A woman? Yes, only a woman!

No! surely it wasn't his wife?

She seemed dead! and he wrestled for freedom,
As a doomed man will struggle for life.
"It is she! gracious God! Is she dying?
Or dead, sirs?-say, tell if you can?
Unhand me! Who murdered my poor wife?"
And a voice answered-Thou art the man!
There was silence, and heart-thrilling horror!
Joe's breath went and came with a gasp;
The neighbors had entered, and found him—
The hatchet blood-stained in his grasp!
"My poor wife! my poor wife! oh, heaven!
Who loved me, alas, sirs, too well-

'Twas the brandy that wrought all the mischief!" And they dragged him away to the cell!

Why lengthen a heart-moving story?

The law took its just-handed course;

Joe, escaping the terrible gallows,

Was doomed to eternal remorse,

A lifetime of penal exactments,

Felon-chains, with their soul-searing chime But, if tears are accepted in heaven,

Joe has wept out all trace of his crime.

KITTENS AND BABIES.-LIZZIE M. HADLEY. There were two kittens, a black and a gray, And grandmamma said, with a frown,

"It never will do to keep them both;

The black one we'd better drown."

"Don't cry, my dear," to tiny Bess,
"One kitten's enough to keep;

Now run to nurse, for 'tis growing late
And time you were fast asleep."

The morrow dawned, and rosy and sweet
Came little Bess from her nap.

The nurse said, "Go into mamma's room
And look in grandma's lap.”

"Come here," said grandma, with a smile,
From the rocking-chair where she sat,

"God has sent you two little sisters;
Now! what do you think of that?"

Bess looked at the babies a moment,
With their wee heads, yellow and brown,
And then to grandma soberly said,
"Which one are you going to drown?"

THAT FIRE AT THE NOLANS'.*

It would have been evident to even the most careress and unobservant passer-by, that something had happened at the Nolans'. Not that there was anything the matter with the house, for it bore no trace of disaster; but there were many signs which in Shantytown betoken either a fight, a funeral, or a fire. The Nolan mansion was the only building within six blocks that was built on the level of the street; it was, moreover, constructed of brick, and three stories high; decorated paper shades adorned its windows, and its door was emblazoned with a silver plate on which were the words, "Terrence O'C. Nolan." On the particular morning in question, all the occupants of the surrounding white-washed, patched, and proppedup shanties were gathered on the sidewalk in front of it. From the centre window in the second story, Thomas-àBecket Nolan, aged four years, with his nose flattened against the glass, peered down at the excited groups below. Now and then he would breathe on the pane, and then draw strange characters over its misty surface with his small finger. He was the unconscious object of many remarks.

Old Mrs. Murphy, the centre of an interested knot of neighbors, was listened to with great respect because she had just come from within the house. Michael Coogan, presuming on the fact that he had married a sister of Dennis O'Connor, who was Mrs. Nolan's great uncle, ascended the steps, and rang the bell.

"Stip in, Mr. Coogan," said Mrs. Nolan. "Good By permission.

marnin' to yer. I suppose it's askin' afther Tirry ye are, an' the foire. Jist walk this way an' contemplate the destroction.

"The debree ain't so much as removed from the flure," she explained as she held open the parlor door and allowed Mr. Coogan to survey the wreck inside the room. Everything in the apartment was broken, and soaked with water; but strangely enough there were no stains of smoke or any other trace of fire to be seen. Pictures and ornaments were all completely demolished, and broken glass covered everything.

"Howly saints!" ejaculated Mr. Coogan, "phat an ixpinsive catastrophe, Mrs. Nolan! It's a tirrible dimonstration yez must have had."

"Ah, that it wuz," she replied, sinking into a damp and mutilated rocking-chair. "Ter think of that beeutiful Axminister carpet, an' those impoorted Daggystan roogs, an' our new Frinch mantel clock that had the goldfish globe over it-all soppin' wet, an' smashed to smithereens. It 'ud be a tremingious calamity for anybody."

"Tremingious!" echoed Mr. Coogan in an awe-struck tone, “that it wud. An' how did the occurince evintuate, Mrs. Nolan ?"

