singel." I left the Profit and startid for the tavern whare I put up to. On my way I was overtuk by a lurge krowd of Mormins, which they surroundid me & statid they were goin into the Show free.

"Wall," sez I, "ef I find a individooal who is goin round lettin folks into his show free, I'll let you know."

"We've had a Revelashun biddin us go into A. Ward's Show without payin nothin!" thay showted.

"Yes," hollered a lot of femaile Mormonesses, ceasin me by the cote tales & swingin me round very rapid, "we're all goin in free! So sez the Revelashun !"

"What's Old Revelashun got to do with my show?" sez I, gettin putty rily. "Tell Mister Revelashun," sed I, drawin myself up to my full hite and lookin round upon the ornery krowd with a prowd & defiant mean—" tell Mister Revelashun to mind his own bizness, subject only to the Konstitushun of the United States !"

"Oh, now, let us in, that's a sweet man," sed several femailes, puttin thare arms round me in luvin style. "Become I of us. Becum a Preest & hav wives Sealed to you."

"Not a Seal!" sez I, startin back in horror at the idee. "Oh stay, Sir, stay," sed a tall, gawnt femaile, ore whoos hed 37 summirs hev parsd-"stay, & I'll be your Jentle Gazelle." "Not ef I know it, you won't," sez I. "Awa, you skanderlus femaile, awa! Go & be a Nunnery!" That's what I sed, JES SO. "& I," sed a fat, chunky femaile, who must hev wade more than too hundred lbs., "I will be your sweet gidin Star!"

Sez I, "Ile bet two dollars and a half you won't!" Whare ear I may Rome Ile still be troo 2 thee, Oh Betsy Jane! [N. B. -Betsy Jane is my wife's Sir naime.]

"Wiltist thou not tarry here in the promist Land ?" sed several of the meserabil critters.

"Ile see you all essenshally cussed be 4 I wiltist!" roared I, as mad as I cood be at thare infernal noncents. I girdid up my Lions & fled the Seen. I packt up my duds & Left Salt Lake, which is a 2nd Soddum & Germorrer, inhabitid by as theavin & onprincipled a set of retchis as ever drew Breth in eny spot on the Globe.

THE SIMPLE STORY OF G. WASHINGTON.

BY ROBERT J. BURDETTE.

ONLY yesterday, a lady friend on a shopping excursion left her little tid toddler of five bright summers in our experienced charge, while she pursued the duties which called her down-town. Such a bright boy; so delightful it was to talk to him! We can never forget the blissful half-hour we spent looking that prodigy up in his centennial history.

"Now listen, Clary," we said-his name is Clarence Fitzherbert Alençon de Marchemont Caruthers-" and learn about George Washington.

"Who's he?" inquired Clarence, etc.

"Listen," we said; "he was the father of his country." "Whose country?”

"Ours; yours and mine-the confederated union of the American people, cemented with the life blood of the men of '76, poured out upon the altars of our country as the dearest libation to liberty that her votaries can offer!"

"Who did?" asked Clarence.

There is a peculiar tact in talking to children that very few people possess. Now most people would have grown impatient and lost their temper when little Clarence asked so many irrelevant questions, but we did not. We knew, however careless he might appear at first, that we could soon interest him in the story, and he would be all eyes and ears. So we smiled sweetly -that same sweet smile which you may have noticed on our photographs, just the faintest ripple of a smile breaking across the face like a ray of sunlight, and checked by lines of tender sadness, just before the two ends of it pass each other at the back of the neck.

And so, smiling, we went on.

"Well, one day George's father-"

"George who?" asked Clarence.

George Washington. He was a .ittle boy then, just like you One day his father—”

66

Whose father?" demanded Clarence with an encouraging expression of interest,

"George Washington's; this great man we were telling you of. One day George Washington's father gave him a little hatchet for a-"

"Gave who a little hatchet?" the dear child interrupted, with a gleam of bewitching intelligence. Most men would have got mad, or betrayed signs of impatience, but we didn't. We know how to talk to children. So we went on:

"Whose father?"

"George Washington's."

"Oh!"

"Yes, George Washington. And his father told him-"

"Told who?"

"Told George."

"Oh, yes, George."

And we went on just as patient and as pleasant as you could imagine. We took up the story right where the boy interrupted, for we could see that he was just crazy to hear the end of it. We said:

"And he told him that-"

"George told him?" queried Clarence.
"No, his father told George-"

"Oh!"

"Yes; told him that he must be careful with the hatchet-"

"Who must be careful?"

CLARENCE.

"Yes; must be careful with the hatchet-"

"What hatchet?"

"Why, George's."

"Oh!"

"Yes; with the hatchet, and not cut himself with it, or drop it in the cistern, or leave it out on the grass all night. So George went round cutting everything he could reach with his hatchet. And at last he came to a splendid apple-tree, his father's favorite, and cut it down, and-"

"Who cut it down?"

"George did."

“Oh !"'

"But his father came home and saw it the first thing, and—' "Saw the hatchet?"

"No! saw the apple tree. And he said: 'Who has cut down my favorite apple-tree?" "

"Whose apple-tree?"

"George's father's. And everybody said they didn't know anything about it, and—”

"Anything about what?"

"The apple-tree.”

"Oh!"

"And George came up and heard them talking about it—"

"Heard who talking about it?"

"Heard his father and the men."

"What was they talking about?" "About this apple-tree."

"What apple-tree?"

"The favorite apple-tree that George cut down." "George who?"

"George Washington."

"Oh!"

"So George came up, and he said, 'Father, I cannot tell a lie. It was-""

"His father couldn't?"

"Why, no, George couldn't."

"Oh! George? Oh, yes!"

"It was I cut down your apple-tree; I did—'

"His father did?"

“No, no, no; said he cut down his apple-tree."

"George's apple-tree?"

"No, no; his father's."

"Oh!"

"He said-"

"His father said?"

"No, no, no; George said, Father, I cannot tell a lie. I did. it with my little hatchet.' And his father said: 'Noble boy, I would rather lose a thousand trees than have you to tell a lie.' "George did?"

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"No; his father said that."

"Said he'd rather have a thousand trees?"

"No, no, no; said he'd rather lose a thousand apple-trees than-"

"Said he'd rather George would?"

"No; said he'd rather he would than have him lie."

"Oh! George would rather have his father lie?"

We are patient, and we love children, but if Mrs. Caruthers, of Arch Street, hadn't come and got her prodigy at that critical juncture, we don't believe all Burlington could have pulled us out of the snarl. And as Clarence Fitzherbert Alençon de Marchemont Caruthers pattered down the stairs, we heard him telling his ma about a boy who had a father named George, and he told him to cut an apple-tree, and he said he'd rather tell a thousand lies than cut down one apple-tree. We do love children, but we don't believe that either nature or education has fitted us to be a governess.

THE COURTIN'.

BY JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

AMES RUSSELL LOWELL, whose "Biglow Papers" placed America inapproachably first in humorous literature, was born at Cambridge, Mass., in 1819, and was graduated at Harvard in 1838. He was admitted to the bar two years later, but never practiced his profession, having already given proofs of his poetic genius and transcendent wit. He early dedicated himself to the anti-slavery cause; and these literary efforts that made his fame were for a long time more or less in its interest. After some years' travel and study in southern Europe, he took the chair vacated by Longfellow's resignation, of Professor of Modern Languages and Belles Lettres in Harvard, which he held tili appointed Minister to Spain in 1877. He was transferred to the English Court in 1880. He was the first editor of The Atlantic Monthly, and was afterwards editor of The North American Review.