The Corpse's Husband

[Dialogue between a mistress and maid.]

RIDGET: "I'd like to go away the day, ma'am, the work is all done, ma'am, and there's nothing to do, ma'am, and it's a funeral if you plaze, ma'am.

Mistress: "Why, Bridget, I'm very sorry. I hope it is not the funeral of a

"No relative or friend, ma'am, but just the friend av a friend, and I'll be back at tin o'clock the morrow, plaze God."

"Of course you can go, Bridget, but don't make any mistake about coming back."

"Aw! don't give yourself any trouble about that, ma'am; don't you give yourself any onasinass about that. Sure an' it's not Bridget O'Hara that would be sarvin' ye that mane trick not to be comin' back when you give her the devarsion of going to a funeral. Many thanks to ye. Don't ye give yourself any onasiness about that. I'll be back betimes, I will."

Three o'clock next day and Bridget just returnedMistress: "Well, Bridget, what can have happened to keep you so long."

Bridget (angrily): "Sure, an' it's because I did not come back at tin o'clock that ye speak to me in that way? Sure, an' I'll be givin' ye warnin', an' I'll be lavin' at once as I said I

"Why, Bridget, what have I said to throw you into such a temper? I thought you liked the place."

B. (very much embarrassed): "Well, I do like the place, ma'am, and I like you, ma'am, an' little did I think yesterday morning I'd be lavin' ye, but it's all along o' the wake."

"Well, I'm sure you need not be afraid to tell me about it, Bridget."

"O, ma'am, an' I do think it be the worse way for a man to be losin' his wife. And the way this one did take on, just a cryin' an' a groanin'; an' a cryin' an' a groanin.' Sure, an' it would have gone to yer heart to hear him.

I never heard anything like it in all my life, ma'am. Jest a cryin' an' a groanin,' an' a cryin' an' a groanin'. An' what could I do but go to him just as any woman wid a heart in her bosom would have done. Most like you would have done it yourself, ma'am, if you had been there. An' what could I do but just go to strokin' him down, and strokin' him down. An' what could I say to comfort him but, 'Take it aisy, take it aisy. There's plenty more days in the sky, an' there's plenty more girls in the world. Take it aisy, take it aisy.'

"And this marnin' he said I was the loveliest girl at the wake (laughing). An' we're going to be married, ma'am; we're going to be married. Me an' the corpse's husband. Me an' the corpse's husband."

The Envoy

BY LAURA SPENCER PORTER.

Life came, and sought, and found her,
And put his arms around her,
Giving her promises both full and rare;
He dropped a kiss of gold upon her hair,
And crowned her pure brow as a halo faint
Might crown a saint.

And then Youth came and found her,

And wound his arms around her.

He cautioned her to be both brave and wise,
And dropped two violets upon her eyes,
Sighing to think that at some future day
He must away.

Love came and sought, and found her,
And flung his arms around her.

He brought full many flowers from the South,
And pressed a rose-red kiss upon her mouth;
Then left her, saying to assuage her pain,
"I come again."

Next Sorrow came and found her,

And slipped his arms around her;

With tender touch he kissed her forehead fair,
Leaving a whiteness sad and holy there,

And loved her, nor would leave her side, although
She bade him go.

Death came, and sought and found her,
And wrapped his arms around her.

""Tis Love," she cried; "who else so fair of face!"
"Nay," answered Death, "Love sent me in his place,
To give thy lips, bidding their grieving cease,
His kiss of peace."

What Was It?

BY SYDNEY DAYRE.

Guess what he had in his pocket!
Marbles and tops and sundry toys,
Such as always belong to boys,
A bitter apple, a leathern ball?
Not at all.

What did he have in his pocket?

A bubble pipe and a rusty screw,
A brassy watch key broken in two,
A fish hook in a tangle of string?
No such thing.

What did he have in his pocket?

Gingerbread crumbs, a whistle he made,
Buttons, a knife with a broken blade,
A nail or two, and a rubber gun?
Neither one.

What did he have in his pocket?

Before he knew it, it slyly crept

Under his treasures carefully kept,

And away they all of them quickly stole― 'Twas a hole.

The Proposal

A very shy fellow was Dusky Sam,
As slow of talk as a typical clam.
He couldn't talk love to his Angeline
Tho' his love grew as fast as Jonah's gourd-vine.
So he brought the telephone to his aid
To assist in wooing the modest maid.
"Miss Angeline, is dat you?" called he.
"Yes, dis is Angeline. Dis me."

"I-des wanter say dat-I-loves you-
Miss Angeline-?" "Yas." "Does you love me,

too?"

"Yas; yas; of co's' I loves my beau

Say, what's de reason you want to know?" "Oh-hol' de wire. Will you marry me? True?" "Yas. Co's I will. Say

Who is you?

How to Tell The Time

BY WILLIAM WALLACE WHITELOCK.

I've just learned how to tell the time;
My mother teached me to,

An' ef you think you'd like to learn,
I guess I might teach you.

At first, though, it's as hard as fun,
An' makes you twist an' turn,
An' mother says that they is folks,
Big folks, what never learn.

You stan' before the clock, jus' so,

An' start right at the top;

That's twelve o'clock, an' when you reach

The little hand, you stop;

Now, that's the hour, but you've got
To watch what you're about,

Because the hardest part's to come-
To find the minutes out.

You go right back again, to where
You started from, an' see

How far the minute hand's away,

Like this—you're watching me?—
An' when you've found the minute hand,
You multiply by five,

An' then you've got the time of day,
As sure as you're alive.

They's folks, I know, what says that they
Don't have to count that way.

That they can tell by jus' a glance

At any time o' day;

But I don't believe no fibs like that,
Because ef that was true,

My ma would know it, but she showed
Me like I'm showing you.

The Little Boy's Baby Prayer

BY S. M. TALBOT.

Dear God, I need you awful bad;
I don't know what to do.

My papa's cross, my mama's sick,

I hain't no fren' but You.

Them keerless angels went and brung
'Stid of the boy I ast,

A weenchy, teenchy, baby girl;

I don't see how they dast!

And, God, I wish't You'd take her back,
She's just as good as new;

Won't no one know she's second hand,
But 'ceptin' me and You.

An' pick a boy, dear God, Yourself,

The nicest in Your fold;

But please don't choose him quite so young,
I'd like him five years old.