"Hark! That's the polky!" He raised his arms, As though he clasped a partner fair, A smile on his wrinkled, care-worn face,

And the soft breeze waved his silvery hair. "Dear Miss Nancy," he murmured. "So! One! Two! Three! And now for a start! Don't you be timid! I know how it is

Do I hear my heart, or is it your heart? "Miss Nancy, dear, they're rare violins,

They cry like my soul for you, my love;
Nancy, my sweetheart, this polky is ours-
Look in my eyes, my dearie, my dove!
"And to think I thought I was lonely, sweet,
Thought I was sitting here all alone,
Thought you had left me you love so well-
Nancy, I thought you was dead and gone.

""Twas all a dream! Why, sweetheart, I thought
I was old, and wrinkled, and threescore ten,
And my granddaughter wheeled me out in the sun,
And I was like the feeblest o' men.

"I thought we had daughters and sons, sweetheart, Some looked like you and some looked like me, And I was called old and smiled at when

I gave my opinion of things, dearie.

"I thought I was often tired and cried,

'Come to me, Nancy, I want you so,

For our boys and our girls they have their joys
And I'm in the way. Oh, come to me, oh!'

"I thought all this, and yet all the while
'Twas the polky music, and you and me
Was dancing our first dance, heart to heart,
And hand in hand, most joyfully.

"Do you love me, dear, as I love you?

Nay, nay, look up in my eyes and say If you forgive me for telling you

So much on the very first happy day? "One! Two! Three! And away we go!" He spread his hands, so old and thinAnd was it the breeze that sounded so Like a far-off wailing violin?

Or was it indeed the tune of old,

The polka Granddad thought he heard?
We crept together, out there on the lawn,
And the twilight came with mystery stirred.
"One! Two! Three!" smiled old Granddad,
Nancy, sweetheart, my timid doe!"

66

He fondled something up in his arms

We could not see and we could not know.

His old voice raised a ghost of a tune,

A polka which no one there had heard"One! Two! Three! And away we go!

Sweetheart, you are as light as a bird!

"And to think that I dreamed as we danced, my dear,
That I was old and that you was gone,

And we'd sons and daughters, and I was here,
Wheeled by our granddaughter out in the sun.

"Nay, but I have you and ever shall have,

Light of my light, and warmth of my heart;
We are full of sweet life, we are full of glad joy,
We are young and together, not old and apart.
"I hold you, dear; I am young and strong.
I dreamed the sadness." From underneath
His eyelid rolled a tear. "Sweetheart,

Naught shall divide us, not even death.

"One! Two! Three!" His arms sank down;
The soft breeze waved his silvery hair.
"The polky's done!" he sighed. We called-
But Granddad was lying dead in his chair.

MRS. BROWNLOW'S CHRISTMAS PARTY. ADAPTED FOR PUBLIC READING.

It was fine Christmas weather. Several light snowstorms in the early part of December had left the earth fair and white, and the sparkling, cold days that followed were enough to make the most crabbed and morose of mankind cheerful, as with a foretaste of the joyous season at hand. Down town, the sidewalks were crowded

with mothers and sisters, buying gifts for their sons, brothers, and husbands, who found it impossible to get anywhere by taking the ordinary course of foot-travel, and were obliged to stalk along the snowy streets beside the curbstone, in a sober but not ill-humored row.

Among those who were looking forward to the holidays with keen anticipations of pleasure, were Mr. and Mrs. Brownlow, of Shadow Street,

They had quietly talked the matter over together, and decided that, as there were three children in the family (not counting themselves, as they might well have done), it would be a delightful and not too expensive luxury, to give a little Christmas party.

"You see, John," said Mrs. Brownlow, "we've been asked, ourselves, to half a dozen candy-pulls and parties since we've lived here, and it seems nothin' but fair that we should do it once ourselves."

