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drissed him magniferously and paid ivery bill widout e'er a bit av grumbling.

Av coorse, he pertinds he's improvin' the pricious saconds, and the tachers sind recommendatory reports, and Pat an' me do be that swilled wid pride we're narely bustin'-whin what should that ongrateful b'y do, Mrs. Casey, but up an' lave the college and take to tindin' a liquor shtore, an' Pat an' me timperance paple iver since the probitionary man come around last fall wid his reformatory notions; and Tim's brothers arl makin' their acknowledgmints as timperance b'ys, too.

To think that the wan what shtarted out wid the bist calculations, Mrs. Casey, should be shtandin' behind a bar and dalin' out hot shtuff. I don't know if he be ouwnin' the place himsilf, Mrs. Casey, but it's enough lead in me motherly heart to know he's tindin' it.

Now if it had been Moike what niver wad take a shtudy book in his two dirrity hands, it wadn't have been a mite av wonder; but me ouwn bright, beautiful b'y Tim, the shcholar and gintleman av the fam❜ly, the wan that we thought respictable enough to mate wid the Gouls or the Fielses, or anny wan av the big flies mintioned in the papers, to think av his treminjus downfall.

You wadn't have thought it, Mrs. Casey? No more wad I, if I didn't have the letther before me two brokenhearted eyes. There! rade for yoursilf, for I couldn't for the life av me rade it more than wance, and Pat wint arf wid tears a-shtreamin' down his sorryful cheeks.

Admitted to the bar? Av course, ain't I afther tellin' you he said that, Mrs. Casey? What's that you say?

It ain't no liquor bar? Howly St. Patrick! do you mane that? And Tim's a laryer, afther all, and no liquor shtore bar tinder? From the lower ind av me heart, Mrs. Casey, I thank you for sittin' me right-side-up in me moind.

And wad you, loike a good sowl, jist wait till I run out and tiligram to Pat? He'll worruk aisier for the hear in' av the blissed news.

HUNTING A MADMAN.-JOHN F. NICHOLLS.

Don't say that you think me courageous, for that's an asser、 tion I doubt,

I did what I thought was my duty, and it's nought to go boasting about.

I will tell you the truth of the story, and I think you will easily see

There is nothing about the achievement to give any honor to me.

I was up at my station one morning, attending to trains as they came,

And as I was crossing the line, sir, I heard some one call me by name;

I turned and beheld an old schoolmate, who was up on the platform behind,

Who said he was going to London with a gent who was out of his mind.

The madman was standing beside him, as quiet and meek as could be,

He looked quite as sane as his keeper, as he courteously nodded to me;

And my friend said at times he was harmless, whilst at others his fury was such

That a person unused to such people would be just like a child in his clutch.

Then a down train ran into the station, and I had to cross over the line,

But when it had gone I returned, sir, when I saw that old schoolmate of mine

Fall, struck by the hand of the madman. I took in the scene at a glance,

As the madman leaped on to the rails, sir, to make the best use of his chance.

I thought it was right to pursue him, so I went for him just

like a shot,

For I feared what would happen to him, sir, if into the tunnel he got.

On he went, without halting an instant, right into the darkness and gloom,

While I ran like the wind, sir, to save him from meeting a horrible doom.

The up train was due in a minute--how I hoped I might reach him ere then!

Then the thought of his strength burst upon me, for I'm not the strongest of men;

Still, I wouldn't go back, I would risk it, and put up with a

bit of a strife,

If I could but reach him and keep him from foolishly losing his life.

Directly I entered the tunnel I was caught in a terrible grip, And I lost all hope as my captor clutched my throat in a vise-like nip.

Yet I struggled as well as I could, sir, and I managed to loosen his clasp,

But he flew at me then like a tiger, and again I was tight in his grasp.

I heard the loud screech of the engine as the up train came dashing along,

And I fought with my foe like a trooper, but the madman was terribly strong.

Down, down, I was forced to the ground, sir, and my heart was beginning to quail,

While the lunatic grinned as he held me on the dangerous up line of rail.

