some sand overboard," I replied, suiting the action to the word.

"Don't be foolish, Tom," she said, trying to appear quite calm and indifferent, but trembling uncommonly. "Foolish!" I said. "Oh dear, no! but whether I go along the ground, or up in the air, I like to go the pace, and so do you, Fanny, I know," and over went another sand-bag.

"Why, you're mad, surely.'

"Only with love, my dear," I answered, smiling pleasantly; "only with love for you. Ob, Fanny, I adore you! Say you will be my wife."

"I gave you an answer the other day," she replied; "one which I should have thought you would have remembered," she added, laughing a little, notwithstanding her terror."

"I remember it perfectly," I answered, "but I intend to have a different reply to that. You see those five sand-bags; I shall ask you five times to become my wife. Every time you refuse I shall throw over a sand-bag— so, lady fair, reconsider your decision, and consent to become Mrs. Jenkyns."

"I won't!" she said; "I never will! and, let me tell you, that you are acting in a very ungentlemanly way to press me thus."

"You acted in a very unladylike way the other day, did you not, when you knocked me out of the boat? However, it's no good arguing about it—will you promise to give me your hand?"

"Never!" she answered; "I'll go to Ursa Major first, though I've got a big enough bear here, in all conscience."

She looked so pretty that I was almost inclined to let her off (I was only trying to frighten her, of course-I knew how high we could go safely well enough, and how valuable the life of Jenkyns was to his country); but resolution is one of the strong points of my character, and when I've begun a thing I like to carry it through, so I threw over another sand-bag, and whistled the Dead March in Saul.

"Come, Mr. Jenkyns-come, Tom, let us descend now' and I'll promise to say nothing whatever about all this." I continued the execution of the Dead March.

"But if you do not begin the descent at once, I'll tell papa the moment I set foot on the ground."

Î laughed, seized another bag, and, looking steadily at her, said:

"

"Will you promise to give me your hand?
"I've answered you already," was the reply.

Over went the sand, and the solemn notes of the Dead March resounded through the car.

"I thought you were a gentleman," said Fanny, rising up in a terrible rage from the bottom of the car, where she had been sitting, and looking perfectly beautiful in her wrath; "I thought you were a gentleman, but I find I was mistaken; why, a chimney-sweeper would not treat a lady in such a way. Do you know that you are risking your own life as well as mine by your madness ?"

I explained that I adored her so much that to die in her company would be perfect bliss, so that I begged she would not consider my feelings at all. She dashed her beautiful hair from her face, and standing perfectly erect, looking like the Goddess of Anger or Boadicea—if you can fancy that personage in a balloon-she said:

I command you to begin the descent this instant!" The Dead March, whistled in a manner essentially gay and lively, was the only response. After a few minutes' silence, I took up another bag, and said :

"We are getting rather high; if you do not decide soon we shall have Mercury coming to tell us that we are trespassing-will you promise me your hand?"

She sat in sulky silence in the bottom of the car. I threw over the sand. Then she tried another plan. Throwing herself upon her knees, and bursting into tears, she said:

"Oh, forgive me for what I did the other day! It was very wrong, and I am very sorry. Take me home, and I will be a sister to you."

"Not a wife?" said I.

"I can't! I can't!" she answered.

Over went the fourth bag, and I began to think she would beat me after all; for I did not like the idea of going much higher. I would not give in just yet, however. I whistled for a few moments, to give her time for reflection, and then said:

"Fanny, they say that marriages are made in Heaven -if you do not take care, ours will be solemnized there." I took up the fifth bag.

"Come," said I, "my wife in life, or my companion in death! which is it to be?" and I patted the sand-bag in a cheerful manner. She held her face in her hands, but did not answer. I nursed the bag in my arms, as if it had been a baby."

66

Come, Fanny, give me your promise!"

I could hear her sobs. I'm the most soft-hearted creature breathing, and would not pain any living thing, and, I confess, she had beaten me. I forgave her the ducking; I forgave her for rejecting me. I was on the point of flinging the bag back into the car, and saying: Dearest Fanny; forgive me for frightening you. Marry whomsoever you will. Give your lovely hand to the lowest groom in your stables--endow with your priceless beauty the chief of the Panki-wanki Indians. Whatever happens, Jenkyns is your slave-your dog-your footstool. His duty, henceforth, is to go whithersoever you shall order to do whatever you shall command." I was just on the point of saying this, I repeat, when Fanny suddenly looked up, and said, with a queerish expression upon her

face:

"You need not throw that last bag over. I promise to give you my hand."

"With all your heart?" I asked quickly.

"With all my heart," she answered, with the same strange look.

I tossed the bag into the bottom of the car, and opened the valve. The balloon descended.

Gentlemen, will you believe it? When we reached the ground, and the balloon had been given over to its recovered master-when I had helped Fanny tenderly to the earth, and turned towards her to receive anew the

promise of her affection and her hand-will you believe it?-she gave me a box on the ear that upset me against the car, and running to her father, who at that moment came up, she related to him and the assembled company what she called my disgraceful conduct in the balloon, and ended by informing me that all of her hand that I was likely to get had been already bestowed upon my ear, which she assured me had been given with all her heart.

THE DEACON'S

MASTERPIECE.

OR, THE WONDERFUL "ONE-HOSS SHAY."

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

HAVE you ever heard tell of the wonderful one-hoss shay, That was built in such a logical way.

It ran a hundred years to a day,

And then, of a sudden, it-ah, but stay,
I'll tell you what happened without delay.—

Scaring the parson into fits,

Frightening people out of their wits—

Have you ever heard of that, I say?

Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,
Georgius Secundus was then alive-
Stuffy old drone from the German hive.
That was the year when Lisbon-town
Saw the earth open and gulp her down,
And Braddock's army was done so brown,
Left without a scalp to its crown.
It was on the terrible Earthquake-day
That the Deacon finished his one-hoss shay.

Now in building of chaises, I tell you what,
There is always somewhere a weakest spot-
In hub, tyre, or felloe, in spring or thill,
In panel, or crossbar, or floor, or sill,

In screw, bolt, thorough-brace,-lurking still,
Find it somewhere you must and will-
Above or below, or within or without-
And that's the reason, beyond a doubt,
A chaise breaks down, but doesn't wear out.

"I tell yeou")

He would build one shay to beat the taown 'n' the keounty 'n' all the kentry raoun'; It should be so built that it couldn' break daown; "Fur," said the Deacon, "'t's mighty plain That the weakes' place mus' stan' the strain : 'n' the way t' fix it, uz I maintain,

Is only jest

T' make that place uz strong uz the rest.”

So the Deacon inquired of the village folk
Where he could find the strongest oak,
That couldn't be split nor bent nor broke-
That was for spokes and floor and sills;
He sent for lancewood to make the thills;
The cross-bars were ash, from the straightest trees;
The panels of white-wood, that cuts like cheese,

But lasts like iron for things like these;

The hubs of logs from the "Settler's ellum "-
Last of its timber-they couldn't sell 'em.

Never an axe had seen their chips,

And the wedges flew from between their lips;
Their blunt ends frizzled like celery-tips;
Step and prop-iron, bolt and screw,

Spring, tyre, axle, and linch-pin, too,

Steel of the finest, bright and blue;

Thorough-brace bison-skin, thick and wide;
Boot, top, dasher, from tough old hide
Found in the pit when the tanner died.
That was the way he "put her through"
"There!" said the Deacon, "naow she'll dew!