she. "Shut yer jaws," sez she. begin huntin' fer the camfire. me, and sure I thort nothin' cud cut aff me head.

But fer arl that, Judy The camfire didn't hilp help me, but joost ter

But Judy kep on a thryin' midcins, an' I kep a' groanin', an' a yellin', an' afther afwhile, Mickey Finnegan the hostler, a-slapin' in the room beyant, waked up, an' flung 'is boot agin our dure fer us ter kape quiet! an' how cud I kape sthill, bad luck till 'im.

But Finnegan wor a kindly cratur, an' afther a bit, he axed me wudn't I loike ter go ter the docther. I sed "yis," bein' world wid the pain, an' so out he wint an' harnissed the coult.

It wor four o'clock av a winther marnin', in the counthry, wid foive moiles ter ride, an' the schnow dape enough ter dhrown yez, but fwhat did I care fer that, if ownly I'd git me tooth fixed. That coult, they calls 'im ould Nick, an' shure 'tis the good name fer 'im, fer O-r-r-r! the actin's he cut oup, a-rarin', an' a tarin', an' a gittin' shkart at ivery blissid thing arn the road, till I wor that shkart mesilf, I gin mesilf up fer a dead herrin' more than wanst.

But me tooth sthopped achin', as soon as iver we stharted fer the docther, av coorse, an' Finnegan begin' talkin' ter me. I tell yez, now, I loiked Mick Finnegan, since iver I kim ter this counthry, for be the token, we kim over in the same ship, an' got acquaint loike, at the toime. I knew Mickey loiked me too, ownly he niver dared ter say so, so I worn't surprised whin 'e sez soft loike, "Biddy" sez 'e. "Fwhat" sez I. "I wish it wor my tooth" sez 'e, an' a kinder puttin' his arrum over the back o' the shleigh. "Err!" says I, kinder shnappish, an' a jerkin' away from 'im, fer av course I wudn't have the crathur know I mind 'im at arl at arl. "Arrah Biddy, mavourneen," sez he again. "I wisht I cud take arl yer trubbles ter mesilf," sez he, "an you wid 'um," sez he. "I've a foine little cabin, an' an illigint pig, an' if

ye'll ownly say the " but jist that varry minit, if ye'd belave me, that baste av a coult gev a jump an' the shleigh wint over, an' the two av us wor pitched out in a big shnow-dhrift.

Av it was, thin, the root av an ould three wor a sthickin' out jist there' an' I wint smash up agin it, an' there worrn't no nade o' the docther fer me toothache, arny more, fer me three frint tathe wor knocked out av me head, half a moile down the road. Shure I thort I wor kilt, but I worrn't, an' Mickey wor thrown on the odther side o' the three, an' a black an' fwhite cat jumped out av it; an' av arl the shmills! If ye'd belave me, it worrn't no cat at arl at arl, but a skoonk that med 'is nist in that ould three. Howly mither o' Moses! It wor wuss than arl the cologne in Reilly's dhrug sthore.

An, now, worrn't that a sittiwation? There wor that homely haythin av a coult, half a moile down the road, a-racin' as if the feands wor afther 'im, an' there wor Mick an' mesilf, alone in the shnow.

But 'twere no use a-cryin' fer sphilt millick, nor sphilt paple aither, so Mickey begin cruisin' around fer a house, an' be good luck there wor wan, clost by. But whin we wint ter the dure, shure the ould gint that kim out, mistook us fer thramps, an' wor a goin' ter set the dorg arn us! That wor the last sthraw arn the big hape av me thrubbles, an' I busted right out cryin' afore 'em. Thin, the ould 'ooman kim out, an' be that toime, Mickey had med the ould spalpeen oondhersthand fwhat we wor wantin', an' they axed us in. But the ould woman wor wuss than the ould man, for fwhat did she do but go whisperin', an' ax me "Did me husbin abuse. me, that me face wor arl bluddy?" A-whisperin' so loud Mickey heard 'er; an' she a lookin' daggers an' pickaxes at 'im at the toime.

I cudn't talk, be the manes o' me broken tathe, an' I wor that shamed, at her goin's arn, I jist wished mesilf out oondher the three agin; but they got anodth

shleigh ready at last, wid an ould shape av a harse, an' we stharted agin. We got to the docther's, an' he fixed up me face, an' at long last, we got home. But niver a docther cud cure Mickey's cloes a shmillin', an' he berrid 'em dape in the ground.

