Here my old father died - Allah grant that I may Should the calif persist in a deed so unfair, The calif to punish the insolent knave; But the calif made answer in tones sweet and grave, THE MAN WICH DIDN'T DRINK WOTTER. ONCE there was a man wich didn't bleeve in drinkin wotter, cos heed tuk a noshen into his hed that wotter was weeknin to the boddy, so he drank logger beer all of the time, and told everybody that was the way to be a sentinarian. But one day he seen a piece in a paper wich sed that logger was mor'n ninety per sent wotter. He was mity tuk down, and sed heed thot ol along that logger was tu thin for the human systum, and he lade in a big kag of wine. After heed drunk the wine most ol, he told a kolege professer he gessed a man wich drunk wine wud liv to be a hundred and 20 years old. But the kolege professer he told him that wine was aity per sent wotter. Then the man he felt offle bad, and he ast the kolege professer if he dident kno of a drink which dident hav no wotter in it. Then the kolege professer he laft, and he sed he gest absloot alkeholl wud fil the bil. The man he sed heed get sum and fil his bil; so he went to a pothekerry and bot a pint of absloot alkeholl, and wen he got home he drunk it ol up. Then he lade down on his bed and kolled his wife and children around him, and he sed, “Mi wife and children Ime going to die cos Ive drunk so much wotter ol my life. Lurn from my sad fait to eschu drinkin wotter." Then he dide, and his widder and orfuns felt dreffle bad, cos heed ben a good husband and father. MICE AT PLAY. FOUR children sat around a wood-fire, in an old-fashioned country-house. The red embers blazed up merrily, and showed four flushed little faces, four very tangled heads of hair, eight bright, merry eyes, and I regret extremely to add — eight very dirty little hands, belonging, respectively, to Bess, Bob, Archie, and Tom. Mamma was away, you may be sure. If she were at home, the children would have made a very different appearance. O yes, indeed, quite and entirely different! The round table was wheeled in front of the fire, and the student-lamp in the centre shed its light on Tom's letter, which he was writing to his mother. Archie was leaning back in the large chair; his arm, which he had broken in riding the trick-mule of the circus the day before, was in a splint; but judging from the rapid disappearance of the gingerbread on the plate near him, it is to be doubted if new cider, trick-mules, or broken arms seriously impair the appetite. "Bess, stop jogging the table! How on earth can a fellow write with you around? "Read what you've written," said Bess. “Yes, do,” chimed in Archie. They were both anxious to know what account their mother would receive of their perform ance. "Wait till it's done," answered Tom. Writing a letter was no joke for Thomas Bradley, junior. "How on earth do you spell circus?" he asked. "S-u-r-k-e-ss," answered Bess, promptly. "No you don't!" cried Tom. "I know better." "If you know so much, why do you ask?" retorted Bess. "Oh, come, Bess! do think, can't you ?" "There is a c in it," put in Archie; "for I saw the big redand-blue posters in the village, and I know there was a c in circuss." "Then it's c-i-r-k-i-s," said Bess. "Yes; I guess that's right," said Tom, thoughtfully, writing the word, and then holding his head back from the paper, first on one side and then on the other, to see if it looked natural. "I'm not exactly sure," he said, at last. "It looks kinder queer. And mamma does make such a row if I don't spell right! What's the use in spelling, any way? If the folks know what you mean, that's enough one way is as good as another. Pshaw!" he continued, "I don't believe it is right. See here, Bob! you're a first-rate little boy a real, regular first-rate good boy, you are." "If it's up-stairs, I won't," declared Bob, who knew that flattery always preceded errands. Bob was one of the kind who learned by experience. "Oh, yes, Bobby! That's a lovely harness you've made for pussy. I couldn't have done better myself. You know where my dictionary is, up in my room, on the table. Run along and get it, that's a good boy." Bob kept on with his work. "Come, Bobby," said Tom, encouragingly. "Go yourself! was Bob's polite suggestion. "Oh, I'm so tired. I've done nothing but run for doctors all day long. Come, Bob, I'll tell mamma what a good boy you if you will." are, "Won't you tell her I dropped the teapot down the well?" asked Bob. 66 Oh, did you?" cried Tom, Bess, and Archie, all in a breath. Bob nodded his head, and looked at them all with a calm stare. "Which one?" asked the three children, anxiously. "The big silver one," said Bob. "How? Why? What were you doing with it? "The gardener wouldn't lend me the watering-pot, and I wanted to water my garden, so I just thought that would do instead; and I went to fill it at the well, and the bucket hit it right over into the well. It was the bucket's fault. I ain't to blame." "Whe-e-ew!" at last whistled Tom. 66 If you won't tell mamma, I'll go for your book," said Bob. "Well, I won't tell her in this letter, any way. "Don't tell her at all," insisted Bob. "If you don't go right off and get it, I'll write it this moment." 