If he thrust from his soul all hatred, all thoughts of wicked things,

He can hear in the holy twilight how the bell of the angels rings.

And I think there lies in this legend, if we open our eyes to

see,

Somewhat of an inner meaning, my friend, to you and to me. Let us look in our hearts and question, can pure thoughts enter in

To a soul if it be already the dwelling of thoughts of sin?
So, then, let us ponder a little, let us look in our hearts and see
If the twilight bell of the angels could ring for us,—you and

me.

ABNER'S SECOND WIFE.-P. C. FOSSETT.

A nine days' wonder had Tattlerstown,
Its gossips regaled on a morsel sweet,
And the whilom widower, Abner Brown,
Provided, free gratis, the luscious treat.
For Abner, tiring of single life,

And sighing again for wedded bliss,
Affinity found for a second wife

In Amanda Green, an ancient miss.

The widow Simmons made bold to state
(Though in neighbors' affairs she took no part!)
That Abner was lured to a dreadful fate

By deep design and a cunning art.
However, this view caused no surprise,

For as plain as the noonday sun 'twas seen,
The widow looked through the monster's eyes,
Whose hues are said to be emerald green.

Samantha Jones and Abigail White

Two maidens born in the long ago-
Wouldn't think of marrying such a fright!
"But 'Mandy was growing old, you know!"

We're told at length in ancient tale

How Reynard roamed where the grapes hung highTo both Samantha and Abigail

This aged legend will well apply.

Belinda Jenkins turned up her nose,

And scornfully sniffing the ambient air,
Maliciously hinted the dead wife's clothes
Were all the living would get to wear.

To which Mrs. Mopps rejoined, "I guess
Ab. Brown 'll be like the rest of his ilk,
Who keep the fust in a kaliker dress

That the second critter may wear the silk!"

Some said Amanda would be the boss,

And others argued the other way;

Some thought his grief for his first wife's loss
Was a hypocrite's pretense and play.
Amanda and Abner were both the theme
At the quilting-bee and the milliner's shop,
Until it really began to seem

The wagging tongues would never stop.
A fragment or two came Abner's way,

Conveyed by his bosom friend, Bill Ayers,
And the bridegroom had only this to say,
While the town was nosing in his affairs:
"I knowed a man onst 'way down South,

And houses and lands and bonds were his,
And he made it all by keepin' his mouth
And mindin' his individooal biz!"

IN THE SAME LINE.

He had halted under an awning to get out of the rain, and his back was to Abraham as the latter sat in the store door and remarked:

"My frendt, let me sell you a rubber oafergoat cheap. I can make you one at a dollar. If you haf a rubber ofergoat you can go along and nod mind der rain."

The man did not turn nor answer.

"You vas werry foolish," continued the clothier, "for you nefer get anoder such bargain as dot. How you like an umbrella for seexty cents, eh? I haf some shust as good as you puy for two dollar at de stores. If you haf an umbrella you vas all right in de vet veather. Come in, my frendt, und select a handle that suits you." The man under the awning was like a piece of statuary. "It vas a dull day mit me und I like to get rid of someting. Dot goat of yours vas werry shabby for a

shentleman like you. It vas no match for your pants anyvay. I haf two hoonered to select from, and if you like to step in I make der price all right. I can sell you a petter one for tree dollar,- -a misfit dot som congressman doan' take avay. Please valk right in.”

But the stranger didn't.

"Or may be you like to look at a nice trunk. My place vos de original and only trunk store for de sale of de pest trunks at de lowest prices. Eferypody should have a trunk. She vas handy if you go avay und shust as handy if you shtay home. I can sell a trunk mit a patent tray und Yale lock for two dollar. Dot vos onehalf de price charged in de next street. I can gif you one all de way from feefty cent to sixteen dollars. It vas no trouble to show goods. Shtep right in and examine

my line of trunks."

If the stranger heard a word of what was said no action of his betrayed the fact.

"Vhell, if you doan' like a trunk, perhaps you look at my nice tweed suits. I can fit you out in fife minutes und gif you nice satisfaction. Dose glose vas nod a second-hand pizness. All vas misfits from de very pest tailors, und I take dem at sooch a low price dot I can fit you out at your own figure. Please come in and make de greatest bargain of your life. Dis shtore vill change hands next week, und you lose de opportunity."

The stranger still stood like a crowbar.

"My frendt, it vas late for ofergoats, und I make a great shave. It vhill pay you to buy one for next winter. I vas long on oafergoats und short on cash. You can haf brown, green, blue, black—”

"Abraham, who vas you talking to?" inquired the

wife, as she came from the back room.

"To dis shentlemans oudt here, who can haf an oafergoat for fife dol—”

66

'You vas an oldt fool!" she exclaimed, as she looked out. "Dot vas oldt Isaacs, who vas in de same pizness around de corner!"

THE OLD ORGAN. HELEN BOOTH.
Written expressly for this Collection.

I sat at the wheezy organ,

In the old time-beaten hall;

As the evening looked in the windows,
You could hear the dry leaves fall
On the walks outside, and a lone bird
Piping his dreary call.

The yellow keys before me,

The silence settling through,

I thought of those who had been here
When these old things were new;
And idly my hands some fitful tones
From the long-hushed organ drew.

How long I sat there I know not;
The shadows fell and fell,

The hall grew darker and darker,
A faint, far evening bell

Chimed in with the thin, low sounds I drew
From the worn-out organ-well.

When suddenly the dark was gone,

Or so at least it seemed;

The hall was bright with waxen lights,
The faded tapestry gleamed;
There was no tarnish anywhere,
And brightness fairly beamed.

The organ played a quaint old air-
There came gay gentlemen,
Each leading by the hand a dame
All sweet and debonair,

In wondrous gowns of stiff brocade
And whitely powdered hair.

The cavaliers in courtly suits,

Their swords their silk calves met,

How they did bow and scrape, the while
The ladies' courtesies let

Their fair forms nearly to the floor,

As they danced the minuet.

*Author of the romantic old-time drama for amateurs entitled "At the Red Lion," also the charming little comedy, "After Twenty Years," with song, etc., and other plays and recitations to be found in previous Numbers of this Series,

Forth and back, and round about,
Slow and grave and fine;

The tinkling of high heels, the sweep
Of rich trains, and the whine
Of organ pipes, and soft, low laughs,
These twine and intertwine.

But singling from the company
A lady passing fair,

I saw her with a gentleman

Pass on unto the stair,

And there they sat them down to chat With merry, careless air.

And lo! the organ's voice began

A tune both soft and bland;
You seemed to lean o'er lily ponds
In some sweet evening land,
With one star gleaming overhead,-
The lamp held in love's hand.
And in the ear of that fair dame
Whispered the cavalier,

Till blushes blended in her cheeks
And touched each tiny ear;
While closer to him did she move,
Each eye large with a tear;

Until he said one word alone

The organ sang it too

And the one star in heaven above
Brighter and brighter grew,

And he and she, that young fond pair,
Touched lips-and heaven knew.

Was it the organ that then swung
A clarion blast along?

Was it a war-cry that took on

The semblance of a song?

Was there a rush, a whir, a crash
The pretty scenes among?

The fair maid touched her lover's arm,
She held his sword in hand:
"Go forth and meet the enemy
That threatens our free land!"
He clasped her in a long embrace,
Then joined a warrior band.