GOING TO THE CIRCUS.

BY LOUISE DUPEE.

"I WOULDN'T care about going to the circus if I were you, Nan," said Jack, who stood in all the glory of his Sunday clothes, waiting for Seth to harness the horse which was to take him to that bit of earthly paradise. "The lions might get out of their cages and eat you up, or you might get under the horses' feet and be trampled to death; and then, besides, there's such a erowd, you might get lost; mamma says 80."

"Why don't you stay at home, then?" said Nan, wiping a great tear from the tip "You end of her little freckled nose. know mamma doesn't want you to go, if papa did say you might."

"Why, I'm a boy, you know," said Jack, "and it's very different."

"I guess the lions would eat up a boy just as soon as they would a girl, and a boy would get lost a great deal sooner-you would, anyway. Mamma says you're al ways in mischief, and she 'spects you'll get into trouble, if you do get home alive!" said Nan, excitedly.

a

"Pooh!" said Jack, contemptuously, “; lion couldn't eat me; I'd stick my knife into his throat before he had time to wink!" And he drew a small sized pocket-knife with a great display of valor. "O my, wont it be fun to see the monkeys ride on horseback!'

"I want to go! O I do want to go!" said Nan, bursting into fresh tears, as the alluring picture of the monkey riding in state rose in her vision.

"Come in here, Nan!" said Hannah, appearing in the doorway. "I want to tell you something."

"What is it?" said Nan, between her sobs.

"O, I can't tell you until you come in. It's a secret, and we don't want Jack to know it!"

Nan cast a triumphant look at Jack, who did look rather crestfallen, for Hannah's secrets were always worth something; but he recovered himself during the process of turning a somersault, which he did to show his utter indifference; and Nan followed Hannah into the house.

Nan forgot the circus in her impatience to know what it could be, but there was that torment, Jack, listening under the window, and they were obliged to retire into the pantry, before Hannah could unburden herself.

"We've just heard from your Uncle Sam's folks," she began, in a mysterious whisper, and the whisper increased the importance of what she had to say in a marvellous degree, "and what do you think? They're all coming here to tea to-nightAunt Jane, and Minty, and all !"

"Minty!" said Nan, clapping her hands "O wont that be splendid! delightedly. But wont they come a good while before tea? It's such a long time before five o'clock."

"Well, no, I don't s'pose they will come much before that," said Hannah, who, though bent on consolation, was not willing to sacrifice truth.

"Why not? they always do come early. But they haven't been here now since 1 was a little girl," said Nan, reflectively.

"Well, you see they're going to the circus, and are coming in here on their way home. The circus always was dreadful takin' to up-country people, and when once they caught a glimpse of them red-coated. noodles a blowin' on their trumpets, and ridin' along at such a rate, there's nothing to do but leave all and go. I wonder a sensible man like your Uncle Sam should leave his haying at this time! Your ma thinks 'taint very nice for ladies to go to the circus; but there! your Aunt Jane hasn't had such advantages as she has, and I s'pose she wants to see something, if it isn't quite so fine. Mercy! catch me to leave my work at this time o' year for all the circuses in Christendom, to say nothin' of going fifteen miles!"'

Minty can go to the circus, everybody can go to the circus 'cept me," said Nan, remembering her sorrows again.

"But I haven't told you all," said Hannah, growing mysterious again, “the best part's to come!" And she whispered in her ear, though Jack was half way to the corner by that time. "Your ma says I

again before any one missed her. They were so busy, mamma and Hannah, that they wouldn't mind if she wasn't at home till nearly tea time; she usually played in the field all the afternoon when there was no school. Then she remembered her mother had told her not to step her foot into the woods, and was unwilling she should go to the circus, even under the care of Seth, for fear something would happen to her. But then, didn't she hear Hannah and Seth talking the other night, when they thought she was asleep, of her mother's being foolishly worried about Jack and her, because she was sick and nervous, and Seth said he pitied her-Nanand that she was too smart a little thing to be always tied to her mother's apronstrings.

Nan was rather indignant at the time that Seth should imagine mamma didn't know what was best for her own little girl; but now she was beginning to think she was imposed upon dreadfully. The music pealed on and on, and as the picture of the brilliant circus crowd grew more and more vivid in her imagination, before she knew it almost, she had stepped under an ivydraped gothic archway in the stump fence, and was following in the direction of the enchanted sounds as fast as her feet would carry her.

to go through it than to try to wade through the Atlantic Ocean, and Nan was ready to cry with despair. But she concluded not to do so, for crying doesn't help bad matters at all, and started valiantly to go round the swamp. But O, what a distance it was, and what a bewildering brambly distance! She began to fear she should never find her way out of the woods! It was growing late, she knew, for the sun which she could see now and then, where the trees were not so tall, was quite low, and the tears came into her eyes, in spite of herself, as she wandered on and on, never heeding the briers, though they scratched her face fearfully. Then the music which had been playing, "Partant pour le Syrie," suddenly ceased, and she had no guide whatever for her poor tired little feet. But it was very, very near, and on listening intently Nan was sure she heard voices.

