insult!

(Reads.) "Sir;-The practical joke of asking me to be the husband of your daughter, a lady I have never seen, is beyond bearing. I am not such an old fool but I can see that you are jeering at me. I am a very bashful man, but I will say that in a modest way I have for years loved your sister-"

AUNT M. What is that? Oh!

MAJOR. "And I shall not ask her now to be my wife when you can thus insult me. Only last week I picked up a rose which she had dropped, and I wear it next my heart. Jonathan Chester."

AUNT M. Oh, he will not ask me to be his wife, won't he! Where's my bonnet?

MARIAN. Oh, Guy (going to him)!

MAJOR (to Plodder). Then, sir, who are you?

FANNY. What are you?

[Exit.

PLODDER. Let me consult my book. (Reads.) "Fisher Plodder is my name, America is my nation, any where is my dwelling-place-"

FANNY (putting her hands to her head). Oh, my good gracious! Oh, my!

PLODDER. I am slightly absent-minded.

I have for twenty years been writing a book on the method of acquiring a reliable memory. It will be a text book-when it is finished.

MAJOR. Go on! go on!

PLODDER. Some years ago I misplaced my wife. Fifteen years ago I lost my little daughter. I am looking for both. I heard that in this house was a young woman

LEIGH. Yes, yes

PLODDER. Who did not know who were her parents.
MAJOR. Well?

PLODDER. I found not one young woman, but three young women. That is, one of them had been young once. Being slightly absent-minded I did not, for the time being, know one from the other. Now I know there are three women here, two men, and all in an advanced state of mental decomposition. I will go where insanity is not held at such a high premium. I have (going to hat-box) some dignity left me. (Puts fire-shovel on his head, and picks up hat-box.) I will go and reflect upon the ridiculous side of human nature.

FANNY. Stay!

MAJOR. Girl, hold!

FANNY. The girl won't hold. I have possibly found an impossibie father. (To Plodder.) What marks were about the person of your misplaced daughter? You asked to see my arm

MARIAN. And mine

PLODDER. My daughter and her mother were marked, for possible contingencies, with my initials. I would know your mother if I saw her-(Fanny and Plodder converse, aside.) MAJOR (To Leigh). But you have nothing to do with this matter. Leave my house!

MARIAN. And I go with him.

MAJOR. You dare

MARIAN. After what has occurred I refuse to be separated from him I love.

MAJOR. YOU would marry the man who beats your father at chess!

FANNY (rushing forward, dragging Plodder with her). Behold the duke, the prince, the learned man-my long-lost father! Behold upon my arm the evidences of his paternity-F. P. -Fisher Plodder. It all comes back to me -the verse he recited, my mother taught me in infancy in case I should lose him-" Fisher Plodder is his name, America is his nation, any where is his dwelling-place, and memory his salvation."

PLODDER. My daughter, oh, my daughter!

FANNY (to Major). And, sir, don't turn this young man away. I witnessed that game of chess, and—and Mr. Leigh, he-(faintly,) oh!

PLODDER (aside to Fanny). Say he cheated.

FANNY (loudly). He cheated! (Faints in her father's arms.) PLODDER. My daughter, what a memory she has.

MAJOR. Cheated! cheated! Then you did not win the game honorably? You dolt, you mere lad, you execrable player-Leigh, my boy, take her, make her happy. You can't play chess worth a cent. And-ha! ha! (Enter Aunt Minerva in bonnet and shawl.) What have we here?

AUST M. Yes, may you be happy, now that I am about to be happy. I heard all outside. Fanny, I congratulate you on the finding of a father who has been the means of advancing my prospects in life.

PLODDER. Come, daughter, let us go see if we can find your-your-let me see-(Consults book.) your mother, marked like a handkerchief with my initials.

AUNT M. Take me with you! take me with you!

MAJOR. Minerva, he cheated-gad, he cheated. Ha! Ha! AUNT M. He did no such thing.

AUNT M. (crushing Plodder's hat on his head.) Oh, that! What's that to me? I am going

MAJOR. Where?

