THE ADVERTISEMENT ANSWERED.-FRANK M. THORN. Good mornin' til yez, yer honor! And are yez the gintlemon As likely a b'y iv his age, sur, as iver ye'd wish til empl'y. That's him. 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 iv 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 complicted 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, quietest lamb As lives the whole lin❜th iv our st'hrate, where the b'ys is that kane fur a row That Ted has to fight iv'ry day, though he'd quarrel no more 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 wanst a wake Faith, Hooligan finds it convanient to live down ferninst the canall Where the wat'her fur scrubbin' the mud off his child'hers is not far til sake. But Teddy is allus that nate that he niver nades washin' at all! 1 Can 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, ferninst ony six, In butt'herin' paple wid blarney, and playin' nate t'hricks 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 that strict. up 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 aqual 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 contimpt, 'twas the t'hriflinest case To bod'her a dignified Coort wid, he iver had known in his life! FFFFF Yez can thrust him wid onything. Honest! Does he luk like a b'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 day Ye 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! For him, who pledged her love-last year a bride! Leaves love, leaves truth, his wife, his child! for what? "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, fiend!" The clock strikes two. “Can he desert us thus? He knows I stay, "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 fled! 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'er Dread silence reigned around ;--the clock struck four! THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG.-H. W. LONGFELLOW. Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, Son of the road and bandit chief, Up the mountain pathway flew. Such was Kyrat's wondrous speed, Reach the dust-cloud in his course. Roushan the Robber loved his horse. 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 Did his bidding night and day. Suddenly the pathway ends, Loud the torrent roars unseen; Following close in his pursuit, Reyhan the Arab of Orfah Gently Roushan Beg caressed O my Kyrat, O my steed, O thou soul of Kurroglou! Leap, and rescue Kurroglou! Kyrat, then, the strong and fleet, Leaped as leaps the ocean surge. |