The mother started and shivered,
But trouble and want were near;
She lifted her baby gently,
"You'll be very careful, dear?"
"Careful? You foolish darling,"-

How tenderly it was said!

What a smile shone through the chalk and paint,

"I love each hair of his head!"

The noise rose into an uproar,
Misrule for the time was king;
The clown, with a foolish chuckle,

Bolted into the ring.

But as, with a squeak and a flourish,

The fiddles closed their tune,

"You'll hold him as if he was made of glass?

Said the clown to the pantaloon.

The jovial fellow nodded;

"I've a couple myself," he said,

"I know how to handle 'em, bless you!

Old fellow, go ahead!"

The fun grew fast and furious,

And not one of all the crowd

Had guessed that the baby was alive,
When he suddenly laughed aloud.

Oh, that baby laugh! It was echoed
From the benches with a ring,

And the roughest customer there sprang up
With," Boys, it's the real thing!

The ring was jammed in a minute,
Not a man that did not strive
"For a shot at holding the baby"—
The baby that was "alive!"

He was thronged by kneeling suitors,
In the midst of the dusty ring,
And he held his court right royally,
The fair little baby-king,

Till one of his shouting courtiers,
A man with a bold, hard face,
The talk, for miles, of the country,
And the terror of the place,

Raised the little king to his shoulder,
And chuckled "Look at that!"

As the chubby fingers clutched his hair,
Then, "Boys, hand round the hat!"
There never was such a hatful
Of silver, and gold, and notes;
People are not always penniless
Because they don't wear coats!

And then, "Three cheers for the Baby!'
I tell you those cheers were meant,
And the way in which they were given
Was enough to raise the tent.

And then there was sudden silence,
And a gruff old miner said,

"Come, boys, enough of this rumpus,
It's time it was put to bed."

So, looking a little sheepish,
But with faces strangely bright,
The audience, somewhat lingeringly,
Flocked out into the night.

And the bold-faced leader chuckled,
"He wasn't a bit afraid!

He's as game as he is good-looking—
Boys, that was the show that paid!"

SCOTTY BRIGGS AND THE PARSON.
66
BY MARK TWAIN" (SAMUEL L. CLEMENS).

THERE was a grand time over Buck Fanshaw when he died. He was a representative citizen. He had "killed his man"-not in his own quarrel, it is true, but in defence of a stranger unfairly beset by numbers. He had

kept a sumptuous saloon, had held a high position in the fire department, and been a very Warwick in politics. When he died there was great lamentations throughout the town, but especially in the vast bottom stratum of society.

Prodigious preparations were made for the funeral. All the vehicles in town were hired, all the saloons put in mourning, all the municipal and fire company flags hung at half-mast, and all the firemen ordered to muster in uniform and bring their machines duly draped in black. Now let us remark in parentheses-as all the peoples of the earth had representative adventurers in the Silverland, and, as each adventurer had brought the slang of his nation or his locality with him, the combination made the slang of Nevada the richest and the most infinitely varied and copious that had ever existed anywhere in the world, perhaps, except in the mines of California in the "early days." Slang was the language of Nevada. It was hard to preach a sermon without it, and be understood. Such phrases as "You bet!" "Oh, no, I reckon not!" "No Irish need apply," and a hundred others, became so common as to fall from the lips of a speaker unconsciously-and very often when they did not touch the subject under discussion, and consequently failed to mean anything.

After Buck Fanshaw's inquest, a meeting of the shorthaired brotherhood was held, for nothing can be done on the Pacific coast without a public meeting, and an expression of sentiment. 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 committeeman," Scotty" Briggs, made his visit, and in after days it was worth something to hear the minister tell about it. Scotty was a stalwart rough, whose customary suit, when on weighty official business, like committee work, was a fire helmet, flaming red flannel shirt, patent leather belt with spanner and revolver attached, coat hung over arm, and pants stuffed

into boot tops. He formed something of a contrast to the pale theological student. It is fair to say of Scotty, however, in passing, that he had a warm heart and a strong love for his friends, and never entered into a quarrel when he could reasonably keep out of it. Indeed, it was commonly said that whenever one of Scotty's fights was investigated, it always turned out that it had originally been no affair of his, but that out of native goodheartedness he had dropped in of his own accord to help the man who was getting the worst of it. He and Buck Fanshaw were bosom friends for years, and had often taken adventurous "pot-luck" together. On one occasion they had thrown off their coats and taken the weaker side in a fight among strangers, and after gaining a hard-earned victory, turned and found that the men they were helping had deserted early, and not only that, but had stolen their coats and made off with them. But to return to Scotty's visit to the minister. He was on a sorrowful mission now, and his face was the picture of woe. Being admitted to the 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 mustered 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 did not understand?"

With another sigh and a half sob, Scotty rejoined:

66

Why, you see, we are in a bit of trouble, and the boys thought maybe you would give us a lift, if we'd tackle you that is if I've got the rights of it, and you are 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:

"You ruther hold over me, pard. I reckon I can't call that hand. Ante and pass the buck."

66

"I beg pardon. What did I understand you to say?" Well, you've ruther got the bulge on me. Or, maybe, we've both got the bulge, somehow. You don't smoke me and I don't smoke you. You see, one of the boys has passed in his checks, and we want to give him a good send off; and so the thing I'm on now is to roust out somebody to jerk a little chin-music for us, and waltz him through handsome."

66

At first I

Would it

My friend, I seem to grow more and more bewildered. Your observations are wholly incomprehensible to me. Cannot you simplify them in some way? thought I understood you, but I grope now. not expedite matters if you restricted yourself to categorical statements of fact, unencumbered with obstructing accumulations of metaphor and allegory?"

Another pause, and more reflection. Then said Scotty: "I'll have to pass, I judge."

"How?"

"You've raised me out, pard."

"I still fail to catch your meaning."

66

Why, that last lead of yourn is too many for methat's the idea. I can't neither trump nor follow suit." The clergyman sank back in his chair perplexed. Scotty leaned his head on his hand and gave himself up to thought. Presently his face came up, sorrowful but confident.

"I've got it now, so's you can savvy. What we want is a gospel-sharp. See?"

“A what?”

"Gospel-sharp. Parson."

"Oh! Why did you not say so before? clergyman—a parson."

a man.

I am a

"Now you talk! You see my blind and straddle it like Put it there!"-extending a brawny paw, which closed over the minister's small hand, and gave it a shake indicative of fraternal sympathy and fervent gratification.