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E't!' says I.

“ What you been givin' on 'em to eat ? to goodness sakes!” says I.

Nothin',” says he, "only that corn that was sp’ilt for plantin'; I tho't 'twas too bad to have it all wasted, so I fed it to the turkeys,” says he.

“Fed it to the turkeys!” says I. “An' you've jest killed 'em, every blessed one! An’ what'll yer pa say now?” says I.

“I didn't mean ter!” says he.

I'd didn't mean ter ye, if ye was my boy !” says I. “Now ketch hold and help me pick their feathers off an' dress 'em for market, fust thing—for that's all the poor critters is good for now," says I-"90 much for yer plaguy nonsense!” He

sprung tew perty smart, for once, an' Lucindy she helped, and we jest stripped them 'air turkeys jest as naked as any fowls ever ye see, 'fore singein—all but their heads, an’I was jest a-goin' to cut off the old gobbler's—I'd got it ontew the choppin' block, an' raised the ax, when he kinder give a wiggle, an' squawked!

Jest then Lucindy, she spoke up: “Oh, Aunt Melissy! there's one a-kickin'!” says she. I jest dropped that 'air gobbler, an' the ax—come perty nigh cuttin' my toes off!--an' looked, an' there was one or tew more a-kickin' hy that time ; for if you'll believe me, not one o' them tur: keys was dead at all, only dead drunk from the rum in the corn! an’it wa’n’t many minutes 'fore every one o' them poor, naked, ridic'lous critters was up, staggerin' 'round, lookin' dizzy an' silly enough, massy knows! While that Hezekier! he couldn't think o' nothin' else to dew, but jest to keel over on the grass an' roll an’ kick an’screech, like all possessed! For my part, I couldn't see nothin' under the canopy to laugh at. I pitied the poor naked, tipsy things, an' set to work that very arternoon, a-mak. in' little jackets for 'em to wear; an' then that boy had to go intew coniptions agin, when he seen 'em with their jackets on. An' if you'll believe it, his pa, he laughed tew—80 foolish! An’jes' said to Hezekier:

Didn't ye

know no better 'n to go an give corn svaked in rum to the turkeys?” says he, an' then kinder winked to me out o't'other side of his face; an' that's every speck of 4 whippin' that boy got !

But law sakes! he wa'n't a mite wus'n other boys. There's that Haynes boy-Larkey Haynes; father a good sober-goin' church-member; mother one o’the nicest housekeepers-makes the nicest riz biscuit I ever eat anywheres away from hum ; I shouldn't be ashamed on 'em myself; gals quiet an' well-behaved as need be-but that Larkey!

Ile hed a pet lamb once, that he'd larn't to run at; you'd only to hold up a handkerchief, an' futter it-80an'that lamb he'd come full chisel, an' bunt right through the handkerchief into anything behind it-made no difference to him, if 'twas a meetin'-house.

Bimeby it got to be suthin' more 'n a lamb—it was a male sheep,--a gre't, strong, horned critter, that nobody'd want to be behind the handkerchiet tew times when he s'un to bunt it.

Olce Elder Barstow was a-stoppin' to the Hayneses. Er wa’n't a very good man, some folks thought. Terrible lung and loud on a sermon or a prayer! but he was a master hand for a trade, for all that, an' he'd cheat ye out o' yer eye-teeth any day in the week-s0 folks said; tho' the Hayneses kinder believed in him, all but Larkey, he hated the sight o' him !-an'he mos' gener'ly allers stopped to the Hayneses when he come that way to preach.

One time, as uzhil, when they'd drawed back their chairs for family worship, arter breakfast, the elder was invited to lead in prayer, an' he was lengthy as uzhil; it was along in summer, an'a busy time 'ith the farm-folks, but that never made the leastest mite o' difference with the elder.

It was perty hot in the kitchen ; but he'd looked out a comf'table place for himself; he'd sot his chair over ayin' the suller door, which was open; an' the outside dour was open tew; an' he was a-kneelin' on his chair, with his face to the suller, an' his back to the outside door, a-prayin' away, when that Larkey—'twas jest a boy's trick 1-he looked out, an' seen the pet sheep in the yard. The sheep seen Larkey 'bout the same time; an' of course, the sheep wa’n't to blame; he didn't know no better'n to be lookin' for fun in prayer time. But Larkey-clear boy, for all the world !-soon as ever he seen the sheep, he jest whisked out his handkerchief, and shook it kinder as if to shake it out 'fore wipin' his eyes over suthin' affectin' in the prayer-shook it right behind the elder's back!

