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war up to. They left a couple o' men on the Mary Ann an' took us back to the 'Humpin' Jehoshaphat,' wich it war the pirate's name, ridin' in the gig a-holdin' them two post-holes very careful by the tops. We went round to the other side o' this 'ere 'Humpin' Jereboam'—”

"Ye said Jehoshaphat before, Nick," interposed Pat.

'Twas Jehoshaphat on one side the bow an' Jereboam on t'other. The pirate skipper war fond o' Bible names an' long on paint. When we got aboard, the skipper war very cur'ous about them post-holes, he havin' been at sea so long he hadn't seen any o' this sort. Cap'n told him wot they was for an' begun tellin' how they worked. He stood his straight up on the deck an' I done the same. Then we cut 'em loose. They went down like a streak, an' jest as they got most flush with the deck, Cap'n kicked his an' broke that little knob clean off. I done mine the same, an' then we both bolted fer the side o' that blamed old 'Humpin' Jabez'—"

"Jabez?" inquired Pat again.

"Jabez on the stern," returned Nick readily, and went on. "We jumped over an' swum back to the Mary Ann, the pirates bein' too busy to shoot, dumped the two pirates left there overboard, an' moved on out o' that 'fore the 'Humpin' Jemimy'name on the gig wot took us across, Pat,- swamped us goin' down. Ye see, them 'ere Edison patent autymatic post-holes had gone clean down through the bottom, an' made a couple o' leaks wot 'd ha' sunk a w'ale. Arter that we hadn't no trouble, an' went on round the Cape an' made a good v'yage."

The audience puffed away in silence for a space. Nick meanwhile got up, cleaned his pipe, tucked it in his pocket, and stretched himself preparatory to moving on. Presently Pat spoke up.

"Nick," said he, "Wy didn't ye put one o' them post-holes behind a mast so's to shove ye 'long out o' the way o' that cyclopedy o' Bible names?"

"Aye," said George thoughtfully, "or why didn't ye launch one o' them things at that pirate so 's it would ha' hit her?"

"Aw go on! Ye don't know a marlinspike from a toothpick. Why don't ye buy a pig an' make your own butter?" and he marched off.

THE SUNLIGHT ON THY HAIR

The sunlight fell aslant thy hair of gold,
And like a halo, which the masters old
Of by-gone years accustomed were to paint
About the head of Holy One and Saint,
A soft reflected light it seemed to shed,

As coming from thy sweet young face and head.

As on thy head on confirmation day,
The priestly hands with touch baptismal lay,
The sunlight through the chancel window tall
Streamed in, upon thy golden hair to fall,
And made the holy drops like jewels bright
Appear, as in a golden crown of light.

And when I stood o'er thy cold form and wept,
As calm and fair in last repose thou slept,
There flashed across the room the sunlight fair,
To fall with soft caress upon thy hair;
Awhile in benediction sweet it lay,
Too soon, alas, like thee to fade away.

G. F. M.

HER LADYSHIP

FLORENCE AUGUSTA TUFTS

She was running away. The very sprite of mischief she looked as the little feet flew over the ground-golden hair streaming in the autumn wind, blue eyes dancing with fun and daring, reddening cheeks, and rosy lips calling back a taunt to her pursuers. But they run so fast, those big people, so very, very fast. "Oh, dear!" she gasped, as Somebody's arms held her tight, "the faster I run, the quicker I can't go."

Her Ladyship was deep in that thrilling and absorbing romance, "Cinderella." With tangled curls bent low over the profusely illustrated pages, she was reading or rather, if it must be confessed, reciting aloud the familiar story. The exciting part had been reached where Cinderella, on the stroke of twelve, flees from the brilliant ball-room. "The Prince ran after her," she read, with a delighted little gasp, "but he couldn't"-the smooth, white brow contracted in a puzzled frown-"he couldn't," she faltered-"oh, course, he couldn't overkitch her!"