He be havin' a foine new suit made, an' he sez it's fer a weddin,' an' faix, whin he described the cabin an' the pig, so nate, shure how cud I resist 'im? An' besides twere a shame ter git thim illigint clothes fer nothin', so I thinks, a weddin' it is.

SONG OF AN OLD DOLLAR BILL.-D. W. CURTIS.

SUNG DURING WAR TIMES.

Oh list to the song of an old dollar bill,
Whose mission is ended for good or for ill!
A short time ago I was crispy and clean,
In a black and white suit, laid over with green;
But now I am shunned by the dainty and nice
As a soiled, ragged thing, the picture of vice.

I was paid out at first to a government clerk
With a number of others, for a faithful month's work.

With a heart full of joy he hastened to pay

To his landlord, the rent that was due on that day,

And his wife looked so happy, when she said to him, “Sam,

We pay all our debts, and I hope always can."

The landlord, a close and miserly prig,
Soon sent me, for groceries, to old Mr. Figg,
When into a drawer I was put the first time,
Along with vile coppers, quarters, and dimes.
But out I soon went, to make change for a TEN,
And off on my travels I started again.

Out of the pocket and over a bar

I paid for the drinks of a theatre "star.”

The barkeeper stole me as nightfall set in,
And for the first time I caused one to sin;

I was gambled away ere the night had well passed,

Then subscribed towards a church that was going up fast. }

A workman then got me, and kept me awhile,

But soon had to change me for codfish and oil;

Again at a grocer's, but now looking dim,
I helped pay the freight on a barrel of gin.
I've traveled by leagues over water and land,
From Atlantic across to Pacific's far strand.
Across the seas I have gone in a pocket;
On a lady's neck lay hid in a locket.
I have fed the hungry, clothed the poor,
(Keeping the wolf from many a door;)

I have pandered to selfish, luxurious taste,
And helped spread the gospel through many a waste.
I have ruined others, body and soul,

By dice, by women, and flowing bowl.
Family bonds I've often riven;

But innocent pleasures, too, I've given,—
Toys for the young at Christmas tide,
Gifts for the old, and the fair young bride;

Fee for a doctor, and fee for a priest,
For masses said, and a Christening feast;
I've served the Lord, as well as the devil,
Not knowing ought of good or evil;
But whether saint or whether sinner,

I owe it all to Mr. Spinner.*

NO KISS.-MADGE ELLIOTT.
"Kiss me, Will," sang Marguerite,
To a pretty little tune,
Holding up her dainty mouth,
Sweet as roses born in June.
Will was ten years old that day,
And he pulled her golden curls
Teasingly, and answer made:

"I'm too old-I don't kiss girls."
Ten years pass, and Marguerite
Smiles as Will kneels at her feet,
Gazing fondly in her eyes,

Praying, "Won't you kiss me, sweet

'Rite is seventeen to-day;

With her birthday ring she toys
For a moment, then replies:

"I'm too old-I don't kiss boys!"

United States Treasurer during the first issue of greenbacks.

THE STORY WHICH THE LEDGER TOLD.

LUELLA D. SMITH.

A widow sat in her quiet room, alone. Grief, as well as years, had turned her hair to snowy whiteness. She was looking over, with her weak, tear-dimmed eyes, the old ledger which showed how much wealth her husband had gathered from his cider-brandy mill. The credit side was all there. There was not much written on the debit side, save a balance of cash cleared. But to the woman, looking there, it was as if the invisible fingers of the dead were writing on her very heart the fearful charges that should be set down against the business. Ah! as the vision of her youth and all the years between swept by her, how that debtor side grew large with black figures, and with a blackness no figures could express, while the written lines before her grew dim and seemed of small account.

She remembered well when the mill was started, and when the preparations for brandy-making were begun. She remembered the arguments, the excuses, the econo my of saved apples, the deacons who opposed intemperance, but, on the ground of being thrifty farmers, brought all their poorest apples to the mill. On the debit side, that first year, had been placed by careful hands in the ledger, the cost of building, of license (for her husband had called himself an honorable man), of revenue tax (for governments must be sustained, they say); and, the widow added mentally, the keen sorrow of her heart, her loss of self-respect, the hardening influence on her boys, the annoyances from rough customers, the loss of her confidence in her husband, her unavailing tears. And that was but the beginning.

Following down the ledger dates, she read invisible writing of heart's blood on the debit side. Here, an "accidental" hurt that laid in death her only daughter. What a sweet child-face she had seen laid away beneath