"It wuz all along av the new domestic an' those divilish greeners," began Mrs. Nolan in a somewhat agitated manner, shaking her head sadly. "Lasht wake, Katy, our ould gurrl that had been wid us fer noine years, married a longshoreman, an' so I ingaged a domestic be the name av Mary Ann Reilly. She had lost two fingers aff av her lift hand, an' wus rid-hidded an' pock-marked, but she wus will ricomminded, an' so I took her at oncet. Tirry didn't loike the looks av her, at all, at all. 'Bridget,' sez he, her eyes are not sthraight,' sez he. 'I don't like google-eyed paple in the house,' sez he. Look out,

or she'll be afther lookin' at ye or Tummy, an' bewitchin' ye wid her ayvil eye' sez he. But wud ye belave me, Mr. Coogan, she only looked crucked whin she wus nar

vous or excoited, and ginerally her eyes wuz as sthraight as yer own in yer hid. She hadn't bin in the house over two days, d'ye moind, whin I dropped the flat-oiron on me fut, scalded me hand, an' broke two chiney dishes in wan mornin', and that same day Tommy got inter the kitchen an eat up three pounds of raishons, an' wuz shriekin' wid epleptic cowulsions all noight; so I began to put some faith in her bewitchment meself."

Roight for ye," said Mr. Coogan, nodding approving ly at Mrs. Nolan. "That wuz bad loock enough, so it was."

Will, that wuz only the beginnin'," continued Mrs. Nolan. "The nixt thing wuz yisterday mornin' whin Tirry cum home wid a baskit ful o' little, round, green bottles. Phat's thim?' sez I. 'Is it Christmas-tree toys, or is it patent midicine?'-Naythur,' sez Tirry; 'It's a family foire department,' sez he, 'Since we have no tilegraft in the house,' sez he, 'an' insoorance is so expinsible, I've been afther buyin' some han' greenades ter put out foires wid.'-'Is it limonade is in 'em, did yer say?' sez I. 'No,' sez he. 'They're greenades, Bridget. The bottles is green, an' they aid ye ter put out a foire,' sez he. So Tirry hung up wan dozen bottles in the parlor near the dure (where that woire rack is Mr. Coogan), an instroocted Mary Ann how to ixtinguish foires wid thim, by throwin' thim at the flames."

Is it base-ball that it is?" inquired Mr. Coogan. "No, loike stonin' goats, more," said Mrs. Nolan, and then she resumed her narrative. "Lasht avenin', the lamp wuz lit on the table, Tummy wuz playin by the winder, an' me husband wuz takin' his convanience in his arrum-chair, wid his back to the dure. Iwuz sittin' near the table a-readin' the mornin' Hurruld, an' Tummy all av a suddent lit the winder-shade run up near the top. 'Mudder,' sez he, the b'yes have made a big bonfoire in the lot opposite,' sez he. An' from where I sat I could see the reflixion av a blazin' tar-barrel in the

loockin'-glass over the mantel-pace. Jist thin, the dure opened behind me, and Mary Ann come in. She saw the reflixion too, an' yelled, 'Foire!' loike bloody murder. I turns round to look at her, an' she wuz trimblin' wid oxcitemint, an' as google-eyed as a crab. 'Foire !' yells she, an' wid that she grabs a bottle of greenade. an' lets it fly. Smash! goes the bottle, an' doon come our twinty-dollar ingraving av St. Patrick drivin' the shnakes out of Ireland. Crash! goes another, and over comes the clock. Hullup!' shouts Tirry, an' got out of his chair, but whang, wan of the greeners hits him in the hid an' busts all over him. Wid that he fell spachless on the flure an' I thought he wuz kilt entoirely. Tummy crawled under the sofa, an' I scrouch doon behind the table. All this toime that cross-eyed Mary Ann wus screechin' Foire! foire!' an' ploggin' them bottles av greenade round the room. Bang! wan hits the vase full av wax fruit, that Tirry got at the fair. Slam! another puts out the light, an' clears the lamp off the table an' she foired the rist of the dozen bottles roight an' lift, whang! smash! round in the dark. The glass wuz crashin', and the greenade stoof was splatterin' an' splashin' an' tricklin' all over the wall an' furnitoor."

"Mother o' Moses!" interrupted Mr. Coogan. "It's bushels of glass there is iverywhere. How did it ind, Mrs. Nolan?"

"The b'yes over in the lot heard the scraychin', an' crashin,' and they smothered their foire, an' come and bust in the front dure, ter see the foight they thought it wuz. Tirry is in bid, wid a poultice on his hid; an' Mary Ann is a-sittin' in the kitchen, paceable as a lamb, lookin' at the ind av her nose fer occy pation. She can pack up an' lave this very day. As fer that young shpalpeen av a Tummy, he ought ter be licked fer littin' up the winder-shade. Take my advoice, Mr. Coogan, an' trust to the foiremin or an ould-fashioned pail av water, an' don't be afther buyin' flasks av cologny-perfume to put out foires wid."

-Life