WHEN THE LIGHT GOES OUT.-HARRY S. CHESTER. Tho' yer lamp o' life is burnin' with a clear and steady light, An' it never seems ter flicker, but it's allers shinin' bright; Tho' it sheds its rays uubroken for a thousand happy daysFather Time is ever turnin' down the wick that feeds her blaze.

So it clearly is yer duty ef you've got a thing to do

Ter put yer shoulder to ther wheel an' try to push her

through;

Ef yer upon a wayward track you better turn about-
You've lost ther chance to do it

When the

Light

Goes

Out.

Speak kindly to the woman who is working fer yer praise,
Ther same way as you used ter in those happy courtin' days;
She likes appreciation just the same ez me an’vou,
And it's only right and proper that yer give her what is due,
Don't wait until her lamp o' life is burnin' dim an' low,
Afore you tell her what you orter told her long ago-
Now's ther time ter cheer her up an' put her blues to rout —
You've lost ther chance to do it

When the

Light

Goes

Out.

Don't keep a-puttin' matters off an' settin' dates ahead-
To-morrow's sun'll find a hundred thousand of us dead;
Don't think because yer feelin' well you wont be sick no

more

Sometimes the reddist pippin has a worm-hole to the core. Don't let a killin' habit grow upon you soft and still Because you think thet you ken throw it from you at your

will

Now's ther time ter quit it when yer feelin' brave an' stoutYou've lost the chance to do it

When the

Light

Goes

Out.

I'd rather die with nothin' then ter hev ther people say
That I had got my money in a robbin', graspin' way;
No words above my restin' place from any tongue or pen
Would hev a deeper meanin' than "He helped his fellow-

men."

So ef you hev a fortune and you want to help the poor
Don't keep a-stavin off until you get a little more;
Ef yer upon a miser's track you better turn about--
Yer record keeps on burnin'

When the

"ATTEMPTED SUICIDE."-THOMAS FROST.

Your Honor, I ha'n't got a word to say in my defense: You've listened to the painful facks, but ef it's no offense I'll tell you in a simple way-I aint great on the talkWhyfore a grey old chap like me wanted to "cut the stalk.” It's forty year since me and Ruth wuz tied as man and wife, And nary mortal ever had a truer mate for life.

In all them years we never had a word as you'd call cross (Barrin' the Christmas Day she bruk the knees of Jeff, the

hoss).

We growed up like a elm that runs two stems from the same bole;

Sometimes I thought that over yond' we'd on'y have one sou!!

I never done a thing I didn't ask her 'pinion fust,

And of ner than you'd think I found my own way wuz the

wust.

When nabers asked me how's my farm I'd c'rect 'em-say 'twas her'n,

That Ruth done all the thinkin' work and I wus thar to

learn.

She saved and saved and paid and paid until the place wuz

clear

Poor gal she didn't 'spect 'twould go so soon ter th' auctioneer!

We never had no chillen, barrin' Zach, and he wer bad; Cut off f'm hum and went to N'York ter larn to write and add; Said me and mother hedn't sense ter come in out the rain! I 'spect he's dead, or docterin' p'r'aps fer grammer on the brain.

That's years and years and years ago; but Ruth she never blamed

The lad as gave us up 'acos of home he wuz ashamed.

She larnt me how ter write quite good, a-sayin' as our Zach 'Ud be so proud his father know'd so much when he got back.

But Zach he'd throwed us up for good; and so fer many

years

His mother's heart wuz wearin' down with floods of secret

tears;

I offen catch her weepin' when I come in fer my tea,

And I thinks, "Poor lass, you're breakin' fast with too much constancy."

One stormy day she stayed i'bed, and I sat by her side; The rain come down like Ni'gra; I just sat thar and cried, Fer she talked of sunny meadows, seemed ter hear sweet songs afar;

And I knowed the Lord had sent down word he wanted her up thar.

Then when she fetched around a bit she says ter me, says she, "Don't be too crosst with Zach-and practice on that cap'tal D.

