Smith! I suppose he ain't a good man to hold a grudge against, only I want to see the man that printed that piece. I want to see him bad. I feel as though it would soothe me to see that man. I want to show him how a drunken man acts when you pour cold water down the spine of his back. That's what I come for." Our visitor, who had poured water down the spine of a drunken man's back, remained until about six o'clock in the evening, and then went up-street to find the man that printed that little piece. The man he is looking for started for Alaska last evening for a summer vacation, and will not be back before September of next year. THE LOST BABIES. Come, my wife, put down the Bible, Let us talk about the babies Jack, the first of all the party, Then a girl with curly tresses Like a little fairy princess With the years there came a wedding- Chose your baby for his bride! Then the last, a blue-eyed youngster- See the bronze upon his forehead, Hear the voice of stern command- Ah! my wife, we've lost the babies, Now transformed to these great people,- THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES.-JANE TAYLOR. A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er, Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain, And at length he produced THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES. "What were they?" you ask. You shall presently see; From mountains or planets to atoms of sense. The first thing he weighed was the head of Voltaire, One time he put in Alexander the Great, With the garment that Dorcas had made, for a weight; A long row of almshouses, amply endowed By a well-esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud, Next loaded one scale; while the other was pressed By those mites the poor widow dropped into the chest; Again, he performed an experiment rare; When he found, with surprise, that the whole of his brother By further experiments (no matter how), He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plow; When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale; All heaped in one balance, and swinging from thence, Yet not mountains of silver and gold could suffice Last of all the whole world was bowled in at the grate While the scale with the soul in 't so mightily fell, MORAL. Dear reader, if e'er self-deception prevails, To which strings of thought may be carefully put: And impartiality use for a beam: Then bring those good actions which pride overrates, THE UNPAID SEAMSTRESS.-A NOTE OF WARNING. "Error is wrought by want of thought, As well as of the heart." She was but an average American girl. But on this last day of girlhood, when her face beamed with love and her tears and smiles seemed frolicking with each other, she was very pretty and sweet. The house was full of kinsfolk, and bustle and merriment and life-long mates, who came with good wishes, good byes and bridal gifts. And on that morning came a lone woman; thin and pale, weary and worn she was. Very quietly she lay down her heavy bundle. “I could not leave Mamie, last night, to bring them,” she said gently. “Oh, I knew you'd come; you never disappoint anybody," said the happy girl opening the bundle. "How beautifully you have made them! Kate, Louise, see how nicely 'Mrs. Allen sews." "I speak for your needle when I get married!" cried one. LLLL "And I!" laughed the other. Mrs. Allen heeded not, scarcely heard. All about her brought back so vividly the little while ago when she too stood between the old life and the new, and her whole soul quivered with happiness; when she too leaned, with a full love and trust, on one-good, kind, and true. Then she heard that shrill whistle of the proud locomotive; saw it bound down the deep, dark gorge; heard those shrieks and moans and groans. Then she thought of that grave, flower-covered now, where, with a breaking heart, she had laid that broken body, thanking God her own beloved would suffer no more, and thence came forth to suffer alone. Then came a sweet thought of that dear little girl who, in that hour of bitter sorrow, was her joy; for whom she lived on then, and for whom (since in the panic, her means had all been lost) she had labored. As thoughts of her-her stimulant, her idol, her all -came upon her, she roused herself to hear: "I am very much pleased with your work, Mrs. Allen, and I am sorry,—but, really, money slips through one's fingers so at such a time, I haven't any to pay you. Come around to-morrow, and mother will pay you, and give you some flowers and goodies for Mamie." In a dazed way, Mrs. Allen, half sick and heart-sick, turned to go, but could not, and said falteringly: "Mamie is sick, and I did hope to get something for her." "It is too bad! Please go into the store and ask father to pay you. Tell him I sent you." Mrs. Allen went to the store and asked for the father. He was not in; no one knew where he was. With a slow step, for the heavy heart she took back weighed her down more than the bundle she brought out, she turned to her home. Bewildered by her hopelessness and need of food, life seemed a burden she could bear no longer, and as she crossed her threshold she sank down. But a sweet voice called: "Mamma, dear mamma, what have you brought me to eat?" Love winged her tired feet and she went to a neighbor near,-one who had always been kind to and thoughtful for her. She had never begged, and now she would but borrow. The neighbor had gone to get a present for the bride. She went down to the road, looked up and down, then deliber |