suddenly began to howl was so marked as to attract attention. By and by a waiting passenger walked over to him with a smile of pity on his face and queried :

"A woman gave you that baby to hold while she went to see about her baggage, didn't she?"

"Yes."

"Ha! ha ha! I tumbled to the fact as soon as I saw you. You expect her back, I suppose?" "Of course."

"Ha! ha! ha! This is rich! Looking for her every every blessed minute, ain't you?"

"I think she'll come back."

"Well this makes me laugh-ha! ha! ha! I had a woman play that same trick on me in a Chicago depot once, but no one ever will again. Young man, you're stuck. You've been played on for a hayseed. Better turn that thing over to a policeman and make a skip before some reporter gets onto you."

"Oh, she'll come back," replied the young man, as he looked anxiously around.

'She will, eh? Ha! ha! ha! Joke grows richer and richer. What makes you think she'll come back?"

"Because she's my wife and this is our baby."

"Oh-um-I see," muttered the fat man, who got over feeling tickled all at once, and in his vexation he crossed the room and kicked a dog which a farmer had tied to one of the seats with a piece of clothes line.

THE EPITAPH.-ROBERT C. V. MEYERS.

Written expressly for this Collection.
When John Thorp died
His widow cried,

And some declare
She tore her hair,

And swooned away

For half a day;

Her crape veil touched the ground, they say.

Each morn she went,

On gloom intent,

Out to John's mound,

And strewed the ground
With flowers gay.

And then, they say,
The tombstone man
Next heard her plan.

She said she meant

To rear anent

John's grave the tallest monument

Of granite strong,

To last as long

As strongest cast
Of stone may last.
She said, "And this,
Imprimis,

Is what you'll trace
Upon the face

Of that same stone-
This verse alone,
Though it I make,

For my love's sake,
Long as I can."

The tombstone man
Said, "Lettering's high."
"But what care I

For that?" cried she.
"Carefully, oh, carefully
Carve this,- don't miss
A word,-carve this:

"Here lies John Thorp, the best of men.

Who shall see his like again!

His widow in perpetual tears

This stone to his dear memory rears,

And tells his virtues in her grief

That nevermore shall find relief.'"

Too soon it was

To raise, alas!

The monument

Of fond intent;

The ground must set,

They said, and get

More solid ere

The stone went there.

So six months span.

The tombstone man

Went to her to hear her plan.
Her veil was off

Her face-don't scoff!

It hurt her eyes—
They were fine eyes-
did she was wise
To put it back.

Her black was black,
But little ruffles
Had dainty scuffles
All o'er her skirts;
And little spurts
Of glittering jet
Were cutely set

Just where they'd run

The best chance to blink at the sun.

Oh, yes," she said,

"My poor dear dead!

And this, of course,

As the sad verse

My thought has lent
His monument.

But surely yet

The ground's not set?
Let's wait more time.
Oh! here's the rhyme:

"Here John Thorp lies,
Past earthly ties.
This stone may well
His virtues tell.""

A whole year ran!

The tombstone man

Went to her to hear her pian.

Her veil was shed

It made her head

Ache very much.
Her gown was such
A shining mass
Of beads, alas!

The tombstone man
Could scarcely scan

Her jewels rare,
Her curling hair.

"Well," said she "so

You've come to know

About that stone of long ago.

Tall stones, of late,

Are out of date,

Make this one small, of good sound slate.

And, as for verse

I can't rehearse

All that old mess
Of silliness.

And carving's dear
You said last year;
Each letter here
Costs money; and—
You understand?
As trousseaux come
To a round sum,
And weddings are

A fearful bar

To one's extravagance when par

One's bonds don't reach,

So I beseech

You do not waste

More time, but haste

And set the stone,

A little one,
Simple, chaste,

And in good taste.

The verse? Well, sir,

It does occur

To me to make

It short, for sake

Of epigram.

And so I am

Convinced 'twere well

That it should tell

All that there is

In this, just this:

"Thorp's Corpse."

Part Thirty-Second.