THE ADVERTISEMENT ANSWERED.-FRANK M. THORN,

1

Good mornin' til yez, yer honor! And are yez the gintlemon

As advertised, in the paper, fur an active, intilligent b'y?
Y'are? Thin I've brought him along wid me,-a raal, fino

sprig iv a wan :
As likely a b'y iv his age, sur, as iver ye'd wish til empl’y,
That's him. Av coorse I'm his mother! Yez can see his

resimblance til me, Fur ivery wan iv his faytures, and mine, are alike as two

paze, Barrin' wan iv his hivenly eyes, which he lost in a bit iv a

spree Wid Hooligan's b’y, which intinded to larrup me Teddy

wid aize; And his taythe, which hung out on his lip, like a pair ir

big, shinin', twin pearls, Till wan iv thim taythe was removed by the fut iv a cow

he was tazin; And his hair, that we niver cu'd comb, along iv bewhilderin'

curls, So we kape it cropp'd short to save combin', and that

makes our intercoorse plazin. And is it rid-headed, ye call him? Belike he is foxy, is Ted; And goold-colored hair is becomin'til thim that's com

plicted wid blonde ! But who cares fur color? Sure, contints out-vally the rest

iv the head ! And Ted has a head full iv contints, as lively as t’hrout

in a pond! Good timpered ? Sure niver a bett'her.—The paceablest, quiet.

est lamb As lives the whole lin'th iy our sthrate, where the b’ys is

that kane fur a row That Ted has to fight iv'ry day, though he'd quarrel no moro

than a clam.Faith, thim b’ys 'ud provoke the swate angels, in hiven,

to fight onyhow! Thim Hooligan b’ys is that d'hirty, they have to be washed

Crn he rade! Sure me Ted has the makin' iv a beautiful

rader, indade, And lairn't all his lett'hers, but twinty, in three months'

attindance at school: But the mast'her got mad at me Teddy, becase iv a joke that

was played Wid a pin, that persuaded the mast'her quite suddint to

rise from his stool. Teddy niver cu'd plaze the school-mast'her wid ony iv thim

playful t’hricks; So, wid his edication unfinished, Ted found it convanient

to lave. But, barrin' the larnin', I'll match him, fur kaneness, fer

'ninst ony six, In butt'herin' paple wid blarney, and playin' nate thricks

to desave. Thim Hooligan b’ys is all raders, but Teddy jist skins 'em

alive: Wid their marbles, and paynuts, and pennies, iv'ry wan

iv his pockets he'll fill By the turn iv his wrist, ur such tactics as Teddy knows

how til cont’hrive: They'd gladly t'hrade off their book-larnin' fur Teddy's

suparior skill! Politeness comes aisy til Ted, fur he's had me to tache him

the thrick Iv bowin' and scrapin' and spakin' to show paple proper

respict. Spake up til the gintlemon, Teddy! Whist! Aft wid yer

cap first, ye stick! He's shapish a t'hrifle, yer honor; he's allus been brought

up that strict. Come! Spake up, and show yer foine bradin! Och! Hear

that!“ How are yez, Owld Moke?” Arrah, millia murther! Did iver yez hear jist the aqua?

iv that? "How are yez, Owld Moke?” says he! Ha! Ha! Sure, yer

honor, he manes it in joke! He's the playfullest b'y! Faith, it's laughin' at Teddy that

makes me so fat! Honest! Troth, he is that! He's that honest, he was niver

tuk by the perlace, Barrin' wanst that Owld Hooligan swore that Teddy had

stole his b'y's knife Wid niver a blade. And the jidge he remairked, wid con.

timpt. 't was the t'hriflinest case To bod'her a dignified Coort wid, he iver had known in his life!

a

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Yez can t'hrust him wid onything. Honest! Does he luk

like a bi'y that 'ud stale? Jist luk in the swate, open face iv him, barrin' the eye

wid the wink:Och! Teddy!! Phat ugly black st'hrame is it runnin'down

there by yer hale! Murtheration! Yer honor, me Teddy has spilt yer fine

bottle iv ink!! Phat? How kem the ink in his pocket? I'm thinkin'he borry'd

it, sur: And

yez saw him pick up yer pen-howlder and stick it

inside iv his slaive ! And yez think that Ted mint til purline 'em!! Ah, wirra!