66 'I'll go, I'll go !" cried Bob. "That's the worst scrape yet," said Bess. "For if I did get lost, I was found again; and if I did tear my clothes, they are all mended now; and if Archie did break his arm, he's got it mended now, too; but the teapot! That's dropped down the well, and there it is." Bessie's argument was convincing. There was no more to be said. After a while, Tom's letter was finished, and ran as follows: "DEAR MAMMA: I wish you was home. We have dun a good menny bad things. Bess got lost in the woods, and most drowned in Rainy Pond. I shot Kate thru the head with a squirt of water, and most killed her. Archie broke his arm trying to wride the trik-mule at the curkis. Bob has dun worst of all; but I said I woodn't tel that. Bob has dun a dredful thing; but I sed I woodn't tel, so I won't. It's orful. Papa is very good to us, and don't make us wash too much. The bred is orful; Maggy is cross. But we're all well, except Archy's arm, and Dr. Jarvis says if he don't get fever he will get wel. Your loveing son, 66 "P. S. You wil feel orful bad about what Bob's dun.” TOM. The next morning all four children were gathered around the well, at the bottom of which lay the silver teapot. "I see it, I see it!" cried Tom, eagerly. bottom." "It's down at the "Did you suppose it would float?" asked Bess. "Let me see," cried Bob. "You clear out," said Archie; "you've made all this mischief. You'd better go before you tumble in yourself, you little goose. I can't go after it, with my broken arm." "Now, I suppose we will hear of nothing but your broken arm for a month, and you'll shirk everything for it. 'I can't study 'cause my arm's broken; I can't go errands 'cause my arm's broken; I can't go to church 'cause my arm's broken:' that will be your whim, Archie; but don't try your dodges on me, for I won't stand it. If it really hurts you, I'm sorry, and I'll lick any fellow that touches you till you get well again; but none of your humbug. Of course you can't go down the well; you couldn't if your arm wasn't broken." Meanwhile Bess had gone to the house for a long fishingpole, and soon returned carrying it. "We'll fasten a hook to the end of it and fish the teapot up," said she. 66 Ho, ho! Do you suppose it will bite like a fish?" laughed Tom. "No, I do not, Tom Bradley. But I suppose if I tie a string to the pole, and fasten an iron hook to one end, that I can wiggle it round in the water till the hook catches in the handle, and then we can draw it up. That's what I suppose." "There's something in that, Bess. Let me try." "No; go and get one for yourself." "But where can I find one?" "In the smoke-house, where I got mine." "Oh, get me one, too," cried Bob. "And me one, too," cried Archie. Before half an hour had passed, the four children, all armed with fishing-poles, were intently. wiggling in the water, catching their hooks in the stones by the side of the well, entangling their lines, digging their elbows into each other's sides, in their frantic attempts to pull their hooks loose, scolding, pushing, and getting generally excited. Every few minutes Tom would pull Bess back by her sunbonnet, and save her from tumbling over in her eagerness; but so far from being grateful to her deliverer, Bess resented the treatment indignantly. 66 Stop jerking my head so!" she cried. "You'll be in, in a minute; you'd have been in then, if I hadn't jerked you," answered Tom. “Well, what if I had? Let me alone. If I go in, that's my own lookout." "Your own look in, you mean. My gracious! wouldn't you astonish the toads down there! But you'd get your face clean.” I'most had it that time." 66 'Now, Tom, you let me be. "So you've said forty times. down on the rope for it." This is all humbug. I'm going Oh, no, Tom; please don't. Indeed you'll be drowned the rope will break; you'll kill yourself; you'll catch cold," cried Bess, in alarm. ; Pooh! girl! coward!" retorted thankless Tom. "Who's afraid of what? Stand back, small boys, I'm going in." "You'll poison the water," suggested Archie. "It will be so cold," moaned Bob. "I'll scream for a hundred years, without stopping, Tom," cried Bess, wildly. "You shan't go down you shan't; I'll call some one. Murray! Peter! Maggie! c-0-0-0-0-0-0-me! O-0-0-0-h, c-0-0-0-0-me!" 66 Stop screaming, and help. Now, do you three hold on tight to this bucket; don't let go for a moment; pull away as hard as you can when I tell you to. Now for it." Ånd, without more ado, Tom clung to the other rope with his hands, and twisted his feet around the bucket-handle. "Hold on tight, and let me down easy," said Tom; and the three children lowered him little by little. |