an apparition-no, it was Mr. Skinner himself-stood before them looking very sheepish.

"I overslept myself," he said, in a meek, apologetic tone, looking at the clock.

"I should say you did," answered his wife," and the dinner is all eaten up, but I'll fix you up something nice," and she went out, taking the children with her.

How much of it Mr. Skinner ever knew it is impossible to say, but there was an immediate and satisfactory change that at first amazed and then delighted him. He could lie down anywhere when he was tired, and his wife would throw a shawl over him, and leave him in peace. He has even been seen to lie down on the sofa in the parlor where he took his Rip Van Winkle sleep, and nobody disturbed him. Mrs. Skinner was at heart a woman of sense, and when she realized that one hair of that grizzlygray head was worth more to her than all the pillowshams in the world, she put the last one away in the company of a demented assortment of superfluous tidies. And they are, really and truly, and not in any zoological sense, a "happy family" now.

THE PERIL OF THE PASSENGER TRAIN.
MRS. A. D. GILLET.

Let me tell you, boys, of a run we made

On the "West Carolina Line"

When I was a stalwart engineer,

But just past twenty-nine.

There the track winds over the steep Blue Ridge
Where the rocks lie, pile on pile,

And drops down over a fearful grade

Two hundred feet to the mile.

We had pushed up the morning freight that day,
For I had charge of the "Aid,"

With Ben, my fireman, pluckiest lad

That ever the kindlings laid.

To await the express we had side-tracked out
Just east of the gravel train,

Which a gang of convicts, under guard,
Was laboring to fill again.

Just how it chanced I can scarcely tell;
The guards seemed careless grown,
And the engineer for a minute's space
Had left his cab alone,

When a stealthy convict dodged between
And slipped the coupling-pin,

And then, with a stride and a swinging bound,
He lodged himself within.

Quicker than thought his desperate hand

Had jerked the throttle wide,

And before the sentinels looked to see

He was dashing down the slide.

"Ho, guards! the prisoner! shoot him down!" Went up the frantic yell,

And whizz-bang-bang-! a leaden hail

Of bullets round him fell.

"Don't kill him-hold-don't shoot!" I cried.

"Great God, men, can't you see

No hand could save the passenger train

With that engine running free?

Quick! change the switch! we'll run her down!"

The throttle wide I fling,

And, gathering headway, down that grade

It sprang like a living thing.

We swung like lightning round the curve,

Our fires by kindlings fed,

And saw the fugitive speeding on

Three hundred yards ahead.

Ledges and crags rushed madly past,

As in a fever-dream,

'Twas reckless business down that grade
Under such head of steam.

We shot past yawning chasms black,
So deep we held our breath;
That shelf along the mountain side
Was all 'twixt us and death.

Bounding ahead we scarcely seemed
To touch the iron rails-

God save us now! we've reached a spot
Where nought but prayer avails.

Slow climbing up the winding track,
Just where we could not see,

Coming right on to certain death,

The passenger train must be.

Could she be saved? Hundreds of lives
Hung on that one slim chance;

Oh! couldn't she hear the rushing roar
Telling our swift advance?

"We're gaining-gaining!" shouted Ben,
"But look, boss,-yonder-see
That desperate wretch is going to jump,
And leave the engine free.

He's on the tender--there he goes!"
I held my breath to see

That headlong whirl down jagged rocks
Into eternity.

Now one frail chance, and only one,
Was all that could remain;
Courage, my boy, we'll catch her yet,
And save the coming train.

I ran out on the pilot-frame,

And measured with my eye-
I'll make that leap to save the train,
Whether I live or die.

She's only thirty yards ahead,
And half-a-minute more

Will tell the tale for life or death,
Just half-a-minute more.

I step back on the running board,
I'm straining every nerve,

I rush-I leap-I cling, thank God!
Around that frightful curve.

I scrambled o'er, the lever grasped,
While smoke and sparks flew round,
The cylinders wheezed like one diseased,
The drivers backward ground.

When, lo! with heavy rumbling roar,

Slow toiling up the height,

But saved, thank God,-the passenger train

Bore grandly into sight.

-Good Cheer.

THE BORES.

There's the man who lets you shake his limpy hand-
He's a bore.

And the man who leans against you when you stand-
Get his gore.

There's the man who has a fear
That the world is, year by year,
Growing worse-perhaps he's near!
Bolt the door.

There's the fellow with conundrums quite antique-
He's a bore.

And the man who asks you "What?" whene'er you speak,
Though you roar.

There's the man who slaps your back
With a button-bursting whack—
If you think he's on your track,
Bolt the door.

There's the punster with his everlasting pun-
He's a bore.

And the man who makes alliterative "fun"

Worse and more!

There's the man who tells the tale

That a year ago was stale

Like as not he's out of jail,
Bolt the door.

THE SLIM TEACHER OF CRANBERRY GULCH.

"Mister, no doubt you have all the learnin' that's required in a school-teacher, but it takes more than learnin' to make a man able to teach school in Cranberry Gulch. You'll soon find that out if you try. We've had three try it on. One lies there in the graveyard; another lost his eye; the last one opened school and left before noontime for the benefit of his health. He hasn't been back since. Now you're a slender build, and all your learnin' will only make it worse, for our young folks don't stand no nonsense."

This was what one of the trustees of the district said

to Harry Flotoe, when he applied for the vacant post of teacher.

Let me try. I know I am slender, but I am tough and have a strong will," said Harry.

"Jest as you like. There's the school-house, and I'll have the notice given if you want it done," said the

trustee.

"I do," said Harry, "and I'll open next Monday at nine A. M."

The notice was given and there was a good deal of excitement in the gulch and along the flats. More than fifty young people of both sexes made an excuse to drop into the tavern to get a sight at the fellow who thought that he could keep school in that district, and many a contemptuous glance fell on the slender form and youthful face of the would-be-teacher.

Eight o'clock on Monday morning came, and Harry Flotoe went down to the school-house with a key in one hand and a valise in the other.

"Ready to slope if he finds it too much for him," said a cross-eyed, broad shouldered fellow of eighteen.

The school-house was unlocked, and the new teacher went to his desk. Some of the folks went to see what he was going to do, though school was not called.

Harry opened his valise and took out a large belt. Then, after buckling it around his waist, he put three Colt's navy revolvers there, each six barrels, and a Bowie knife eighteen inches in the blade.

'Hello there, he means business!" muttered the crosseyed chap.

The new teacher took out a square card about four inches each way, walked to the other end of the school house, and tacked it against the wall. Returning to his desk he drew a revolver from his belt, and, quick as thought, sent ball after ball into the card, till there were six balls in a spot not much larger than a dollar.

By this time the school-house was full of the large boys and girls. The little ones were afraid to come in.