"No, my dear, I haven't been out this evening. I changed my mind." Just then, Wallis entered the room with that peculiar Kossuth on his head, and the mystery was explained. Mrs. Centre was not a little confused, and very much ashamed of herself. Wallis had been in Smithers' library smoking a cigar, and had not seen Sophia. Her statement that she had not seen Centre for a month was strictly true, and Mrs. Centre was obliged to acknowledge that she had been jealous without a cause, though she was not "let into" the plot of Wallis. But Centre should have known better than to tell his wife what a pretty, intelligent, amiable, and kind-hearted girl Sophia was. No husband should speak well of any lady but his wife. AUNT TABITHA.-O. W. HOLMES. Whatever I do and whatever I say, Dear aunt! If I only would take her advice- If a youth passes by, it may happen, no doubt, A walk in the moonlight has pleasure, I own, How wicked we are, and how good they were then! QQQ If the men were so wicked,- I'll ask my papa I am thinking if aunt knew so little of sin, A martyr will save us, and nothing else can ; THE DESERTED MILL.-Trans. from A. SCHNEZLER It stands in the lonely Winterthal, At the base of Ilsberg hill; It stands as though it fain would fall,- Its engines coated with moss and mould, Its mildewed walls and windows old So through the daylight's lingering hours, But soon as the sunset's gorgeous bowers The long-dead millers leave their lairs, And open its creaking doors, And their feet glide up and down its stairs And over its dusty floors. And the miller's men, they too awake, The wheels turn round, the hoppers shake, The mill bell tolls again and again, And the cry is "Grist here, ho!" And the dead old millers and their men Move busily to and fro. And ever as night wears more and more And the clangor, deafening enough before, Huge sacks are barrowed from floor to floor; The hoppers clatter, and the engines roar, But with the morning's pearly sheen, And the moon-dim face of a woman is seen "Come hither, good folks, the corn is ground; Thereon strange hazy lights appear, And a deep, melodious, choral cheer For suddenly all again is dark, It stands in the desolate Winterthal, It stands as though it would rather fall,- Its engines, coated with moss and mould, Its mildewed walls and windows old SOME MOTHER'S CHILD.-FRANCIS L. KEELER. At home or away, in the alley or street, A girl that is thoughtless, or a boy that is wild, My heart echoes softly, ""Tis some mother's child." And when I see those o'er whom long years have rolled, Whose hearts have grown hardened, whose spirits are cold,Be it woman all fallen, or man all defiled, A voice whispers sadly, "Ah! some mother's child." No matter how far from the right she hath strayed; No matter what elements cankered the pearl- No matter how wayward his footsteps have been; No matter how low is his standard of joy ; Though guilty and loathsome, he is some mother's boy. That head hath been pillowed on some tender breast ; TRUE HEROISM. Let others write of battles fought, Where honor greets the man who wins, But I will write of him who fights And vanquishes his sins, Who struggles on through weary years He is a hero staunch and brave Who stands erect in manhood's might The bravest man who drew a sword It calls for something more than brawn An enemy who marcheth not With banner, plume, and drum- A foe forever lurking nigh, With silent, stealthy tread; Forever near your board by day, All honor, then, to that brave heart! Who struggles with his better part- He may not wear a hero's crown, But truth will place his name among THE BABY'S FIRST TOOTH.-DANBURY NEWS MAN. Mr. and Mrs. Jones had just finished their breakfast. Mr. Jones had pushed back his chair and was looking under the lounge for his boots. Mrs. Jones sat at the table, holding the infant Jones and mechanically working her forefinger in its mouth. Suddenly she paused in the motion, threw the astonished child on its back, turned as white as a sheet, pried open its mouth, and immediately gasped "Ephraim!” Mr. Jones, who was yet on his knees with his head under the lounge, at once came forth, rapping his head sharply on the side of the lounge as he did so, and getting on his feet, inquired what was the matter. "O Ephraim," said she, the tears rolling down her checks and the smiles coursing up. "Why, what is it, Aramathea?" said the astonished Mr. Jones, smartly rubbing his head where it had come in contact with the lounge. "Baby!" she gas ed. Mr. Jones turned pale and commenced to sweat. "Baby! 0-0-0 Ephraim! Baby has-baby has got a little toothey, oh! oh!" "No!" screamed Mr. Jones, spreading his legs apart, dropping his chin and staring at the struggling heir with all his might. "I tell you it is," persisted Mrs. Jones, with a slight evidence of hysteria. "Oh, it can't be!" protested Mr. Jones, preparing to swear if it wasn't. "Come here and see for yourself," said Mrs. Jones. "Open its 'ittle mousywousy for its own muzzer; that's a toody-woody; that's a blessed 'ittle 'ump o' sugar." Thus conjured, the heir opened its mouth sufficiently for the father to thrust in his finger, and that gentleman having convinced himself by the most unmistakable evidence that a tooth was there, immediately kicked his hat across the room, buried his fist in the lounge, and declared with much feeling that he could lick the individual who would dare to intimate that he was not the happiest man on the face of the earth. Then he gave Mrs. Jones a hearty smack on the mouth and snatched up the heir, while that lady rushed tremblingly forth after Mrs. Simmons, who lived next door. In a moment Mrs. Simmons came tearing in as if she had been shot out of a gun, and right oehind her came Miss Simmons at a speed that indicated that she had |