"That's so, Clarissy," replied her husband slowly; "but then-there's so many of us, and my salary's—well, it would cost considerable, little woman, wouldn't it?" "I'll tell you what!" she exclaimed. We needn't have a regular grown-up party, but just one for children. We can get a small tree, and a bit of a present for each of the boys and girls, with ice-cream and cake, and let it go at that. The whole thing sha'n't cost ten dollars."

"Good!" said Mr. Brownlow heartily. "I knew you'd get some way out of it. Let's tell Bob and Sue and Polly, so they can have the fun of looking forward to it."

So it was settled, and all hands entered into the plan with such a degree of earnestness that one would have thought these people were going to have some grand gift themselves, instead of giving to others, and pinching for a month afterwards, in their own comforts, as they knew they would have to do.

First of all the question to be determined was, whom should they invite. It was finally settled that all the well-to-do families in the neighborhood should be asked, and a special invitation was to be given to Mr. Brown

low's employers. This important item having been. arranged, they visited the toy stores where the bewildering array of tempting novelties put Mrs. Brownlow at her wit's end to make a choice, for she intended that each of her little guests should have a gift.

Christmas eve at length arrived and the huge tree which Mr. Brownlow had bought was, after an obstinate resistance, finally induced to stand upright,-as fair and comely a Christmas tree as one would wish to see. The presents were hung upon the branches, and when all was furnished, which was not before midnight, the family withdrew to their beds, with weary limbs and brains, but with light-hearted anticipation of to-morrow.

Next morning the Brownlows were early astir, full of There was a clamor of the joyous spirit of the day. Christmas greetings, and a delighted medley of shouts from the children over the few simple gifts that had been secretly laid aside for them. every heart was the party.

But the ruling thought in
It was to come off at five

o'clock in the afternoon, when it would be just dark enough to light the candles on the tree.

In spite of all the hard work of the preceding days, there was not a moment to spare that forenoon. The house, as the head of the family facetiously remarked, was a perfect hive of B's.

As the appointed hour drew near, their nervousness increased. The children had been scrubbed from top to toe, and dressed in their very best clothes; Mrs. Brownlow wore a cap with maroon ribbons, which she had a misgiving were too gaudy for a person of her sedate years. Nor was the excitement confined to the interior of the house. The tree was placed in the front parlor, close to the window, and by half-past four a dozen ragged children were gathered about the iron fence of the little front yard, gazing open-mouthed and open-eyed at the spectacular wonders within. At a quarter before five Mrs. Brownlow's heart beat hard, every time she heard a strange footstep in their quiet street. It was a little

odd that none of the guests had arrived; but then, it was fashionable to be late!

Ten minutes more passed. Still no arrivals. It was evident that each was planning not to be the first to get there, and that they would all descend on the house and assault the door bell at once. Mrs. Brownlow repeatedly smoothed the wrinkles out of her tidy apron, and Mr. Brownlow began to perspire, with responsibility.

Meanwhile the crowd outside, recognizing no rigid bonds of etiquette, rapidly increased in numbers. Mr. Brownlow, to pass the time and please the poor little homeless creatures, lighted two of the candles.

The response from the front yard fence was immediate. A low murmur of delight ran along the line, and several dull-eyed babies were hoisted, in the arms of babies scarcely older than themselves, to behold the rare vision of candles in a tree, just illumining the further splendors glistening here and there among the branches.

The kind man's heart warmed towards them, and he lighted two more candles. The delight of the audience could now hardly be restrained, and the babies, having been temporarily lowered by the aching little arms of their respective nurses, were shot up once more to view the redoubled grandeur.

The whole family had become so much interested in these small outcasts that they had not noticed the flight of time. Now some one glanced suddenly at the clock, and exclaimed:

"It's nearly half past five!"

The Brownlows looked at one another blankly. Poor Mrs. Brownlow's smart ribbons drooped in conscious abasement, while mortification and pride struggled in their wearer's kindly face, over which, after a moment's silence, one large tear slowly rolled, and dropped off.

Mr. Brownlow gave himself a little shake and sat down, as was his wont upon critical occasions. As his absent gaze wandered about the room, so prettily decked for the guests who didn't come, it fell upon a little worn,