She had no zeal for circus going now; all she thought of was home. Should she ever see her mother and father again? And how worried her mother would be about her as soon as it grew dark; for if she ever did reach home, there was no prospect of her doing so before that time. The woods were very deep where she was, but it looked lighter before her, as if she were near the eud. The ground grew more marshy, though, and she sank so at every step that she could hardly get along; but she persevered, and was soon rewarded by seeing white tents with flags flying therefrom through the leaves. They must be the circus tents, she thought; but who would have imagined that those woods were the woods bordering the common? Yes, there were scarlet coats flitting about, and there was a great confusion of voices. O, if she could only find Seth to take her home! Not even the baby lions had the least interest for her now, and she would hardly have turned her head to see the monkeys ride on horseback. Moreover, the redcoats, though bewitching, inspired her with a sort of fear and awe, as if they had just trooped out of elfland, and she did not care to face them alone and unprotected at that time of night. The sun was setting, and the frogs were singing; the performance was over, and they had the field to themselves. This Nan could see from the point where she was standing now. But Uncle Jack did not live very far away, and

It was lovely in the woods, not so dark as to be uncanny, but cool and shady, and not so still as to be fearsome, for the birds were singing, and from every direction some merry brook was running to fill its pitcher in the river that wound through the field below. But after a while it grew deeper, and darker, and more tangled; strange brilliant flowers peeped from the underbrush. In some places she found herself half buried in thickets of spicy swamp pinks; blackberry briers held her mercilessly in their grasp; she was obliged to walk ankle deep through cold slimy pools; her dress was torn, her face was scratched, the water oozing from her shoes at every step, but the music was growing nearer and nearer, and Nan was brave under its magic influence. Sometimes there was a pile of brush almost mountain high in her way; but she was light, and managed to scramble over it somehow. But at last she came to a great wild swamp, full of rushes and black muddy looking water. It would be of no more use to try she thought she could find his house if she

could ever get out of that dreadful bog. She took a step or two forward, but found herself sinking. She grasped a branch above her head and tried to draw herself out, but she was fast in the black sticky mud, and the more she tried to get out the deeper she sank. She screamed, of course, with all her might and main, and after what seemed to her an age, a scarlet coat came to her assistance. One of the clowns, who had grown dreadfully tired of his own jokes, had strayed away from the tents to take breath before the evening's performance, and hearing Nan's agonized cries, regardless of his brave attire, went splashing through the mire and water toward her. Nan would have been afraid of him under any other circumstances, though he had the jolliest and least elflike face imaginable; but now she was only too thankful to see any one.

"Goodness me, sissy!" he exclaimed; "you are in a bad fix, anyhow! How did you happen to get here ?" And he looked with amazement at the stretch of bog on this side and the stretch of bog on that. "I should think you were a veritable little bog-trotter, such as I used to know about when I was a boy in the old country."

And Nan, overcome with relief and penitence, confided to the clown what a bad girl she had been, and how she had run away to the circus, and how her mother was breaking her heart about her that moment, she knew.

"

And a kinder clown than he never cracked a joke. Nan liked him immensely the first glance she gave him, and wasn't afraid of him a bit, after all, in spite of his suspicious acquaintance with bog-trotters.

"Mamma will never forgive me!" she sobbed; "but I did want to see the baby lions, and the Shetland ponies, and the monkeys that rode horseback!"

Well, well, don't cry, sissy," said he; "taint too late to see them now. I'll tell you what I'll do; I'll take the Shetland ponies and drive you home to your mother. We'll have 'em harnessed up right away into the little chariot; and while they're harnessing 'em, we'll take a look round."

Nan felt that she didn't deserve such bliss, but she almost forgot her naughtiness, even her mother, while viewing the baby lions and the funny monkeys. The fat woman, who was just taking a lunch in a little dressing-room, made by a curtain in

one corner of the large tent, gave her a piece of plum cake and helped her arrange her toilet, and the giant, who was almost as nice as the clown, lifted her on to the back of a great sleepy elephant, and gave her a whole pocketful of candy, though she had assured him several times that she was a very bad girl. And she asked him if he from the bad giantess in her fairy-book? were not the good giant who saved Filena They all laughed as if they would die at this; even the monkeys joined in the chorus, though why it was so funny Nan could not imagine, and she was quite offended.

But the Shetland ponies appeared just then, and the little red chariot they drew was ready for her occupancy. And so Nan went home in state, the dignity of her position detracting somewhat from her penitence. As they passed through the village all the boys from far and near gathered round the chariot to wonder and admire, and from that day Nan's importance was greatly increased in their eyes. Before they reached her own door Jack appeared ready to die with envy, and who, though rather relieved to see his sister safe and sound, and amazed beyond measure to see her in such state, screamed out as soon as he saw her:

"I don't believe you saw the elephant fire the pistol, Nan!"'

Nan's mother had been dreadfully worried about her, for it was very late, though not quite dark; but she neither scolded nor punished her, for the forlorn little figure of the child told that she had been through hardships enough to punish her for her disobedience. And she was beginning to think that she ought to have allowed her to go to the circus in the first place, and that grown folks didn't realize how great such little disappointments were to children. And when Nan thought of those dreadful woods, she thought she would never, never go where her mother bade her not again.

A Sunday school teacher was explaining the omnipresence of the Deity to his scholars, and ended by telling him that "He was everywhere." Whereupon a red-headed boy asked, "Is he in my pocket?" The teacher said the question was rather profane, but he would answer yes; "he was everywhere." "I've got you there," said the boy; "I aint got no pocket."