The likes iv that slur Will d'hrive me,-poor, tinder, lone widdy,-wid sorrow

down intil me grave! Bad cess til yez, Teddy, ye spalpeen! Why c'u'dn't yez

howld on, the dayYe thafe iv the world !-widout breakin' the heart iv me?

No. Yez must stale! I'll tache yez a t'hrick, ye rid-headed, pilferin', gimlet-eyed

flay! Ye freckle-faced, impident bla’guard !-Och! whin we git home yez 'll squale!

- Bric-a-Brac in Scribner's Monthly.

THE GAMBLER'S WIFE.-R. COATES.

Dark is the night! How dark! No light, no fire!
Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire!
Shivering, she watches by the cradle side,
For him, who pledged her love-last year a bride!
“Hark! 'Tis his footstep. No!—'tis past !—'tis gone!"
Tick! Tick!-" How wearily the time crawls on!
Why should he leave me thus? He once was kind !
And I believed 'twould last !-How mad !--How blind!
" Rest thee, my babe !--- Rest on !- 'Tis hunger's cry
Sleep!-For there no food !—The fount is dry!
Famine and cold their wearying work have done,
My heart must break! And thou!" The clock strikes one
“Hush! 'tis the dice-box! Yes, he's there! he's there!
For this!--for this he leaves me to despair!
Leaves love, leaves truth, his wife, his child! for what?
The wanton's smile--the villain-and the sot!

*Yet I'll not curse him. No! 'tis all in vain! 'Tis long to wait, but sure he'll come again! And I could starve, and bless him, but for you, My child !-his child! Oh, tiend!” The clock'strikes two. "Hark! How the sign-board creaks! The blast howls by. Moan! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky. Ha! 'tis his knock! he comes !-he comes once more ?" 'Tis but the lattice flaps. Thy hope is o'er. "Can he desert us thus? He knows I stay,

I Night after night, in loneliness, to pray For his return--and yet he sees no tear! No! no! It cannot be. He will be here! "Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart ! Thou 'rt cold! Thou’rt freezing! But we will not part! Husband !-I die!-Father!--It is not he! O God! protect my child!" The clock strikes three. They're gone, they're gone! the glimmering spark hath filed! The wife and child are numbered with the dead. On the cold earth, outstretched in solemn rest, The babe lay frozen on its mother's breast; The gambler came at last-but all was o'erDread silence reigned around ;--the clock struck four!

THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG.-H. W. LONGFELLOW.

Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet,
His chestnut steed with four white feot,

Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou,
Son of the road and bandit chief,
Seeking refuge and relief,

Up the mountain pathway flew.
Such was Kyrat's wondrous speed,
Never yet could any steed,

Reach the dust-cloud in his course.
More than maiden, more than wife,
More than gold and next to life

Roushan the Robber loved his horne.
In the land that lies beyond
Erzeroum and Trebizond,

Garden-girt his fortress stood!
Plundered khan, or caravan
Journeying north from Koordistan,

Gave him wealth and wine and food

Seven hundred and fourscore
Men at arms his livery wore,

Did his bidding night and day.
Now, through regions all unknown,
He was wandering, lost, alone,

Seeking without guide his way.
Suddenly the pathway ends,
Sheer the precipice descends,

Loud the torrent roars unseen;
Thirty feet from side to side
Yawns the chasm; on air must ride

He who crosses this ravine.
Following close in his pursuit,
At the precipice's foot,

Reyhan the Arab of Orfah Halted with his hundred men, Shouting upward from the glen,

“La Illáh illa Allah !"
Gently Roushan Beg caressed
Kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast;

Kissed him upon both his eyes;
Sang to him in his wild way,
As upon the topmost spray

Sings a bird before it flies.
O my Kyrat, O my steed,
Round and slender as a reed,

Carry me this peril through! Satin housings shall be thine, Shoes of gold, O Kyrat mine,

O thou soul of Kurroglou ! "Soft thy skin as silken skein, Soft as woman's hair thy mane,

Tender are thine eyes and true; All thy hoofs like ivory shine, Polished bright; Oh, life of mine,

Leap, and rescue Kurroglou ! Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, Drew together his four white feet,

Paused a moment on the verge,
Measured with his eye the space,
And into the air's embrace

Leaped as leaps the ocean surge
As the ocean surge o'er sand
Bears a swimmer safe to land,

Kyrat safe his rider bore;