"Have morning paper, sir? It tells you all About the frozen girl;" the newsboy cried; "Death in the lockup-all about the ball

Last night; tells how some feasted, how some died;
And when the great defaulter will be tried;
Two cents, sir." "So that woman's tale was true
For once," the great man coldly said aside;
""Tis well; I'm glad my act is out of view-
Both dead! what would the world say, if it knew?"

What can this false sensation do for man,
In splendid theaters applauded deep
By fashion's throngs, who comfortably scan
Fictitious wretches starve and freeze and weep-
Price-fifty cents? Such charity is cheap!
True, like our millionaire, some choose to pay
Much greater prices, mostly done to keep
Above the common herd. So goes the play-
Cheap tears at night and icy hearts all day!

SINCE SHE WENT HOME.-R. J. BURDETTE.
Since she went home-

The evening shadows linger longer here,
The winter days fill so much of the year,
And even summer winds are chill and drear,
Since she went home.

Since she went home-
The robin's note has touched a minor strain,
The old glad songs breathe but a sad refrain,
And laughter sobs with hidden, bitter pain,
Since she went home.

Since she went home

How still the empty room her presence blessed; Untouched the pillow that her dear head pressed; My lonely heart has nowhere for its rest.

Since she went home.

Since she went home

The long, long days have crept away like years,
The sunlight has been dimmed with doubts and fears,
And the dark nights have rained in lonely tears,
Since she went home.

THE SWALLOWED FROG.

Barnes, the pedagogue, is a worthy man who has seen trouble. Precisely what was the nature of the afflictions which had filled his face with furrows and given him the air of one who has been overburdened with sorrows was not revealed until Mr. Keyser told the story one evening at the grocery-store. Whether his narrative is strictly true or not is uncertain. There is a bare possibility that Mr. Keyser may have exaggerated grossly a very simple fact.

"Nobody ever knew how it got in there," said Mr. Keyser, clasping his hands over his knee and spitting into the stove. "Some thought Barnes must've swallowed a tadpole while drinking out of a spring and it subsequently grew inside him, while others allowed that maybe he'd accidentally eaten frogs' eggs some time and they'd hatched out. But anyway, he had that frog down there inside of him settled and permanent and perfectly satisfied with being in out of the rain. It used to worry Barnes more'n a little, and he tried various things to git rid of it. The doctors they give him sickening stuff, and over and over agin emptied him; and then they'd hold him by the heels and shake him over a basin, and they'd bait a hook with a fly and fish down his throat hour after hour, but that frog was too intelligent. He never even gave them a nibble; and when they'd try to fetch him with an emetic, he'd dig his claws into Barnes's membranes and hold on until the storm was over.

"Not that Barnes minded the frog merely being in there if he'd only a kept quiet. But he was too vociferous-that's what Barnes said to me. A taciturn frog

But how would

he wouldn't have cared about so much. you like to have one down inside of you there a-whooping every now and then in the most ridiculous manner? Maybe, for instance, Barnes'd be out taking tea with a friend, and just when everybody else was quiet it'd sud

denly occur to his frog to tune up, and the next minute you'd hear something go 'Blo-o-o-ood-a-noun! Blo-00oo-ood-a-noun!' two or three times, apparently under the table. Then the folks would ask if there was an aquarium in the house or if the man had a frog-pond in the cellar, and Barnes'd get as red as fire and jump up and go home.

"And often when he'd be setting in church, perhaps in the most solemn part of the sermon, he'd feel something give two or three quick kinder jerks under his vest, and presently that reptile would bawl right out in the meeting Bloo-oo-oo-ood-a-noun! Bloo-00-00-ood-a-nouou-oun!' and keep it up until the sexton would come along and run out two or three boys for profaning the sanctuary. And at last he'd fix it on poor old Barnes, and then tell him that if he wanted to practise ventriloquism he'd better wait till after church. And then the frog'd give six or seven more hollers, so that the minister would stop and look at Barnes, and Barnes'd get up and skip down the aisle and go home furious about it.

