"Are rny biscuits liurlit, John?" asks the eharming yonng wife. As she smiles on her husband, and he, With emphaeia, answers, "They're lovely, my life, Aa light as the foam of the sea.'1 "Is the steak eooked to suit yon?" she gently inquirus. And he says, as he smilingly nods, "It might have been cooked at celestial flres. And is tender enough for the gods." "And the coiïee, that pleases you, too, does ït, dear?" She asks, overjoyed with his praise, Which ratlier than strains of sweet muslo sho'd hear; "I never drank better," he says. So she sits down beside him and with him partakes. And the rigid, no donbt, will confess That if John tella her lies in the answers he mak es, He's a gentleman, nevertheless. - St. Louis Globe-Democrat. If I Were tho Czar. If I were the czar, I wouldn't send to Siberia Every man I could flnd whom I thought mj superior, Wouldn't padlock tho lips of my best man of lutters, Flog women to death and put old men in fetters; And 1 vcouldn't ride around in a powder proof car, If I were the czar. Tf 1 were the czar, I would rulu so benignly That men would all say, "Why, you're doing flnelyl" For I'd drive all the men who say, in hot weather, "Is this hot enougli?" in the river together; And I'd letthom cool ofï while I giggled, "Ha, ha!" If I were the czar. If I were tho czar, And could rule arbitrary, And impose my commands upon Torn, Diok and Harry, I would drivo a sharp, slick and slaughtering saber Right through the left ear of my flute playing neighbor. And then carry his scalp on my triumphal car, If I were the czar. If I were the czar, And I wanted to snore, And my flve o'clock neighbor got out his lawn mower. And went rattling around while his neighbors were sleeping, I'd give him right up to my constable's keeping. And teil him to bruise him and banish him far, If I were the czar. If I were tho czar, I would make people like me, And not try to shoot me, and slap me and strike me; But the fatally fluent and I-told-you-so fellow I'd run through a wringer until he was mellow, And send him back home, C. O. D., to his ma, If I were the czar. If I were the czar, I'd adjudge, with good reason. All men who talk tariff as guilty of treason, And that cruel musical monster, the Nero Who whistled "McGinty," should follow his hero; ïle should go down and down where the white mermaids are, If I were the czar. - S. W. Foss. As Weïl Swear by "the Inconstant Moon." H3 arma with strong and firm embraeo Her dainty form infold; And she had blushed her sweet consent When he his story told. "And do you swear to keep your troth?" She asked with loving air; He gazed into her upturned face, "Yes, by yon elm I swear." A year passed by; his love grew cold; Of his heart she'd lost the helm. She blamed his f ault, but the f act was this, The tree was slipperv elm. - Brandon Bucksaw. He Was Still My Tirother Joe. Well, yes, I was a soldier; I served 'til the war was done. Our company mustered out but ten That 'listed in 'sixty-one. It was my turn on picket One night in early June. The air was f uil of music, My heart had caught its tune: While paeing in the moonlight My mind ran to and fro, To mother and the dear old home, To father and brother Joe. Ourparents died; we were ten years old- Twin brothers, Joe and me; A down east farmer took me home, Joe went to Tennessee. Ten years had passed; we had never met, But somehow that summer night, With its shining moon, brought hls face again So plainly to my sight. I heard a step, "Halt, who goes there?" The moon shone bright as day. And throngh the bushes I saw a man. And he wore a suit of gray. I saw his bayonet gusten. And quicker than I can teil A flash -a shot - and by the brook The wounded rebel feil. I was by him in a moment, To stop the red blood's flow, When - my God - the revelation That reb was brother Joe! "Traitor," you say, to his country; Well, friend, that may be 60, But whether in blue or whether in gray, He was still my brother Joe. - Eliza Larnb Martyn. For Thee aml Me. Great truths are portions of the soul of man; Great souls are portions of eternity; Each drop of blood that e'er through trne heart ran With lofty message, ran for thee and me; For God's law since the starry song began Hath been, and still forevermore must be, That every deed which shall outlast Time's span Must goad the soul to be erect and free. - Lowell. ; The Old Story. I asked the maid, with heart aglow, j Will you be mine? She answered. No. j Next week 1 asked again, and she Said with a sigh, it caunot be. A furtnight after that 1 said, Be mine; sho smiled and shook her head. Next time I asked, instead of no, Sho said, Oh, please doii't plague me so. Last night I asked again, and she Said, Yes, Just to get rid of me. -Denver Sun. Truth. We know uot what it leads to, but we know That trutii is worthy of what the soul can give, And worth tho martyrdom of flre and rod- to love it and to serve it is to grow Near to those hero hearts that scorned to live ( Like meek Iscariots by tho grace of God! - G-. E. Montgomery. ! Au KpitupU. Breath r.ot nü nisi bonum o'cr my dust; A mamy soul would ever take to taak The charity that stifies truth, and ask That what thou sayest be severely just. If all my virtue bu a hollow cruBt, My licart a devil's shrine, my face a mask Of Christian love that living I may bask In men's approval, then dispel thelr trust. Nor do I crave for studied praise of wiL And wisdom tUat I never havo