off. Poor dear! And what a sweet moustache Mr. Leigh has got. Umph! when my huspand comes along he's got to have just such a moustache, only he'll be a bandsomer man, oh, a great deal handsomer, proud and haughty, like this (walking in an exaggerated fashion), --sort of solemn and grand.

Leiga (peeping in). Hi! Fanny! Fanny, I say, Fan-ny!
Fanny. Oh, is it you, sir?
LEIGH. How is the coast ?
FANNY. Clear. The cat's away.
Leigh (entering). Then the mice may play.
Fansy. Till they're caught.
LEIGH. Caught! Eh? what do you mean?

Fanny. That it's all up-exploded—done for-finished My father must be a wonderful man, the English language has such a control over me.

LEIGH. The mischief with your father, how's the Major)

Fanny. The Major's all right. It's the gentleman who comes this morning to be married to Miss Marian this even. ing. (Leigh laughs.) And I'm powerless in the matter; if you so much as come into this room I'll be discharged: while as for meeting Miss Marian

LEIGA. Go tell her I wish to see her at once.

Fanny. I will, sir, but really I wish you would speak a little more respectfully of my unknown father. The idea of telling him to go to the mischief.

LEIGH. Don't I tell Marian's father to go there?

Fanny. But you know her father, and you don't know mine. You can say many things about persons you know; you should respect the unknown.

LEIGH. I apologize to your unknown parent. There! now tell Marian I wish to see her.

FANNY She'll be here in a minute.
Leigh. Stay, Fanny.
FANNY. Fanny stays.

LEIGH. Surely a sensible girl like you cannot be foolish enough to think that Marian will submit to her father's preposterous whim?

Fanny. I can only speak for myself. I never displease my unknown father, I wouldn't be so undaughterly; and Miss Marian's love for her father

LEIGH. Her love for me

Fanny. Her love for her father will never permit her to marry a man he objects to.

Leigh. He never objected to me till a week ago.

Fanny. When you beat him at chess. He'll never for. give that. He'd rather you'd burned the house down. And the same day you laughed at Minerva's wig.

LEIGH. It was on crooked, I'll swear to it.

Fanny. You shouldn't have laughed if she chose to wear it on one ear.

LEIGH. I was a fool.
FANNY. So I remarked at the time.
Leigh. You impertinent girl.

Fanny. Of course I am. That is why I do all i can to bring you and Miss Marian together; that is why I pretend that Minerva's hair grows on her scalp; that is why I'd have let the Major checkmate me a week ago, rather than do it to-day with a new husband for his daughter.

LEIGH. Forgive me, Fanny, you are a faithful creature; your love for Marian is proverbial.

Fanny. Oh, is it? So is hers for me. Why I was only five years old when Minerva took me from the street (where I was wandering about, lost in a strange city, deserted by my

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