"It had a deep voice for an ordinary frog,-betwixt a French horn and a bark-mill. And Mrs. Barnes told me herself that often, when John'd get comfortably fixed in bed and just dropping off into a nap, the frog'd think it was a convenient time for some music; and after hopping about a bit, it'd all at once grind out three or four awful Bloo-oo-ood-a-nouns' and wake Mrs. Barnes and the baby, and start things up generally all around the house. And-would you believe it?—if that frog felt maybe, a little frisky, or p'raps had some tune running through its head, it'd keep on that way for hours. It worried Barnes.

"I dunno whether it was that that killed his wife or not; but anyhow, when she died, Barnes wanted to marry agin, and he went for a while to see Miss Flickers, who lives out yer on the river road, you know. He courted her pretty steady for a while, and we all thought

there was goin' to be a consolidation. But she was telling my wife that one evening Barnes had just taken hold of her hand and told her he loved her, when all of a sudden something said, 'Bloo-oo-oo-ood-a-nou-ou-oun!" "What on earth's that?' asked Miss Flickers, looking sorter scared.

"I dunno,' said Barnes; making a noise in the cellar.' knew mighty well what it was.

it sounds like somebody Lied, of course, for he

"Pears to me 'sif it was under the sofa,' says she. "Maybe it wasn't anything, after all,' says Barnes, when just then the frog, he feels like running up the scales again, and he yells out, 'Bloo-oo-ood-a-nou-ou-oun!'

"Upon my word,' says Miss Flickers, 'I believe you've got a frog in your pocket, Mr. Barnes; now, haven't you?'

"Then he gets down on his knees and owns up to the truth, and swears he'll do his best to git rid of the frog, and all the time he is talking the frog is singing exercises and scales and oratorios inside of him, and worse than ever, too, because Barnes drank a good deal of ice-water that day, and it made the frog hoarse,-ketched cold, you know.

"But Miss Flickers, she refused him,--said she might've loved him, only she couldn't marry any man that had continual music in his interior.

"So Barnes, he was the most disgusted man you ever saw. Perfectly sick about it. And one day he was lying on the bed gaping, and that frog unexpectedly made up its mind to come up to ask Barnes to eat more carefully, maybe, and it jumped out on the counterpane. After looking about a bit it came up and tried three or four times to hop back, but he kept his mouth shut, and killed the frog with the back of a hair-brush. Ever since then he runs his drinking-water through a strainer, and he hates frogs worse than you and me hate poison. Now, that's the honest truth about Barnes; you ask him if it aint."

this village. Its occupants were a loving husband, his wife, and an only child, a little girl. Although in humble circumstances, the family had all the joy and peace that love and contentment bring. One day a friend (shall I call him a friend?) called and took dinner with them. In his carriage he had a basket of wine. He insisted on opening a bottle, and after much persuasion induced the husband to take a glass, Tha was the beginning. From that time a cloud seemed to hang over the home. The good, loving husband and father became negligent; the once bright wife grew pallid and thin, and the poisonous seeds sown by the false friend proved so fatal to that family, that they brought forth a harvest of death. The husband died the death of a drunkard; the tender, loving mother withered beneath the awful curse of drink, and the child, a helpless orphan, was spared, by Heaven's mercy, to stand before you, and testify that rum destroys homes, and its sale should therefore be suppressed.

THORTON. And that there sign used to invite the man in-coax him, "Won't you drop in," ," "Can't you drop in," " Do drop in." (Advances towards platform, gesticulating.) Let me give it a broadside!

SIMMS. Not yet, Commodore; we would rather first hear what you have to say on the promiscuous sale of alcoholic liquors.

THORTON (mounting platform). Mates, I'll begin with a yarn that Backstay Smith told me, one night on the watch. Smithy said, said he, "When I was a youngster, I shipped as cabin boy on a clipper bark, which cleared from Baltimore bound for the West Indies. When we were two days out, all hands were called aft, and the skipper told us that he had changed his mind and would go to the west coast of Africa for a load of blackbirds

SIMMS. All the way to Africa to get blackbirds when the Chesapeake marshes were full of them; that is a salty yarn! THORTON. He meant black men and women,-slaves, but don't interrupt me, please. He said he was going for blackDirds, and if any man or boy in the crew didn't want to go, he had the privilege of jumping overboard and swimming back to the States. Well, nobody jumped overboard, and after long voyage we anchored in a small river. The skipper