possessed; I should go henee nontent if on the bit Of stone that tells my dates of birth and rest. In truth and soberness, there might be writ: "He was loved best by those whoknewhim best." - Wilbur Larremore. At a Reading. The spare professor, grave and bald, Began his paper. It wa3 called, I think, "A Brief Historie Glance At llussia, Germany and France." A glance, but to my best belief 'Twas almost anything but brief, A wide survey, in which the earth Was seen before .mankind had birth; Strange munsters basked them in the stm, Behemotb, armored glyptodon. And in the dawn's unpracticed ray The transient dodo winged its way; Then, by d jarees, through slit and slough. We reached Berlín - I don't know how. The good. professor's monótono Had turned me futo .senseless stone. Instanter, but that near me sat, llypatia in ber now spring nat, Blue eyed, latent, with Ups whose bloom Lignted the heavy, curtained room. Hypatla- oh, what lovely things Are fashioned out of eighteen springsl At first, in sums of this amount, The eighteen winters do not eount. Just as my eyes were growing dim With heaviness, I saw that slim, Erect. elastic figure there, Like a pond lily taking air. She looked so fresh, so wise, so neat, So altogether crisp and sweet, I quite forgot what Bismarck said, And why the emperor shook his head. And how it was Von Moltke's frown Cost France another frontier tovvn. The only facts I took away Froni the professor'a thenie that day Were these: A forehead broad and low, Such as the antique sculptures show; A chin to Greek perfection truc; Eyes of Astarte's tender blue; A high complexión without fleck Or flaw, anti curls about her neck. -T. B. Aldrich. Immortality. Immortal Ufe is something to be earned, By slow self conquest, comradeship with Pain, And patiënt seoking after higher truths. We cannot follow our own Wayward wills. And feed our baser appetites, and give Loose rein to foolish tempers year on year, And then cry, "Lord, forgive me, I believe," And straightway bathe in glory. Men must learn God's system is too grand a tbing for that. The spark divino dwells in our souls, and we Can fan it to a steady ñame of light, Whose luster gilds tho pathway to the tomb, And shines on tbrough Eternity, or else Neglect it tili it glimmers down to Death, And leaves us but the darkness of the grave. Each conquered passion fceds the living ñame; Each well borne sorrow is a step toward God Faith cannot rescue, and no blood redeem The soul that will not reason and resolve. Lean on thyself, jet prop thyself with prayer (All hope is prayer; who calis it hope no more Sends prayer footsore forthover wearywastes, While he who calis it prayer gives wings to hope). And there are spirits, messengers of Love, Who come at' cali and fortify ourstrength. Make friends with them, and with tliine inner self; Cast out all envy, bitterness and hate; And keep the mind's fair tabernacle pure. Shake hands with Pain, give greeting unto Grief, Those angels in disguise, and thy glad soul From height to height, from star to shining star, Shall climb and claim biest immortality". -Ella Wheeler Wilcox. "A Rose by Any Other Name." First the teacher called the roll. Clos't to the beginnin "Addeliney Bowersoxl" Set the school a-grinnin. Winter time, and stingin cold When the session took up - Cold as we all lookcd at her, Though she couldn't look upl Total stranger to us, too- Country folks ain't allus Nigh so shameful unpolite As some people cali us. But the honest facts is, then, Addeliney BowerSox's feelin's was so hurt She cried half an hourl My dest was acrost from hem; Set and watched her tryin To p'tend she didn't keer, And a kind o' drytn Up her tears with smiles. tel I Thought, "Well, Addeliney Bowersox is plata, but she's Purty as a piney!" It's ben many of a year Sence that most oncommon C'.ir'ous name o' Bowersox Sï ruck me as so abominNtibble and outlandish-like; 1 changed it to AddeLiney Daubenspeck- and that Nearly killed her daddy! -James Whitcomb Riley. Mystery. I did not love him; long ago Instead of Yes I gave him No. I did not love him, but toclay I read his marriage notice. Pray Why was I sad, when never yet Has my heart known the least regret Over that whispered No? And why, Reading the uotice, did I sigh? No analyst can guess the cause; A woinan's reason laughs at laws. Sure, 1 am glad to know the wound I gave is healed: that he has found Love's blessedness and peace, and yet Today I seem to see him stand, With every glance a mute caress, Still pleading for tho longed-for Yes. His early love for mo is dead- Another lives in that love's stead. And if he loves her well, as men Should love their chosen ones, why then He must bo glad that long ago, Instead of Yes I gave him No. Perhaps that is the reason why I read the uotice with a sigh. - Indianapolis Journal. Love :iml Gold. Riches, like insects, while concealed they lie, Wait but for wings, and iu their seasons fly; To whom can riches give repute and trust. Content or pleasure, but the good and just? , Judges and sonates have been bought for gold; ; Esteem and love are never to be sold. -Pope. Ueauty. Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon the tender green Dheers for a time- but till the sun doth show- And straight is gone as it had never been. -Daniel. A Maxim. It was a niaxim of the ancieut sagea: "No noblo human thought, I However buried by the dust of ages, Could erer romo to naught."