moment when the axe was coming down with all its force. It was too late to stop the blow. Down came the axe. I screamed, and my father fell to the ground in terror. He could not stay the stroke, and in the blindness which the sudden horror caused he thought he had killed his boy. We soon recovered—I from my fright, and he from his terror. He caught me in his arms and looked at me from head to foot, to find out the deadly wound which he was sure he had inflicted. Not a drop of blood nor a scar was to be seen. He knelt upon the grass and gave thanks to a gracious God. Having done so, he took up his axe and found a few hairs upon its edge. He turned to the log he had been splitting. and there was a single curl of his boy's hair sharply cut through and laid upon the wood. How great the escape! It was as if an angel had turned aside the edge at the moment it was descending upon my head. "That lock he kept all his days as a memorial of God's care and love. That lock he left to me on his deathbed. I keep it with care. It tells me of my father's God and mine. It rebukes my unbelief and alarm. It bids me trust Him forever. I have had many tokens of fatherly love in my threescore years and ten, but somehow this speaks most to my heart. It is the oldest and perhaps the most striking. It used to speak to my father's heart; it now speaks to mine." THE OWL-CRITIC.-JAMES T. FIELD. "Who stuffed that white owl?" No one spoke in the shop; The customers, waiting their turns, were all reading The young man who blurted out such a blunt question; And the barber kept on shaving. "Don't you see, Mister Brown," How flattened the head is, how jammed down the neck is- I make no apology; I've learned owl-eology. I've passed days and nights in a hundred collections, Arising from unskilful fingers that fail To stuff a bird right, from his beak to his tail. Do take that bird down, Or you'll soon be the laughing-stock all over town!" "I've studied owls, And other night fowls, And I tell you What I know to be true: And the barber kept on shaving. With his limbs so unloosed; He can't do it, because Ornithology preaches, That can't turn out so! I've made the white owl my study for years, And to see such a job almost moves me to tears! Mister Brown, I'm amazed You should be so gone crazed As to put up a bird In that posture absurd! To look at that owl really brings on a dizziness; The man who stuffed him don't half know his business! And the barber kept on shaving. "Examine those eyes. And the barber kept on shaving. "With some sawdust and bark I could stuff in the dark Stuck up there so stiff like a side of coarse leather. Just then, with a wink and a sly normal lurch, I'm an owl; you're another. Sir Critic, good-day!” And the barber kept on shaving. THE LOVER'S SACRIFICE. "Hark! the minute gun is booming, And amid the trembling watchers, Now with arms outstretched and wide. Ah, among the fated hundreds Who will die ere break of day Stands her lover! "Oh, God help him!" "For my sake, oh, Ronald, save him!" Hark! another peal of thunder- No! One figure still is clinging To the stern. Hear that low wail! Binds the saving rope around him, Wakes to joy upon the shore, ONE DAY SOLITARY.-J. T. TROWBRIDGE. I am all right! Good-bye, old chap! Twenty-four hours, that won't be long; Nothing to do but take a nap, And-say! can a fellow sing a song? Will the light fantastic be in order A pigeon-wing on your pantry floor? What are the rules for a regular boarder? Be quiet? All right! Cling-clang goes the door. Clang-clink the bolts, and I am locked in; Come next, I suppose, for I just begin To perceive the sting in the tail of my sentence"One day whereof shall be solitary." Here I am at the end of my journey, He took my money, the very last dollar, To wear at my trial; he knew all the time Then didn't it put me into a fury, To see him step up, and laugh and chat With the county attorney, and joke with the jury, When all was over, then go back for his hat While Sue was sobbing to break her heart, And all I could do was to stand and stare! It's droll to think how, just out yonder, I am nothing to them, they are nothing to me. And Sue-yes, she will forget me, too, While I am at work on a five years' job. They'll set me to learning a trade, no doubt, I shall go marching in and out, One of a silent, tramping file Of felons, at morning, and noon, and night- And work with a thief at left and right, And feed, and sleep, and-nothing else. |