MISS EDITH'S MODEST REQUEST.

My papa knows you, and he says you're a man who makes reading for books;

But I never read nothing you wrote, nor did papa I know by

his looks;

So I guess you're like me when I talk, and I talk and I talk all
the day,
And they only say, "Do stop that child!" or, "Nurse, take
Miss Edith away!"

But papa said if I was good, I could ask you

self

If you wouldn't write me a book like that little one up on the

shelf.

I don't mean the pictures, of course, for to make them you've

got to be smart ;¦

But the reading that runs all around them, you know-just the easiest part. 15

You needn't mind what it's about, for no one will see it but

me

And Jane- that's my nurse -and John-he's the coachman

just only us three.

You're to write of a bad little girl, that was wicked and bold, and all that;

And then you are to write, if you please, something good

very good

of a cat!

This cat she was virtuous and meek, and kind to her parents,

and mild,

And careful and neat in her ways, though her mistress was such a bad child;

And hours she would sit and would gaze when her mistress

that's me

was so bad,

And blink, just as if she would say, "O Edith! you make my heart sad."

And yet, you would scarcely believe it, that beautiful, angelic

cat

Was blamed by the servants for stealing whatever, they said she'd get at

And then there was Dick, my canary. When I left the cage open, one day,

They all made believe that she ate it, though I know that the

bird flew

away.

And why? Just because she was playing with a feather she found on the floor.

As if cats couldn't play with a feather without people thinking

'twas more.

Why, once we were romping together, when I knocked down a vase from the shelf;

That cat was as grieved and distressed as if she had done it herself;

And she walked away sadly and hid herself, and never came out

until tea

So they say, for they sent me to bed, and she never came even

to me.

No matter whatever happened, it was laid at the door of that

cat.

Why, once, when I tore my apron -
I called "Rat!".

she was wrapped in it, and

Why, they blamed that on her. I shall never dying day

no, not to my Forget the pained look that she gave me when they slapped me and took me away.

Of course, you know just what comes next when a child is as lovely as that.

She wasted quite slowly away it was goodness was killing

that cat.

I know it was nothing she ate, for her taste was exceedingly

nice;

But they said she stole Bobby's ice-cream, and caught a bad cold from the ice.

And you'll promise to make me a book like that little one up

on the shelf.

And you'll call her "Naomi," because it's a name that she just gave herself;

For she'd scratch at my door in the morning, and whenever I'd call out "Who's there?".

She would answer, "Naomi! Naomi!" like a Christian, I vow and declare.

And you'll put me and her in a book. And, mind, you're to say I was bad;

And I might have been badder than that but for the example I had.

And you'll say that she was a Maltese- And what's that you

asked ?" Is she dead?"

Why, please, sir, there ain't any cat! You're to make one up out of your head!

BRET HARTE.

THE MAN WITH A BEAR.

AMONG the baggage coming down on a Flint and Pere Marquette train recently, was a full-grown black bear. Bruin had been in captivity for two or three years, and was on his way East for a zoological garden. His owner was allowed to ride with him in the baggage-car, and he seemed to think his bear was the greatest animal on earth. He was ready to bet that Bruin could out-hug and out-bite anything human, and was rather disappointed when the railroad men refused to dispute this point with him. He was indulging in his brag, when an old man came into the car to see about his trunk. He saw the bear, of course, but the glance of contempt he bestowed on the animal instantly kindled the indignation of the owner, who called out:

:

"Mebbe you think I'm toting an old hyena round the coun

try!"

"I guess it's a bear," slowly replied the other; "but I see nothing remarkable about him."..

"You don't, eh? Well, I do! Mebbe you'd like to see nim hug that trunk of yours? What he can't sliver when he gets his paws round it has got to have roots forty feet under ground."

"I've got a son back in the car- "reflectively observed the old man; and then he stopped and looked at the bear. "Your son? Egad! Will you match your son agin my bear?" chuckled the owner, as he danced with delight. "I guess so."

"You do! Bring him in! Trot him out! I'll give him all the show he wants, and bet five to one on the bear!

The old man slowly took in a chew of tobacco and left the car; and when he returned he had his son Martin with him. Martin seemed to be about twenty-seven years of age, and a little taller than a hitching-post. He was built on the ground, with a back like a writing-desk, and arms which seemed to have been sawed from railroad ties.

"Martin, this 'ere man wants to bet five to one that his bear can out-hug you," quietly explained the father as the son sat down on a trunk.

"Yes, that's it—that's just it!" chuckled the owner. "I'll muzzle him so he can't bite, and I'll bet five to one he'll make you holler in two minutes!"

"Muzzle your b'ar!" was all that Martin said, as he pulled out a five-dollar bill and handed it to the baggage-man. The bear-man put twenty-five dollars with it, grinning like a boy in a cherry-trée, and in a minute he had the bear ready. Martin removed his coat and paper collar, and carelessly inquired: "Is this to be a squar' hug, with no gouging?" "Jess so-jess!" replied the bear-man. "You hug the bear, and he will hug you, and the one who squeals first loses his cash. Now then, all ready!"

As Martin approached, the bear rose up with a sinful glare in his eye, and the two embraced. It was a sort of back-hold, with no sell-out on the crowd.

"Go for him, Hunyado!" yelled the bear-man, as they closed, and the bear responded. One could see by the set of his eyes that he meant to make jelly of that young man in a York minute; but he failed to do it. Some little trifles stood in his way. For instance, it wasn't ten seconds before he realized that two could play at hugging. Martin's hand sank down in the bear's coat, the shoulder muscles were called on for duty, and at the first hug the bear rolled his eyes in astonishment.

"Go in, Hunyado go in-go in!" screamed the bearman, and Bruin laid himself out as if he meant to pull a railroad water-tank down.

"You might squeeze a little bit harder, my son," carelessly suggested the father, as he spit from the open door; and Martin called out his reserve muscle.

Each had his best grip. There was no tumbling around to waste breath, but it was a stand-up, stand-still hugging-match. Little by little the bear's eyes began to bulge, and his mouth to open, and Martin's face slowly grew to the color of red paint. Hang to him, Hunyado—I've got my last dollar on your head!" shrieked the bear-man, as he saw a further bulge to his pet's eyes.

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But it was no use. All of a sudden the bear began to yell, and cough, and strangle. He was a "goner." Martin knew it; but he wanted no dispute, and so he gave Hunyado a lift from the floor, a hug which rolled his eyes around like a pin-wheel, and then dropped him in a heap on the floor.

"Well, may I be shot!" gasped the bear-man, as he stood over the half lifeless heap of hair and claws.

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Martin," said the father, as he handed him the thirty dollars, "you'd better go back thar and watch our satchels!"

"Yes, I guess so," replied the son, as he shoved the bills in his vest-pocket; and he retired without another word, or a look at the bear.

That was the bear they were feeding gruel to in a saloon the same evening. One man was giving him gruel, and another was feeling along the spine to find the fracture.