From Shakespeare, classic swearing; A wild, abstracted look she wore, And every word and every pause Made Mary" quote a speech." If Tom was sad, (and he had cause,) 666 Clifford, why don't you speak to me?' At flowers for a present She leer'd, and sang coquettishly, But Mary took offence at this: "You have no soul," said she, "For art, and do not know the bliss And all my friends implore me. Three months of Thunder I have found (Tom look'd a thousand pities,) "And so I'm going on the stage To star in Western cities." And Mary went; but Mary came And in a month she came to Tom, Tom was rejoiced his heart was none 66 The hardest or the sternest. "O, Tom," she sobb'd. "It look'd like fun, But art is dreadful earnest. Why, art means work, and slave, and bear All sorts of scandal too; To dread the critics so you dare Not look a paper through; " And you Are short and soft, my darling." "My money, Tom, is gone, it flew." “That's natural with a starling." "I love you more than words can say, 66 "No, Tom; it's from my heart." With all its spent ambitions, "Can you forgive me, Tom, for "My love, you're pattern'd for a wife. Are hard for even the strongest heart; Yours beats too softly human : TOO LATE FOR THE TRAIN. WHEN they reached the depot, Mr. Mann and his wife gazed in unspeakable disappointment at the receding train, which was just pulling away from the bridge switch at the rate of a mile a minute. Their first impulse was to run after it, but as the train was out of sight and whistling for Sagetown before they could act upon the impulse, they remained in the carriage, and disconsolately turned their horses' heads homeward. Mr. Mann broke the silence, very grimly: "It all comes of having to wait for a woman to get ready." "I was ready before you were," replied his wife. "Great Heavens," cried Mr. Mann, with great impatience, nearly jerking the horses' jaws out of place, "just listen to that! And I sat in the buggy ten minutes yelling at you to come along until the whole neighborhood heard me." "Yes," acquiesced Mrs. Mann, with the provoking placidity which no one can assume but a woman, "and every time I started down stairs you sent me back for something you had forgotten." Mr. Mann groaned. "This is too much to bear," he said, "when everybody knows that if I were going to Europe I would rush into the house, put on a clean shirt, grab up my grip-sack, and fly, while you would want at least six months for preliminary preparations, and then dawdle around the whole day of starting until every train had left town." Well, the upshot of the matter was that the Manns put off their visit to Aurora until the next week, and it was agreed that each one should get himself or herself ready and go down to the train and go, and the one who failed to get ready should be left. The day of the match came around in due time. The train was going at 10.30, and Mr. Mann, after attending to his business, went home at 9.45. "Now, then," he shouted, "only three-quarters of an hour's time. Fly around; a fair field and no favours, you know." And away they flew. Mr. Mann bulged into this room, and flew through that one, and dived into one closet after another with inconceivable rapidity, chuckling under his breath all the time to think how cheap Mrs. Mann would feel when he started off alone. He stopped on his way up stairs to pull off his heavy boots to save time. For the same reason he pulled off his coat as he ran through the dining room, and hung it on a corner of the silver closet. Then he jerked off his vest as he rushed through the hall, and tossed it on the hat-rack hook, and by the time he had reached his He own room he was ready to plunge into his clean clothes. pulled out a bureau drawer and began to paw at the things like a Scotch terrier after a rat. "Eleanor," he shrieked, "where are my shirts?" "In your bureau drawer," calmly replied Mrs. Mann, who was standing before a glass calmly and deliberately coaxing a refractory crimp into place. "Well, but they ain't!" shouted Mr. Mann, a little annoyed. "I've emptied every thing out of the drawer, and there isn't a thing in it I ever saw before." Mrs. Mann stepped back a few paces, held her head on one side, and, after satisfying herself that the crimp would do, replied, "Those things scattered around on the floor are all mine. Probably you haven't been looking into your own drawer.” "I don't see," testily observed Mr. Mann, “ why you couldn't have put my things out for me when you had nothing else to do all the morning." 66 Because," said Mrs. Mann, setting herself into an additional article of raiment with awful deliberation, “ nobody put mine out for me. A fair field and no favours, my dear." Mr. Mann plunged into his shirt like a bull at a red flag. "Foul! he shouted in malicious triumph; "No buttons on the neck!" "Because," said Mrs. Mann, sweetly, after a deliberate stare at the fidgeting, impatient man, during which she buttoned her dress and put eleven pins where they would do the most good, 66 because you have got the shirt on wrong side out." When Mr. Mann slid out of the shirt be began to sweat. He dropped the shirt three times before he got it on, and while it was over his head he heard the clock strike ten. When his head came through he saw Mrs. Mann coaxing the ends and bows of her necktie. "Where are my shirt studs?" he cried. Mrs. Mann went out into another room, and presently came back with gloves and hat, and saw Mr. Mann emptying all the boxes he could find in and around the bureau. Then she said, "In the shirt you just pulled off." Mrs. Mann put on her gloves while Mr. Mann hunted up and down the room for his cuff-buttons. "Eleanor," he snarled, at last," I believe you must know where those cuff-buttons are." "I haven't seen them," said the lady, settling her hat; "didn't you lay them down on the window-sill in the sittingroom last night?" Mr. Mann remembered, and he went down-stairs on thenow. He stepped on one of his boots, and was imma my face, that in the hall at the foot of the stairs with to gaze upon it? patch, attended in the transmission withat offering was well he could count with Webb's Adder, and By the tricklings, it like the Hell-Gate explosion. nkincense. Spare your I desire no "Are you nearly ready, Algern mercenary. wife of his bosom, leaning over thn. I am past those valenThe unhappy man groaned. of untimely chickens upon Comfort your addle spouses the other boot?" he asked. Mrs. Mann, pityingly, kickerthe "My valise?" he inquired, as 66 mouths of your brawling they have need of them. Up in your dressing-room not, I pray you, nor dismantle "Packed?" ents, to furnish me with architec [A coal flies.] "I do not know; unless an excuse. This fragment might not," she replied, with her nst snow comes. barely time to pack my owmen. This nubbling might have She was passing out o' your dirty cuttings from the shamand he shouted, " Wherpound shall stand at a cold simmer. put my vest? It has allh. I would enjoy Australian popu "You threw it on the dear." >m over the water! Old benchers, Before she got to theral Romans, welcome! Doth the again: from limbo? Can it dispeople purga "Eleanor! Eleanor! my coat?" was my father's House, that I should She paused and turnicle to gentlemen and others? Why stop, and cried, "You tsians at the sunrise, bent singly on |