stiff, for I minded me how these French waiters, wid their paper collars and brass rings on their fingers, isn't company for no gurril brought up dacint and honest. Och! sorra a bit I knew what was comin' till the missus walked into me kitchen smilin', and says, kind o' schared, "Here's Fing Wing, Kitty, an' you'll have too much sinse to mind his bein' a little strange." Wid that she shoots the doore; and I, misthrusting if I was tidied up sufficient for me fine buy wid his paper collar, looks up and— Holy fathers! may I niver brathe another breath, but there stud a rale haythen Chineser a-grinnin' like he'd just come off a taybox. If you'll belave me, the crayture was that yeller it 'ud sicken you to see him; and sorra stich was on him but a black night-gown over his trowsers and the front of his head shaved claner nor a copper biler, and a black tail a-hangin' down from behind, wid his two feet stook into the heathenesest shoes you ever set eyes on. Och! but I was up-stairs afore you could turn about, a givin' the missus warnin'; an' only stopt wid her by her raisin' me wages two dollars, and playdin' wid me how it was a Christian's duty to bear wid haythins and taitch 'em all in our power-the saints save us! Well, the ways and trials I had wid that Chineser, Ann Ryan, I couldn't be tellin'. Not a blissed thing cud I do but he'd be lookin' on wid his eyes cocked up'ard like two poomp-handles, an' he widdout a speck or a smitch o' whiskers on him, and his finger-nails full a yard long. But it's dying you'd be to see the missus a larnin' him, and he grinnin an' waggin' his pig-tail (which was pieced out long wid some black stoof, the haythen chate!) and gettin' into her ways wonderful quick, I don't deny, imitatin' that sharp, you'd be shurprised, and ketchin' and copyin' things the best of us will do ahurried wid work, yet don't want comin' to the knowledge of the family-bad luck to him! Is it ate wid him? Arrah, an' would I be sittin' wid a haythen, and he a-atin' wid drumsticks-yes, an' atin' dogs an' cats unknownst to me, I warrant you, which is the custom of them Chinesers, till the thought made me that sick I could die. An' didn't the crayter proffer to help me a wake ago come Toosday, an' me a foldin' down me clane clothes for the ironin', an' fill his haythen mouth wid water, an' afore I could hinder squrrit it through his teeth stret over the best linen table-cloth, and fold it up tight, as innercent now as a baby, the dirty baste! But the worrest of all was the copyin' he'd be doin', till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yerself knows the tinder feet that's on me since ever I've bin in this country. Well, owin' to that, I fell into the way o' slippin' me shoes off when I'd be settin down to pale the praties or the likes o' that, and, do ye mind, that haythin would do the same thing after me whiniver the missus set him parin' apples or tomaterses. The saints in heaven couldn't have made him belave he cud kape the shoes on him when he'd be payling anything. Did I lave fur that? Faix an' didn't he get me into trouble wid my missus, the haythin? You're aware yerself how the boondles comin' from the grocery often contains more 'n 'll go into anything dacently. So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper and put it in me bit of a box tucked under the ironin' blankit the how it cuddent be bodderin' any one. Well, what should it be, but this blessed Sathurday morn the missus was a spakin' pleasant and respec'ful wid me in me kitchen, when the grocer boy comes in an' stands fornenst her wid his boondles, an' she motions like to Fing Wing (which I never would call him by that name nor any other but just haythin), she motions to him, she does, for to take the boondles an' empty out the sugar an' what not where they belongs. If you'll belave me, Ann Ryan, what did that blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup o' sugar, an' a handful o' tay, an' a bit o' chaze, right afore the missus, wrap them into bits o' paper, an' I spacheless wid shuprise, an' he the next up wid the ironin' blankit and pullin' out me box wid a show o' bein' sly to put them in. Och, the Lord forgive me, but minute THE VICTIM. 'ud curdle your blood. I clutched it, and the missus sayin', "O Kitty!" in a way that "He's a haythin nager," says I. "I've found you out," says she. "I'll arrist him," says I. ought to be arristed," says she. "It's you "You won't," says I. "I will," says she; and so it went, till she give me such sass as I cuddent take from no lady, an' I give her warnin' an' left that instant, an’ she a-pointin' to the doore. THE HODJA'S DONKEY ON HIS VERACITY. BY S. S. COX. A FRIEND calls on Narr-ed-din to borrow his donkey. Very sorry," says the Hodja, who does not want to lend the animal, "but the donkey is not here; I have hired him out for the day." Unfortunately, just at that moment the donkey begins to bray loudly, thus giving the direct lie to the Hodja. "How is this, Hodja?" says his friend; "you say the donkey is away, and here he is braying in the stable!" The Hodja, nothing daunted, replies in a grave manner : "My dear sir, please do not demean yourself so low as to believe the donkey rather than myself a fellow-man and a venerable Hodja with a long gray beard." The moral of the last fable some people will never perceive. It is this: An ass will always reveal himself by some inappropriate remark. Asses should be seldom seen, and never heard. The wise man hideth his ass when the borrower cometh around. LITTLE BREECHES. BY JOHN HAY. JOHN HAY, born in Salem, Ind., October 8, 1838, and best known as a humorist through his "Pike County Ballads," has had a varied career in politics, war, diplomacy, journalism and literature. Appointed one of Lincoln's private secretaries in 1861, he served with ability in the war, with distinction as Secretary of Legation in Paris, Vienna and Madrid, wrote his signally important book on Spain, "Castilian Days," became connected with the N. Y. Tribune on his return, and was afterwards Assistant Secretary of State under President Hayes. He is a graduate of Brown University, and was bred to the law. I DON'T go much on religion, I never ain't had no show; But I've got a middlin' tight grip, sir, I don't pan out on the prophets And free-will, and that sort of thing- I come into town with some turnips, Could beat him for pretty and strong, Always ready to swear and fight- The snow come down like a blanket I went in for a jug of molasses And left the team at the door. They scared at something and started--- And hell-to-split over the prairie Went team, Little Breeches and all. |