I could see the red light of the engine as it shone through the thick, murky gloom;

Along came the train, and I shuddered as I thought of our terrible doom.

All at once the man noticed the light, sir, and I fancied his grasp grew slack,

So, exerting myself, I sprang upwards, and sent him right on to his back.

I had thrown him quite clear of the metals, and I quickly avoided the train,

Ere it swiftly rushed over the spot, sir, where a moment ago I had lain.

How thankful I felt you may guess, sir, my peril had not been in vain,

For in less than two minutes the madman was safe with his keeper again.

THE TWO PENNIES.

From the mint two bright new pennies came,
The value and beauty of both the same;

One slipt from the hand, and fell to the ground,
Then rolled out of sight and could not be found.
The other was passed by many a hand,
Through many a change in many a land;
For temple dues paid, now used in the mart,
Now bestowed on the poor by a pitying heart.

At length it so happened, as years went round,
That the long-lost, unused coin was found,
Filthy and black, its inscription destroyed
Through rusting peacefully unemployed;
Whilst the well-worked coin was bright and clear
Through active service year after year;

For the brightest are those who live for duty-
Rust more than rubbing will tarnish beauty.

THE DRUMMER-BOY.

One cold December morning, about eighty years ago, a party of tourists were crossing the Alps-and a pretty large party, too, for there were several thousand of them together. Some were riding, some walking, and most of them had knapsacks on their shoulders, like many Alpine tourists now-a-days. But instead of walking-sticks, they carried muskets and bayonets, and dragged along with them some fifty or sixty cannon.

In fact these tourists were nothing less than a French army. and a very hard time of it they seemed to be having. Trying work, certainly, even for the strongest man, to make four miles through knee-deep snow in this bitter frost and bitter wind, along these narrow, slippery mountain paths, with precipices hundreds of feet deep all round. The soldiers looked thin and heavy-eyed for want of food anl sleep, and the poor horses that were dragging the heavy guns stumbled at every step.

But there was one among them who seemed quite to enjoy the rough marching and tramping along through the deep snow and cold, gray mist, through which the great mountain peaks overhead loomed like shadowy giants, as merrily as if he were going to a picnic. This was a little drummer-boy of ten years old, whose fresh, rosy face looked very bright and pretty among the grim, scarred visages of the old soldiers. When the cutting wind whirled a shower of snow in his face he dashed it away with a cheery laugh, and awoke all the echoes with a lively rattle of his drum, till it seemed as if the huge black rocks around were all singing in chorus.

"Bravo, petit tambour!" (little drummer) cried a tall man in a shabby gray cloak, who was marching at the head of the line with a long pole in his hand, and striking it into the snow every now and then to see how deep it was. "Bravo, Pierre, my boy! With such music as that one could march all the way to Moscow."

The boy smiled and raised his hand to his cap in his salute, for this rough looking man was no other than the General himself, "Fighting Macdonald," one of the bravest soldiers in France, of whom his men used to say that one sight of his face in battle was worth a whole regiment. "Long live our General!" shouted a hoarse voice; and the cheer flying from mouth to mouth, rolled along the silent mountains like a peal of distant thunder. But its echo had hardly died away when the silence was again broken by another sound of a very different kind, a strange, uncanny sort of whispering far away the great white mountain side. Moment by moment it grew louder and harsher, till at length it swelled into a deep, hoarse roar.

up

"On your faces, lads!" roared the General; "it's an avalanche!"

But before the men had time to obey, the ruin was upon them. Down thundered the great mass of snow, sweeping the narrow ledge-path like a water-fall, and crashing down along with it came heaps of stone and gravel and loose, up-rooted bushes, and great blocks of cold, blue ice. For a moment all was dark as night; and when the rush had passed, many of the brave fellows who had been standing on the path were nowhere to be seen. They had been carried down the precipice, and either killed or buried alive in the snow.

But the first thought of their comrades was not for them. When it was seen what happened, one cry arose from every mouth :

"Where's our Pierre? Where's our 'little drummer?" Where, indeed? Look which way they would, nothing was to be seen of their poor little favorite, and when

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