for manliness. This is equally undesirable. It will break one's constitution, and between a good constitution broken and one never strong there is but little choice. Wise care blended with hearty earnestness should rule our winter enjoyments. And a kindly consideration for less favored ones should never be neglected. Many need our help, and should have it freely while we ourselves rejoice.

She lived unknown, and few could know
When Lucy ceased to be;

A maid whom there were none to praise But she is in her grave, and O

BUCK FANSHAW'S FUNERAL.

BUCK FANSHAW'S FUNERAL.

671

T

S. C. CLEMENS.

HERE was a grand time over Buck Fanshaw when he died. He was a representative citizen. On the inquest it was shown that, in the delirium of a wasting typhoid fever he had taken arsenic, shot himself through the body, cut his throat, and jumped out of a four-story window and broken his neck, and, after due deliberation, the jury, sad and tearful, but with intelligence unblinded by its sorrow, brought in a verdict of "death by the visitation of Providence." What could the world do without juries!

Prodigious preparations were made for the funeral. All the vehicles in town were hired, all the saloons were put in mourning, all the municipal and fire-company flags were hung at half-mast and all the firemen ordered to muster in uniform, and bring their machines duly draped in black.

Regretful resolutions were passed and various committees appointed; among others, a committee of one was deputed to call on the minister--a fragile, gentle, spiritual new fledgling from an eastern theological seminary, and as yet unacquainted with the ways of the mines. The committee-man, "Scotty" Briggs, made his visit.

Being admitted to his presence, he sat down before the clergyman, placed his fire-hat on an unfinished manuscript sermon under the minister's nose, took from it a red silk handkerchief, wiped his brow, and heaved a sigh of dismal impressiveness, explanatory of his business. He choked and even shed tears, but with an effort he mastered his voice, and said, in lugubrious tones:

"Are you the duck that runs the gospel-mill next door?"

"Am I the pardon me, I believe I do not understand."

With another sigh and a half sob, Scotty rejoined:

Why you see we are in a bit of trouble, and the boys thought maybe you'd give us a lift, if we'd tackle you, that is, if I've got the rights of it, and you're the head clerk of the doxology works next door."

"I am the shepherd in charge of the flock whose fold is next door."

"The which?"

"The spiritual adviser of the little company of believers whose sanctuary adjoins these premises."

Scotty scratched his head, reflected a moment, and then said: