Enter PRUDENCE.

Prud. Good-morning, cousin. Who was that speaking so loudly?

Snob. Only Jones. Poor fellow, he is so deaf that I suppose he fancies his own voice to be a mere whisper.

Prud. Why, I was not aware of this. Is he very deaf? Snob. Deaf as a stone fence. To be sure he does not use an ear-trumpet any more, but one must speak excessively high. Unfortunate, too, for I believe he is in love.

Prud. (With some emotion.)

Snob. Can't you guess?

In love with whom?

Prud. Oh, no; I haven't the slightest idea.

Snob. With yourself! He has been begging me to obtain him an introduction.

Prud. Well, I have always thought him a nice-looking young man. I suppose he would hear me if I should say (speaks loudly,) Good-morning, Mr. Jones?"

Snob. (Compassionately.) Do you think he would hear that? Prud. Well, then, how would (speaks very loudly,) “Goodmorning, Mr. Jones!" How would that do?

Snob. Tush! he would think you were speaking under your breath.

Prud. (Almost screaming.) Good-morning!"

Snob. A mere whisper, my dear cousin.

But here he comes. Now, do try and make yourself audible.

Enter JONES.

Snob. (Speaking in a high voice.) Mr. Jones, cousin. Miss Winterbottom, Jones. You will please excuse me for a short time. (He retires, but remains in view.)

Jones. (Speaking shrill and loud, and offering some flowers.) Miss, will you accept these flowers? I plucked them from their slumber on the hill.

Prud. (In an equally high voice.) Jones. (Aside.) She hesitates. It not hear me. (Increasing his tone.) these flowers-FLOWERS? I plucked hill-HILL.

Really, sir, I—I—

must be that she does Miss, will you accept them sleeping on the

Prud. (Also increasing her tone.) Certainly, Mr. Jones. They are beautiful-BEAU-U-TIFUL.

Jones. (Aside.) How she screams in my ear (Aloud.)

Yes, 1 plucked them from their slumber-SLUMBER, on the hill-HILL.

Prud. (Aside.) Poor man, what an effort it seems to him to speak. (Aloud.) I perceive you are poetical. Are you fond of poetry? (Aside.) He hesitates. I must speak loud. er. (In a scream.) Poetry-POETRY-POETRY!

Jones. (Aside.) Bless me, the woman would wake the dead! (Aloud.) Yes, Miss, I ad-o-r-e it.

Snob. (Solus from behind, rubbing his hands.) Glorious! glo rious! I wonder how loud they can scream. Oh, vengeance thou art sweet!

Prud. Can you repeat some poetry-POETRY?
It is this:

Jones. I only know one poem.

You'd scarce expect one of my age-AGE,
To speak in public on the stage—STAGE.

Prud. (Putting her lips to his ear and shouting.) Bravobravo!

Jones. (In the same way.) Thank you! THANK

Prud. (Putting her hands over her ears.)

you think I am DEAF, sir?

Mercy on us! Do

Jones. (Also stopping his ears.) And do you fancy me deaf, Miss?

(They now speak in their natural tones.)

Prud. Are you not, sir? You surprise me!

Jones. No, Miss. I was led to believe that you were deaf. Snobbleton told me so.

Prud. Snobbleton! Why he told me that you were deaf. Jones. Confound the fellow! he has been making game of us.

THE DRUNKARD'S DREAM.-CHARLES W. DENISON.

The drunkard dreamed of his old retreat,-
Of his cosy place in the tap-room seat;
And the liquor gleamed on his gloating eye,
Till his lips to the sparkling glass drew nigh.
He lifted it up with an eager glance,
And sang, as he saw the bubbles dance:
"Aha! I am myself again!

Here's a truce to care, an adieu to pain.

Welcome the cup, with its creamy foam!
Farewell to work and a mopy home!
With a jolly crew and a flowing bowl,
In bar-room pleasures I love to roll!"

Like a flash, there came to the drunkard's side
His angel child, who that night had died!
With look so gentle, and sweet, and fond,
She touched his glass with her little wand;
And oft as he raised it up to drink,

She silently tapped on its trembling brink,
Till the drunkard shook from foot to crown,
And set the untasted goblet down.

"Hey, man!" cried the host, "what meaneth this? Is the covey sick? or the dram amiss?

Cheer up, my lad! quick the bumper quaff!"
And he glared around with a fiendish laugh.

The drunkard raised his glass once more,
And looked at its depths as so oft before;
But started to see on its pictured foam,
The face of his dead little child at home!
Then again the landlord at him sneered,
And the swaggering crowd of drunkards jeered;
But still, as he tried that glass to drink,
The wand of his dead one tapped the brink!

The landlord gasped: "I swear my man,
Thou shalt take every drop of this flowing can !"
The drunkard bowed to the quivering brim,
Though his heart beat fast and his eye grew dim.
But the wand struck harder than before;-
The glass was flung on the bar-room floor.
All around the ring the fragments lay,
And the poisonous current rolled away.

The drunkard woke. His dream was gone;
His bed was bathed in the light of morn;
But he saw, as he shook with pale, cold fear,
A beautiful angel hovering near.

He rose, and that seraph was nigh him still;
It checked his passions, it swayed his will,
It dashed from his lips the maddening bowl,
And victory gave to his ransomed soul.
Since ever that midnight hour he dreamed,
Our hero has been a man redeemed.

And this is the prayer that he prays alway,
And this is the prayer let us help him pray,
That angels may come, in every land,
To dash the cup from the drunkard's hand

YYY

BE JUST, AND FEAR NOT-ALFORD.

Speak thou the truth! Let others fence
And trim their words for pay;
In pleasant sunshine of pretense
Let others bask their day.

Guard thou the fact; though clouds of night
Down on thy watch-tower stoop;-

Though thou shouldst see thine heart's delight Borne from thee by their swoop!

Face thou the wind! Though safer seem

In shelter to abide;

We were not made to sit and dream;

The safe, must first be tried.

Where God hath set his thorns about,

Cry not, "The way is plain;

His path within, for those without,
Is paved with toil and pain.

One fragment of his blessed word
Into thy spirit burned,

Is better than the whole, half-heard,
And by thine interest turned.

Show thou thy light! If conscience gleam,
Set not the bushel down;

The smallest spark may send his beam
O'er hamlet, tower, and town.

Woe, woe to him, on safety bent,
Who creeps to age from youth,
Failing to grasp his life's intent
Because he fears the truth!

Be true to every inmost thought;
And as thy thought, thy speech!
What thou hast not by suffering bought,
Presume not thou to teach!

Hold on, hold on! Thou hast the rock'
The foes are on the sand:

The first world-tempest's ruthless shook
Scatters their shifting strand;

While each wild gust the mist shall clear.
We now see darkly through,

And justified at last appear

The true, in Him that's true.

Wdum her to THE INTEMPERATE.-CHARLES LAMB.

The waters have gone over me, but out of its black depths, cou! I be heard, I would call out to all those who have set a foot in the peri.oas flood. Could the youth to whom the flavor of the first wine is delicious as the opening scenes of life, or the entering upon some newly discovered paradise, look into my desolation, and be made to understand what a dreary thing it is when he shall feel himself going down a precipice, with open eyes and a passive will; to see his destruction, and have no power to stop it, and yet feel it all the way emanating from himself; to feel that all virtue has left him, and yet not be able to forget the time when it was otherwise; to bear about the piteous spectacle of his own ruin: could he see my fevered eyes, feverish with last night's drinking, and feverish looking for to-night's repetition of .the folly; could he but feel the body of the death out of which I cry,- hourly with feebier outcry,-to be delivered, it were enough to make him dash the sparkling beverage to the earth in all the pride of its mantling temptation.

THE LUCKY (ALL.

A country curate visiting his flock,

At old Rebecca's cottage gave a knock.

Good morrow, dame, I mean not any libel,
But in your dwelling have you got a bible?"
A bible, sir?" exclaimed she in a rage,
D'ye think I've turned a Pagan in my age?
Here, Judith, and run up stairs, my dear,
"Tis in the drawer, be quick, and bring it here."
The girl returned with bible in a minute,-
Not dreaming for a moment what was in it;—
When lo! on opening it at parlor door,
Down fell her spectacles upon the floor.
Amazed she stared, was for a moment dumb,

But quick exclaimed, " Dear sir, I'm glad you're come!
'Tis six years since these glasses first were lost,
And I have missed 'em to my poor eyes' cost!"
Then as the glasses to her nose she raised,
She closed the bible-saying "God be praised!"