Nuff said ! in come that rampageous, unconscionable beast, right intew the kitchen, head down, tail up-rattle! clatter! Jehu-to-split-jest think what an interruption to the family devotions !--straight to the handkerchief an' the kneelin' elder! So unexpected! There was a crash an'a scramble, an' the elder an' his chair, an' the horned critter, went rattle-ty-bang, thumpetybump, down the suller stairs !

Mr. Haynes, he looked up jest in time to see the chair legs, an’the elder's boots, an’the critter's hind tail, shoot out o’ sight, an' he made a rush arter 'em, 'spectin' much as could be the elder's neck was broke. But, strange to say, he wa'n't much hurt, only in his feelin's an' his wig,which he'd gone head-formost intew a firkin o'lard, ani when they pulled him out, there his wig stuck,-he was bald as a punkin! He said he owed his mortal salvation to the care o' Providence an that 'air soft lard.

Now, all his folks done to that Larkey was jest to laf! Guess there'd a-been suthin' 'sides laffin if he'd been my boy!

All day, all night, I hear the jar
Of the loom of life, and near and far
It thrills with its deep and muffled sound
As the tireless wheels go round and round.

Busily, ceaselessly goes the loom
In the light of day, and the midnight gloom;
The wheels are turning with all their strife,
Forming at last the web of each life.
Click, clack! there's a web of love wove in;
Click, clack! there's another of wrong and sin.
What a checkered thing this life will be
When we see it unrolled in eternity!
Time with a face like mystery,
And hands as busy as hands can be,
Sits at the loom with arms outspread,
To catch in its meshes each glancing thread.
Are you spinners of wool in life's web, say?
Do you furnish the weaver a thread each day?
It were better then, O my friend, to spin
A beautiful thread than a thread of sin.
Say, when will this wonderful web be done?
In a hundred years, perhaps, or one,
Or to-morrow, who knoweth? not you nor I;
But the wheels turn on and the shuttles fly.
Ah, sad-eyed weaver, the years are slow,
And each one is nearing the end, I know.
Soon the last web will be woven in-
God grant it be love and not of sin.

SOUTH FORK.*_STOCKTON BATES. Jotun, (yotun) an old Norse word, signifying giant, is sunposed to be derived from an ancient form of the verb “to eat," the most prominent characteristic of the Jotuns being their prodigious voracity. In Norse mythology the name it applitd to certain mythological beings supposed to be hostile to men and to tho beneficent Æsir. The Jotuns are types of the destroying, untamable or destructive forces of nature. Their abodes are the desert regions or outmost boundary of the world. Jotuns are represented as always at war with Æsir, the powerg presiding over life and order. The opposition is eternal because there can be no reconciliation between order and confusion, life and death. Out of the far sea, vaporous, ghost-like arms, to the zenith

Reaching in wraith-like folds, clutch at the East wind wild. Murmuring, low-voiced, pleaded the Jotun, “Carry me thither

Speedily on your wings! Aid me! Avenge my wrongs!" *Written expressly for this Collection.


" Where shall I bear you, Spirit of Evil ?” answered the East

wind. “ Bear me where bold men sneer, mocking my kindred's Harnessing great wheels where my waters flow down to the

ocean; Prisoning my bright streams fast in the hollows of hills. “Bear me, with swift wing, where Allegheny's towering

mountains, Passive and inert, lie sunning their great shag sides, While their feet are washed sullenly by my struggling stream.

lets, Caught in their gulf-ward quest, checked and forbidden

to flow." Out spoke the East-wind, "Spirit of Evil! bury your passion!

Chill are the bigh hill-tops! cruel and bitter their breath. Tears shall you let fall over their scar-marked fastnesses

sombre! Better I wander alone! Back to your home in the sea!” Cruel and scornful, answered the Jotun, "I will avenge me!

Out from the high hills' grasp, free shall my kindred go! Barriers, man-built, hinder their freedom! I will undo them!

Rivers of tears shall flow! Bitterly man shall repay !” Up from the far sea, swiftly the East-wind bore the Avenger. Lowering heavens gloomed Jarkly where, thoughtless of

woe, Men, all too mirthful, heedlessly mocked midst gathering

waters, Careless of danger near, laughing all warnings to scorn. Steadily, from low clouds, into surcharged runnels and

stream-heads, Crowding in sullen force, gathered the vengeful flood. Slowly the South Fork Dam, though resisting, yields to the

pressure Breaks--and the maddened flood bursts through its crum

bling walls, Rolling its great wave, wild in its freedom, down through

the cleft hills, Hurling to quick death, men, women and children sweet! Crushing, with vast strength, factory, hovel, dwelling and

store-house! Leaving, for toilful thrift, ruin and awful wreck! Groans of despair cry heavenward, where erst laughter re

sounded! Parents from children dear, kindred from kindred torn!

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