I'll tell the Lord how good you wuz; although he hears and

sees,

And knows we never had no words, 'cept 'bout that hoss's knees."

It ketched me in a tender p'int to see her thar so sick,
Troublin' about my writin' and about my 'rithmetic.

She took my hand, we kissed goodby, and 'ranged ter meet

agen

Where tears is tears of gladness and death can't enter in.

Your Honor, when I'd buried her my life wuz struck with blight;

There weren't a blame thing 'round the farm that I could 'tend to right.

My thoughts weren't thar. One day I took the hoss ter get a shoe,

And woke up standin' by the stun readin'" aged sixty-two."

And so at last I selled the farm and went ter find that lad, Thinkin' that p'r'aps he'd growed out of his shame fer his old dad.

For twenty months I've s'arched and s'arched and end up now in N'York,

All gone-too poor ter drive around and much too tired too

walk.

And then, oh, blessed God! I'm glad ye sped that bullet wide.

There'd be'n a tear in heav'n if I had died a suicide.

His Honor's fainted! Water here! Where is my specks? Jeewack!

Ruth, Ruth! look down from paradise! I've found him. Here's our Zach!

AMARYLLIS.

She was milking an Alderney cow
The first time I chanced to behold her,
So I made her a flourishing bow,

I was younger in those days—and bolder.
That her eyes were like stars and as bright
If you'd seen her, I'm sure you'd allow,
And her teeth-well, her teeth were as white
As the milk from that Alderney cow.

I told her I doted on milk

And likewise on milkmaids-the latter
Were especially favorites of mine—

I was young then and knew how to flatter.

The fair one blushed up like a rose,

Dropped her eyes and cried "Fie, for shame, sir?
That's the way all you city men talk;

What do you expect to became, sir?”
But I noticed she spoke with a laugh,
And a coquettish toss of her curls,
As though she half relished the chaff
That the "city men" talk to the girls.
It was then that the Alderney cow,

With a mischievous twitch of her tail,
And an innocent look all the while,
Very gently kicked over the pail.

Not a whisper in anger she uttered,

Not a frown could be traced on her brow,
But in maidenly accents she muttered,
"What a dog-goned ornary cow."

A NAUTICAL CONVERSATION.

CHARACTERS.-Small Boy and Big Boy, in sailor suits. Small Boy. Now captain, what is a sloop? (Pointing to a schooner.) Is that a sloop?

Big Boy. No; that is a schooner.

A sloop has but

one mast; a schooner has two, as you see. Now remem

ber, sloop, one mast; schooner, two.

S. B. Yes. How many masts has a ship?

B. B. Three.

S. B. How many masts did you say a sloop had? B. B. One. Sloop, one mast; schooner, two; ship, three.

S. B. (pointing to a sloop.) Is that a schooner?

B. B. No; that's a sloop. Sloop, one mast; schooner, two; ship, three.

S. B. Oh, yes. (Pointing to a ship.) Isn't that a pretty schooner?

B. B. That's not a schooner. That's a ship. Don't you see it has three masts?

B. B. (loud.) Sloop! Sloop has one mast, I tell you; schooner, two; ship, three.

S. B. (chatty, and oblivious of stupidity.) What is a brig? B. B. A brig has two masts, and is rigged like a ship, with square sails.

S. B.

Are those schooners there with three masts? B. B. (abrupt.) Yes.

S. B. I thought you said a schooner had but one mast? B. B. (impatient.) Two! two masts! Sloop, one mast; schooner, two; ship, three.

S. B. But that schooner has three masts!

B. B. (louder.) Well, it is a three-masted schooner. S. B. Then a schooner can have any number of masts? B. B. (excited.) No; sloop, one mast; schooner, two, and sometimes three masts; ship, three masts.

S. B. It's awfully puzzling. What is a bark?

B. B. (fast and loud.) Vessels with two masts shiprigged, and one mast, sloop-rigged; square sails on fore and mainmast, and fore and aft sails on the mizzen. S. B. Mizzen! What is mizzen?

B. B. Last mast aft.

S. B. Aft! What's the aft?