Box. Doesn't it belong to me?

Mrs. B. No!

Fox

There!

Mrs. B.

You hear, sir, it belongs to me!
No-it belongs to both of you!

Fox and Box. Both of us?

Mrs. B. Oh, dear, gentlemen, don't be angry-but, you see, this gentleman—(pointing to Box)-only being at home in the day time, and that gentleman--(pointing to Fox)-at night, I thought I might venture, until my little back second floor room was ready-

Mrs. B. Excuse me; but if you both take it, you may just

as well stop where you are.

Fox and Box. True.

Fox. I spoke first, sir―

Box.

room is

With all my heart, sir.

The little back second floor

yours, sir-now, go—

Fox. Go? Pooh, pooh!

Mrs. B. Now, don't quarrel, gentlemen. You see, there used to be a partition here

Fox and Box. Then put it

Mrs B.

up !

Nay, I'll see if I can't get the other room ready

this very day. Now, do keep your tempers.

THE COLD-WATER MAN.-SAXE.

THERE lived an honest fisherman,
I knew him passing well-
Who dwelt hard by a little pond,
Within a little dell.

This single-minded fisherman
A double calling had,—
To tend his flocks, in winter-time,
In summer, fish for shad.

In short this honest fisherman,
All other toils forsook;

And though no vagrant man was he,
He lived by "hook and crook."

All day that fisherman would sit
Upon an ancient log,

And gaze into the water, like
Some sedentary frog.

A cunning fisherman was he;
His angles all were right;
And, when he scratched his aged poll,
You'd know he got a bite.

To charm the fish he never spoke,
Although his voice was fine;
He found the most convenient way,
Was just to "drop a line."

And many a "gudgeon" of the pond,
If made to speak to-day,

Would own with grief, this angler had A mighty" taking way."

One day, while fishing on the log,

He mourned his want of luck,—
When, suddenly, he felt a bite,
And jerking-caught a duck!
Alas! that day, the fisherman
Had taken too much grog;
And being but a landsman, too,
He couldn't "keep the log."

In vain he strove with all his might,
And tried to gain the shore;—
Down, down he went to feed the fish
He'd baited oft before!

The moral of this mournful tale
To all is plain and clear :—
A single "drop too much" of rum,
May make a watery bier

And he who will not "sign the pledge.'

And keep his promise fast,
May be, in spite of fate, a stark
Cold-water man, at last.

HOW MICHAEL FAGAN CURED HIS PIG

"The top o' the mornin' to ye, docthur." "Ah! Michael, how are you."

"It's very well I am mesel', docthur; but perhaps ye'll be tellin' a poor man wot he'll be doin' for the pig, sure?”

66 Pig!" exclaimed the doctor, with a smile. "What pig? and what's the matter with him ?"

"Sure, he's very bad indade, so he is. A cowld, docthur. Snaizing and barking the head off him a'most, and I'd like to know what I'll be doin' wuth him?"

"Well, really, Michael, I can't say. I'm not a pig doctor. at any rate!"

"It's mesel' as could say that, sure.

But s'p'osin' it were a baby, instead-the sweet craithur—what would I be doin' wuth him for the cowld he has?"

"Well," continued the doctor, considerately, " if it were a child, Michael, perhaps I should recommend a mustard poultice for his back, and that his feet be placed in hot water.”

"It's much obleeged to you, docthur, I am," responded Mike, as the physician passed along; and he entered his domicil. Biddy," he added, addressing his good woman, "we'll cure the pig, so we will." And in a little time the snaizing porker was enveloped in a strong mustard poultice, from his ears to his tail! Notwithstanding his struggles and his wheezings, and torture from the action of the unyielding plaster, a tub of almost boiling water was prepared, and into it poor piggy was soused above his knees. The result may be easily con

ceived!

Next morning, bright and early, Michael stood at his little gate once more, awaiting the coming of the doctor, who soon made his appearance, as usual.

"Good morning, Mike; how's the pig?"

"O, be garrah, docthur! It was mighty oncivil in ye to be trating a neighbor that way, so it was."

66 'Why, what has happened, Michael?"

"Happened is it! I put the poultis on the pig, so I didan' he squailed bloody murther to be sure; an' the wull came off his back, from nape to dock."

"What?"

"An thin I put the swait baist's feet into the hot wathur, as ye bid me do, an' be jabers! in five minutes the hoofs drapt clain off o' him intirely, too! so they did."

SIGNS OF A STORM.-ANON.

THE hollow winds begin to blow,
The clouds look black, the grass is low;

The soot falls down, the spaniels sleep,
And spiders from their cobwebs peep.
Last night the sun went pale to bed,
The moon in haloes hid her head;
The boding shepherd heaves a sigh,
For, see! a rainbow spans the sky!
The walls are damp, the ditches smell,
Closed is the light-red pimpernel.

Hark! how the chairs and tables crack
Old Betty's joints are on the rack;

Her corns with shooting pains torment her,
And to her bed untimely sent her;

Loud quack the ducks, the sea-fowls cry,
The distant hills are looking nigh.
How restless are the snorting swine!
The busy flies disturb the kine;
Low o'er the grass the swallow wings;
The cricket, too, how sharp he sings!
Puss on the hearth, with velvet paws,
Sits wiping o'er her whiskered jaws;
The smoke from chimneys right ascends,
Then spreading back to earth it bends;
The wind unsteady, veers around,
Or setting in the south is found;
Through the clear stream the fishes rise,
And nimbly catch the cautious flies.
The glow-worms, numerous, clear and bright,
Illumed the dewy hill last night;
At dusk the squalid toad was seen,
Like quadruped, stalk o'er the green.
The whirling wind the dust obeys,
And in the rapid eddy plays;
The frog has changed his yellow vest,
And in a russet coat is dress'd;

The sky is green, the air is still,

The mellow blackbird's voice is shrill;