"Now fwat does g-r-i-1 spell?" asked Her Ladyship, a pudgy forefinger raised warningly. There was an embarrassing silence. The visitor humbly suggested that some one might know what g-i-r-1 spelled. The very tip of Her Ladyship's nose was eloquent with scorn; words failed her; she rang the bell for recess. The door closed on the last stony-faced pupil. Her Ladyship returned somewhat flushed and out of breath-she had bundled them off rather unceremoniously-and with the edge worn off her dignity. She grew confidential. "And what are you going to do when you are through college?" asked the visitor, at length. Her Ladyship looked up in open disgust that one of her own sex could ask such a question. "Get married, of course," she answered, tersely.

The attention of her audience was flattering to say the least, only the one-legged sailor boy would topple over occasionally. With a sigh the young mother picked him up once more, brushed the curls out of her eyes, and went on: "And so it rained and rained, orful hard for, oh, ever so long, and then-oh, yes, I memember-God told Norah it was going to rain some more, and so Norah built a great, big artic!"

The new neighbor was inclined to be sociable. With little, round, freckled face pressed close to the fence rails, she plied Her Ladyship with questions. The latter continued her concoction of the delicacy commonly known as mud pie, in supreme indifference. Only an occasional unusually vigorous stir betrayed her real annoyance. She could not bother with every new neighbor that came along. Let her do something interesting if she wanted to be noticed. With the intuition of her sex, she of the freckles endeavored to arouse Her Ladyship's curiosity, but in vain. A long silence ensued; then the enemy, baffled, but not routed, made one last attempt. "I've got company in my house," she intoned in that exasperating sing-song which says so plainly, "Don't you wish you had, too?" Her Ladyship could stand it no longer. "H'm!" she snapped. "I've got company, too! Washwoman's in my house."

The little group was telling Hallowe'en stories in the ghostly glow of two grinning jack-o-lanterns and the flickering light of the dying fire. "What are savages?" asked Her Ladyship, after a particularly blood-curdling tale. "Great, big black giants that eat people up," fibbed her big brother in sepulchral tones. "Now what shall we do next?" "Oh!" gasped the child, with a little shudder of delight, "tell us some more about the savages."

LONGINGS

I see the depths of blue above

Where fleecy clouds drift high,
And long with lark and gentle dove
On wings to cleave the sky.

I see the depths of blue below

Where rolls the restless tide,
And long beneath the waves to go
Where pearls and corals hide.

I see the depths of blue that gleam
Within thine eyes so bright,

And long to catch some fleeting beam
Of love's awak'ning light.

POINTS OF VIEW

5:00:

IN VACATION

DANA TUFTS FARNSWORTH

Foolish me! Why did I not quit this place with the rest? It is three days since the chapel bell has sounded. I am alone in the darkness. I am climbing the hill by night. Forsaking the Row, cheerful with light from the windows, I stumble along past the Gym, standing mute; past the dark Museum. The stillness makes me pause. Afar off the city and suburbs are spread out before me, as of old; the same stars and the same moon glisten above my head; but neither landscape nor firmament lend inspiration now. What a wilderness around me! The storm has left its burden, and passed on. White snow heaped up at my feet, white snow drifted high in every direction. And that is all; there is no living thing here but me, I am alone in the snow.

It is West that I am seeking. No lights in the windows meet my gaze as I approach, and the steps are buried in snow. I am the first to tread there, at least in several days, for there is no track in the snow. Will the door be open? Yes, it gives way as I press it, but small reason for it-there are no signs of life within, no lights in the corridors, though ten o'clock will not strike for an hour and more. I grope for the first stair, and hurry up the three flights; the gloom is unbearable,—no mandolin tinkling, no shouts of "Got your Calculus?" no open doors, no familiar faces, no glimpses of two heads bending over a book, while others sprawl on couch and window-sill awaiting results; no broken crockery on the stairs, nor shattered chair-backs strewn about; indeed, nothing to remind of "rough house"-no friend with pipe and bathrobe to greet you as you pass.

Hurry, hurry, I must get that forgotten object and be off. Turning the key in the lock, I enter my room, and strike a light; but this will never do. I must turn it off. Do not profane the stillness and the gloom. This is an ancient building, long ago deserted by man; let it stand as a monument of the past. Who art thou to bring light here? Beware. Where all around is darkness, let no sign of life appear.