JANE (entering).

Why, John, what a litter here! you've thrown things all around!

Come, what's the matter now? and what've you lost or found?

And here's my father here, a-waitin' for supper, too; I've been a-riding with him-he's that "handsomer man than you."

Ha ha! Pa, take a seat, while I put the kettle on,

And get things ready for tea, and kiss my dear old John. Why, John, you look so strange; come what has crossed your track?

I was only a-joking, you know, I'm willing to take it back.

JOHN (aside).

Well, now, if this ain't a joke, with rather a bitter cream! It seems as if I'd woke from a mighty ticklish dream ; And I think she "smells a rat," for she smiles at me so

queer;

I hope she don't; good Lord! I hope that they didn't hear!

'Twas one of her practical drives-she thought I'd understand!

But I'll never break sod again till I get the lay of the land.

But one thing's settled with me-to appreciate heaven well,

'Tis good for a man to have some fifteen minutes of hell.

SPOOPENDYKE OPENING OYSTERS.

BY STANLEY HUNTLEY.

"MY DEAR," queried Mr. Spoopendyke. "did you put those oysters on the cellar floor with the round shells down, as I told you to?"

"I did, most of 'em," replied Mrs. Spoopendyke. "Some of 'em wouldn't stay that way. They turned right over.

"Must have been extraordinarily intelligent oysters," murmured Mr. Spoopendyke, eyeing her with suspicion. "They didn't any of 'em stand up on end, and ask for the morning paper, did they?"

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"You know what I mean," fluttered Mrs. Spoopendyke. They tipped over sideways, and so I laid them on the flat shell."

"That's right," grunted Mr. Spoopendyke. "You want to give an oyster his own way, or you'll hurt his feelings. Suppose you bring up some of those gifted oysters, and an oyster-knife, and we'll eat 'em."

Mrs. Spoopendyke hurried away, and pattered back with the feast duly set out on a tea-waiter, which she placed before Mr. Spoopendyke with a flourish.

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Now," said she, drawing up her sewing-chair, and resting her elbows on her knees, and her chin on her hands," when you get all you want, you may open me some."

Mr. Spoopendyke whirled the knife around his head, and brought it down with a sharp crack, then he chipped away at the end a moment, and jabbed at what he supposed was the opening. The knife slipped, and ploughed the bark off his thumb.

"Won't come open, won't ye?" he shouted, fetching it another lick, and jabbing away again. "" Haven't completed your census of who's out here working at ye, have ye?" and he brought it another whack; "perhaps ye think I haven't fully made up my mind to inquire within, don't ye?" and he rammed the point of the knife at it, knocking the skin off his knuckles.

"That isn't the way to open an oyster," suggested Mrs. Spoopendyke.

"Look here," roared Mr. Spoopendyke, turning fiercely on his wife; "have you got any private understanding with this oyster? Has the oyster confided in you the particular way in which he wants to be opened?"

"No-o!" stammered Mrs. Spoopendyke, "only I thought-"

"This is no time for thought!" shouted Mr. Spoopendyke, banging away at the edge of the shell. "This is the moment for battle; and if I've happened to catch this oyster during office hours, he's going to enter into relations with the undersigned. Come out, will ye?" he yelled, as the knife flew up his sleeve. "Maybe you don't recognise the voice of Spoopendyke. Come out, ye measly coward, before ye make an enemy of me for life!" and he belted away at the shell with the handle of the knife, and spattered mud like a dredging-machine.

"Let me get you a hammer to crack him with," recommended Mrs. Spoopendyke, hovering over her husband in great perturbation.

"Don't want any hammer," howled Mr. Spoopendyke, slamming around with his knife. "S'pose I'm going to use brute force on a measly fish that I could swallow alive if I could only get him out of his house? Open your measly premises!" raved Mr. Spoopendyke, stabbing at the oyster vindictively, and slicing his shirt-sleeve clear to the elbow. "Come forth, and enjoy the society of Spoopendyke!" And the worthy gentleman foamed at the mouth, and he sank back in his chair, and contemplated his stubborn foe with glaring eyes.

"I'll tell you what to do," exclaimed Mrs. Spoopendyke, radiant with a profound idea. Crack him in the door." "That's the scheme," grinned Mr. Spoopendyke, with horrible contortions of visage. "Fetch me the door. Set that door right before me on a plate. This oyster is going to stay here. If you think this oyster is going to have any change of climate until he strikes the tropics of Spoopendyke, you don't know the domestic habits of shell-fish. Loose your hold!" squealed Mr. Spoopendyke, returning to the charge, and fetching the bivalve a prodigious whack. "Come into the outer world, where all is gay and beautiful. Come out, and let me introduce you to my wife." And Mr. Spoopendyke laid the oyster on the arm of his chair, and slugged him remorselessly. Wait," squealed Mrs. Spoopendyke, "here's one with his mouth open," and she pointed cautiously at a gaping

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oyster, who had evidently taken down the shutters to see what the row was about.

"Don't care a measly nickel for one with a hole in it,”. protested Mr. Spoopendyke, thoroughly impatient. "Here's one that's going to open his mouth, or the resurrection will find him still wrestling with the ostensible head of this family. Ow!" said Mr. Spoopendyke, having rammed the knife into the palm of his hand, slammed the oyster against the chimney-piece, where it was shattered, and danced around the room wriggling with wrath and agony. "Never mind the oysters, dear," cried Mrs. Spoopendyke following him around, and trying to disengage his wounded hand from his armpit.

"Who's minding 'em?" roared Mr. Spoopendyke, standing on one leg, and bending up double. "I tell ye that when I start to inflict discipline on a narrow-minded oyster that won't either accept an invitation or send regrets, he's going to mind me! Where's the oyster? Show me the oyster! Arraign the oyster!"

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Upon my word, you've opened him," giggled Mrs. Spoopendyke, picking up the smashed bivalve between the tips of her thumb and forefinger.

"Won't have him," sniffed Mr. Spoopendyke, eyeing the broken shell, and firing his defeated enemy into the grate, "If I can't go in by the front door of an oyster, I'm not going down the scuttle. That all comes of laying 'em on the flat shell," he continued, suddenly recollecting that his wife was to blame for the whole business. "Now you take the rest of 'em down, and lay 'em as I told you to." "Yes, dear."

"And another time you want any oysters, you sit around in the cellar, and when they open their mouths you put sticks in. You hear?"

"Yes, dear."

And Mrs. Spoopendyke took the bivalves back, resolving that the next time they were in demand they would crawl out of their shells, and walk upstairs arm in arm, before she would have any hand in the mutilation of her poor, dear, suffering husband by bringing them up herself.

"CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT."

(A legendary incident of the time of Oliver Cromwell.)

BY ROSE HARTWICK THORPE,

SLOWLY England's sun was setting o'er the hill-tops far away,

Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day, And the last rays kissed the foreheads of a man and maiden fair,

He with footsteps slow and weary-she with sunny, floating hair;

He with bowed head, sad and thoughtful—she with lips all cold and white,

Struggling to keep back the murmur,-" Curfew must not ring to-night."

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Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison old,

With its turrets tall and gloomy, with its walls dark, damp, and cold,

"I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die At the ringing of the curfew, and no earthly help is nigh! Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her lips grew strangely white

As she breathed the husky whisper,-" Curfew must not ring to-night."

"Bessie," calmly spoke the Sexton,-every word pierced her young heart

Like the piercing of an arrow-like a deadly-poisoned dart

"Long, long years I've rung the curfew from that gloomy, shadowed tower;

Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour;

I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right, Now I'm old I still must do it; curfew, it must ring tonight."