At this critical moment a fresh comely woman pressed through the throng to get a peep at the grey-bearded man. She had a chubby child in her arms, which, frightened at his looks, began to cry. "Hush, Rip," cried she, "hush, you little fool, the old man won't hurt you." The name of the child, the air of the mother, the tone of her voice, all awakened a train of recollections in his mind. "What is your name, my good woman ?" asked he.

"Judith Gardenier."

"And your father's name?"

'Ah, poor man, his name was Rip Van Winkle; it's twenty years since he went away from home with his gun, and never has been heard of since; his dog came home without him; but whether he shot himself or was carried away by the Indians, nobody can tell. I was then but a little girl."

Rip had but one more question to ask; but he put it with a faltering voice:

"Where's your mother ?"

"Oh, she too had died but a short time since; she broke a blood-vessel in a fit of passion at a New England pedlar."

There was a drop of comfort at least in this intelligence. The honest man could contain himself no longer. He caught his daughter and her child in his arms. "I am your father!” cried he; "Young Rip Van Winkle once-old Rip Van Winkle now! -does nobody know poor Rip Van Winkle ?"

All stood amazed, until an old woman, tottering out from among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peeping under it in his face for a moment, exclaimed, "Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle-it is himself! Welcome home again, old neighbour. Why, where have you been these twenty long years ?"

Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to him but as one night.

It was determined, however, to take the opinion of old Peter Vanderdonk, who was seen slowly advancing up the road. was a descendant of the historian of that name, who wrote one of the earliest accounts of the province. Peter was the most ancient inhabitant of the village, and well versed in all the wonderful events and traditions of the neighbourhood. He recollected Rip at once, and corroborated his story in the most satisfactory manner,

He assured the company that it was a fact, handed down from his ancestor the historian, that the Kaatskill Mountains had always been haunted by strange beings. That it was affirmed that the great Hendrick Hudson, the first discoverer of the river and country, kept a kind of vigil there every twenty years, with his crew of the Half-moon, being permitted in this way to revisit the scenes of his enterprise, and keep a guardian eye upon the river and the great city called by his name.

Ralph Waldo Emerson.

[Perhaps the greatest author America has yet produced. His Essays have created a new school of thought. He was a great friend of Mr. Carlyle. This bit of humour is rare amongst his writings, and not much known.]

THE MOUNTAIN AND THE SQUIRREL.

THE mountain and the squirrel
Had a quarrel,

And the former called the latter "little prig;"
Bun replied,

"You are doubtless very big;

But all sorts of things and weather
Must be taken in together

To make up a year,
And a sphere.

And I think it no disgrace

To occupy my place.
If I'm not so large as you,
You are not so small as I,
And not half so spry:
I'll not deny you make
A very pretty squirrel track.

Talents differ; all is well and wisely put;
If I cannot carry forests on my back,
Neither can you crack a nut."

Bret Harte.

and

[Francis Bret Harte, born 1839, is one of the most racy, terse, and pathetic of American writers. His stories, "The Luck of Roaring Camp," &c., are marvels in their way, his poems, for strength and originality, unequalled.]

THE HEATHEN CHINEE.

TABLE MOUNTAIN, 1870.

WHICH I wish to remark,

And my language is plain,
That for ways that are dark,

And for tricks that are vain,
The heathen Chinee is peculiar,
Which the same I would rise to explain.

Ah Sin was his name,

And I shall not deny,

In regard to the same,

What that name might imply;

But his smile it was pensive and childlike,
As I frequent remarked to Bill Nye.

It was August the third;

And quite soft were the skies:

Which it might be inferred

That Ah Sin was likewise;

Yet he played it that day upon William
And me in a way I despise.

Which we had a small game,

And Ah Sin took a hand :

It was euchre. The same

He did not understand;

But he smiled as he sat by the table,

With the smile that was childlike and bland

Yet the cards that were stocked

In a way that I grieve,

And my feelings were shocked

At the state of Nye's sleeve:

Which was stuffed full of aces and bowers,
And the same with intent to deceive.

But the hands that were played

By that heathen Chinee, And the points that he made, Were quite frightful to see ;

Till at last he put down a right bower, Which the same Nye had dealt unto me.

Then I looked up at Nye,

And he gazed upon me;

And he rose with a sigh,

And said, "Can this be?

We are ruined by Chinese cheap labour;'
And he went for that heathen Chinee.

In the scene that ensued

I did not take a`hand;

But the floor it was strewed,

Like the leaves on the strand,

With the cards that Ah Sin had been hiding, In the game "he did not understand."

In his sleeves, which were long,

He had twenty-four packs, Which was coming it strong,

Yet I state but the facts;

And we found on his nails, which were taper, What is frequent in tapers-that's wax.

Which is why I remark,

And my language is plain,

That for ways that are dark,

And for tricks that are vain,

The heathen Chinee is peculiar,

Which the same I am free to maintain.

THE AGED STRANGER.
"I WAS with Grant "—the stranger said;
Said the farmer, "Say no more,
But rest thee here at my cottage porch,
For thy feet are weary and sore."

"I was with Grant "—the stranger said;
Said the farmer, "Nay, no more :
I prithee sit at my frugal board,
And eat of my humble store.

"How fares my boy, my soldier boy,
Of the old Ninth Army Corps?
I warrant he bore him gallantly

In the smoke and the battle's roar

"I know him not," said the aged man; "And, as I remarked before,

I was with Grant "—" Nay, nay, I know," Said the farmer, 66 say no more.

"He fell in battle;-I see, alas!

Thou❜dst smooth these tidings o'er.
Nay, speak the truth, whatever it be,
Though it rend my bosom's core.

"How fell he? with his face to the foe,
Upholding the flag he bore?
Oh! say not that my boy disgraced
The uniform that he wore!"

"I cannot tell," said the aged man,
"And should have remarked before,
That I was with Grant-in Illinois-

Some three years before the war."

Then the farmer spake him never a word, But beat with his fist full sore

That aged man, who had worked for Grant Some three years before the war.