AUNT M. To find the man who wears my rose next his heart-who has bashfully loved me for years-who wrote a sonnet (meaningly to Leigh) on my hair-my hair.

MAJOR. Ha! Ha! Ha!

PLODDER. Come, daughter, your mother may still be purchasing mint-stick. Come, madam (to Aunt M.) you help me to find my wife, and I'll help you to find your husband. And all happiness here! And three cheers for my success in finding my daughter.

FANNY. No, three cheers for Miss Marian and Mr. Leigh. AUNT M. No, three cheers for modest Jonathan Chester. MAJOR. Ha! Ha! Ha! No, no, a thousand times, no. Three cheers for the man who cheats me at chess! Hip!LEIGH. Hold! Hold! Rather, let it be three cheers and a tiger for the man who has brought all this happiness about, the absent-minded man, the man who cannot play a game of chess

MAJOR (hotly). Meaning me, sir?

LEIGH. Fanny's father.

Cheers-Fanny and Plodder bowing right and left, as

Curtain falls.

REST FOR THE WEARY.-EMMA F. SWINGLE Oh, where shall a wandering pilgrim through life, By care and by sorrow oppressed,

Find rest from his labors, or cease from the strife,
Or peace for his grief-laden breast?

I ask of the mountains, the meadows, and trees,
I ask of the winds and the sea;

But list to the answer that's echoed from these:
"No rest for the weary in me."

But surely there's rest mid the blessings of earth,
As the world with its pleasures moves on,
But to taste of its sweetness to sorrow gives birth,
For we grasp them and lo! they are gone.
Then I ask of the penitent kneeling in prayer,
Where rest for the weary can be,

And a "still, small voice" I hear whispering there, "O weary one, come unto me!"

A princess imprisoned on Britain's fair isle,
In castle so cheerless and dim,

Found sweet consolation in reading the while

The promises given by Him.

In slumbers the Bible had pillowed her head;

And her dreams were of captives set free,

For the voice of the Saviour had whispered and said: "O weary one, come unto me!"

Her comfort by day and her pillow by night;

A friend in her cell to abide;

She found in its pages a heavenly light,

When the light of the world was denied.

And when her sweet spirit from bondage had fled
And her soul was forever set free,

Her cheek was still pressing the pages that said:
"O weary one, come unto me!"

Blest thought! that a heaven's prepared for us all,
When life and its trials are past,

And we who are waiting to hear the glad call,
Shall rest from our labors at last;

For man cannot wander away from his care,
Though his home be on land or on sea;

For a "still, small voice" will be whispering there,
"O weary one, come unto me!"

ONLY A SMILE.-FLORENCE MCCURDY.

"Twas only a smile that was given

From a friend that I chanced to meet,
With a face as bright as a sunbeam,
In the busy walks of the street.
My soul was in darkness and sorrow,
And my heart all burdened with pain;
And tears to my eyelids came welling,
And I strove to stay them in vain.
"Twas only a smile that was given,
And the donor went on her way,
Yet it brought to my heart a sweetness
Through the whole of that live-long day.
"Twas a glance so tender and hopeful,
So sweet and so loving and true,
That my troubles-I quite forgot them,
And I found myself smiling too.

A FAIRY TALE.-E. F. TURNER.

Once upon a time there was a very small child all alone in the streets of a great big city in a great big world.

Now this child, unlike all the children ever heard of in fairy tales, was not the daughter of a great king and queen, and she didn't wear a frock trimmed with jewels, and she didn't have lots and lots of nurses to look after her, and she wasn't the heiress to the crown of a country, where all the pavements were made of solid silver, the area railings of polished steel, the king's palace of ivory, and his throne of pure gold, with so many precious stones sticking out of it that it was quite uncomfortable to sit down upon. No! she was simply a very small girl indeed, with nothing of the proper fairy-tale small girl about her at all.

She didn't quite know how it was that she came to be all alone. She had an indistinct idea of a room somewhere near the sky; at least she thought it was near the sky because the clouds seemed close to her when she