MR. A. (holding out the letter.) Is this the letter?
HASTINGS. It is, it is; I must have dropped it.
JENNY (fainting in Hastings' arms). Oh!

MR. A. I see it all! I see it all!

MRS. A. Where's my scent-bottle? And I see it all, too. I was shooing the hen, he came along, saw the valise; I saw him; I took him for a thief and ran, and because I ran he took me for a thief; he entered the house

MR. A. Met no one, came here, heard us, ran into that chamber

HASTINGS. Twice,—leaving the valise behind me the first time, but taking it with me the second time. I dropped the general's letter

JENNY (reviving). I came out in this cap and this apron, found the letter, and

MRS. A. And there is no burglar nor thief after all, and Mrs. Jones' silver is safe. But the valise was in the road. MR. A. And in this room as well. The funniest, most illogical joke I ever heard of. Ha! ha!

HASTINGS. But, sir!

JENNY. Papa! mamma!

.

MR. A. Everything may yet turn out satisfactory to you two spoons.

HASTINGS. Oh!

JENNY. Oh!

MRS. A. While now it is sufficient unto the day thereof, to know that a man really did take the valise, and that I was not dreaming, Peter.

MR. A. We were all dreaming: you, that the valise was not in this room; I, that it was not out of this room; the lieutenant, that Jenny was a dressing-maid; and Jenny, that he was a

JENNY. Not a burglar, but only my

HASTINGS. Husband that is to be. Otherwise, even the audience will say that you, we, they

ALL. Must be dreaming!

All laughing, as curtain falls.

A KNIGHTLY WELCOME.-REV. S. K. Cox.

Written for the ceremonies attendant upon the observance of Ascension Day, by the Knights Templar, of Maryland, June 3d, 1886, at St. Paul's Church, Baltimore.

We greet you, brethren of the mystic tie,

And bid you welcome to this sacred shrine.
The varied symbols which before us lie,

And highest of them all, the Red Cross sign,
Are fitting emblems for this holy place,-
Emblems of truth and purity and grace.

In earlier days, when knights were men of war
And went forth panoplied for deadly fight,
Hasting at bugle-call from homes afar

To shield fair woman, or defend the right,
They sought the land where on the cross of shame
The Son of God won an eternal fame.

For men he suffered, and for men he bled,
And for awhile descending to the grave,
He made his habitation with the dead,

Only to show his greater power to save;
With conquering might he left a vacant tomb
Stripped of its sting, its terror, and its gloom.

In his great name, Sir Knights, you gather now,
On this great day of his ascending power
When he went up in triumph, to endow

A world with his rich gifts of grace,-the dower
Of an unbounded love that will not rest
Till it has reached all lands, all nations blest.

'Tis in his cross you glory; 'neath its sign
The knights of old went home to holy war,
Guarding the sepulchre with serried line,

Or some worn pilgrim, coming from afar
To see the sacred spot, and press the soil
Where Christ had lain, Death's empire to despoil.

In that same sign go forth and conquer still;
Your great Commander calls you to the fray-
Not to the strife of arms, to wound and kill,
But to the triumphs of a better day

When peace shall truth and righteousness embrace
And bind in brotherhood the human race.

F

Our Master's mission when he sojourned here,
Was to bind up and soothe the broken heart,
With gentle hand to wipe the falling tear,

To heal the sick, sight to the blind impart,
To cause the lowliest in him to find
At once the friend and brother of mankind.
Yours is the mission where his footsteps lead
To follow him, and with like helping hand
To clothe the naked and the hungry feed,

Rescue the shipwrecked brother on the strand,
And cheer with kindly words and prompt relief
The widow and the orphan in their grief.

This is true Christian knighthood; 'twill remain
When wars o'er all the earth forever cease,

When Christ shall claim the kingdoms and shall reign,
The mighty Saviour and the Prince of Peace;
And when he comes his faithful knights to crown
May you prove worthy of that high renown.

"I CANNOT TURN THE KEY AND MY BAIRN OUTSIDE."

In the villages of the West Riding of Yorkshire, there is a tender sentiment, or custom, still prevailing. When one of a family has been buried, or goue away, the house door is left unlocked for seven nights, lest the departed might, in some way, feel that he was locked out of his old home.

"Suspense is worse than bitter grief,

The lad will come no more;

Why should we longer watch and wait?
Turn the key in the door.

From weary days and lonely nights

The light of hope has fled;

I say the ship is lost, good wife,
And our bairn is dead."

"Husband, the last words that I spoke,
Just as he left the shore,

Were, 'Come thou early, come thou late,
Thou'lt find an open door;

Open thy mother's heart and hand,

Whatever else betide,'

And so I cannot turn the key

And my bairn outside.

"Seven years is naught to mother love,
And seventy times the seven;

A mother is a mother still,

On earth or in God's heaven.

I'll watch for him, I'll pray for him,

Prayer as the world is wide;

But, oh! I cannot turn the key

And leave my bairn outside.

"When winds were loud, and snow lay white,
And storm-clouds drifted black,

I've heard his step-for hearts can hear;
I know he's coming back.

What if he came this very night,

And he the house-door tried,

And found that we had turned the key,
And our bairn outside!"

The good man trimmed the candle light,
Threw on another log,

Then, suddenly, he said: "Good wife!
What ails,-what ails the dog?

And what ails you? What do you hear?
She raised her eyes and cried:

"Wide open fling the house-door now,
For my bairn's outside!"

Scarce said the words, when a glad hand
Flung wide the household door.

"Dear mother! father! I am come!
I need not leave you more!"

That night, the first in seven long years,
The happy mother sighed :

"Father, you now may turn the key,
For my bairn's inside!"

THE PRIME OF LIFE.-ELLA WHEELER WILCOX,

I read the sentence or heard it spoken

A stalwart phrase and with meaning rifeAnd I said: "Now I know, by youth's sweet token, That this is the time called the 'prime of life.'

"For my hopes soar over the loftiest mountain, And the future glows red, like a fair sunrise;

And my spirits gush forth, like a spring-fed fountain,
And never a grief in the heart of me lies."

Yet later on, when with blood and muscle
Equipped I plunged in the world's hard strife,
When I loved its danger, and laughed at the tussle,
"Why this," I said, "is the prime of life."

And then, when the tide in my veins ran slower,
And youth's first follies had passed away,
When the fervent fires in my heart burned lower,
And over my body my brain had

sway,

I said: "It is when, through the veiled ideal
The vigorous reason thrusts a knife
And rends the illusion, and shows us the real,
Oh! this is the time called 'prime of life.""
But now when brain and body are troubled
(For one is tired and one is ill,

Yet my soul soars up with a strength redoubled
And sits on the throne of my broken will),

Now when on the ear of my listening spirit,
That is turned away from the earth's harsh strife,
The river of death sounds murmuring near it—
I know that this "is the prime of life."

-The Independent.

BURDOCK'S MUSIC-BOX.

Last Christmas Miss Burdock's admirer presented her with a handsome little music-box, and the family ear has been tickled ever since with half a dozen of the latest popular agonies.

Tuesday night, however, they had company, and the music-box, after doing gloriously for awhile, suddenly collapsed at the first verse of the "Mulligan Guards," leaving the balance of that gallant command in a sort of musical purgatory.

The next morning Miss Burdock dressed her face with its company expression, and coaxed her paternal to take the box with him when he went to business and have it put in order, and on his finally consenting under