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IREADINGS FOR THE YOUNG.

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I READINGS FOR THE YOUNG. A DEAR LITTLE LAD. A writer in the Household very truly says that when you are dead for sleep you wouldn't give a copper to hear the finest orator ill the world talk. And then he recites the following one oclock a.m. dialogue between a father and his boy; Papa!" "}Vell?" You 'wake, papa ?" Yes." "-So's me." Yes, I hear that you are," you say, with cold sarcasm. What do you want ?" Oh, nuffin." Well, lie still, and go to sleep, then." I isn't s'eepy, papa." Well, I am, young man." Is you ? I isn't—-not a bit. Say, papa, papa!" Wrell ?" If you was wich, what would you buy me ?" I don't know. Go to sleep." Wouldn't you buy me nuffin ?" I guess so now you "What, papa ?" Well, a steam engine, maybe now you go right to sleep." With a bell that would ring, papa ?" Yes. yes now you-" And would the wheels go wound, papa ?" Oh, yes" (yawning). Shut your eyes, now, and-" And would it go choo, choo, choo, papa?" "Yes, yes; now go to sleep." Say. papa." No answer. Papa!" Well, what now ?" Is you 'f'aid of the dark ?" "No" (drowsily). I isn't either. Papa!" Well ?" If I was wich, I'd buy you somefin." Would you ?" "Yes; I'd buy you some ice-cweain and some "shocolum drops, and a toof brush, and panties wiv twaid on like mine, and a candy wooster, and That will do. You must go to sleep, now." Silence for half a second, then: "Papa-papal" Well, what now?" I want a jink." No, you don't." I do, papa." Experience has taught you that there will be no peace until you have brought the" jink," and you scurry out to the bathroom in the dark for it, knock- ing your shins against everything in the room as you go. "Now, I don't want to hear another word from you to-night," you say, as he gulps down a mouthful of the water he did'nt want. Two minutes later he says: Papa See here, laddie, papa will have to punish you if I can spell dog,' papa." Well, nobody wants to hear you spell it at two o'clock in the morning." B-o-g—dog is that right ?" No, it is not; but nobody cares if-" Then it's d-o-g, isn't it ?" Yes, yes now you lie right down and go to instantly!" "Then I'll be a good boy, won't I?" Yes you'll be the best boy on earth." "Papa!" Well, well! What now?" Is I your little boy ?" Yes, yes, of course.' Some man's haven't got any little boys; but you have, haven't you ?" Yes." "Don't you wish you had two, free, nine,'leben, twenty-six, ninety-ten, free hundred little boys r The mere possibility of such a remote and contin- gent calamity so paralyses you that you lie speechless for ten minutes, during which your hear a yawn or two in the little bed by your side, a little figure rolls over three or four times, a pair of heels fly into the air once or twice, a warm, moist little hand reaches out and touches your face to make sure that you are there, and the boy is asleep, with his heels where hia head ought to be. A FAITHFUL GANDER. In British Columbia some Indians kept a tame goose and gander, so tame that their wings were un- dipped, and, though they flew many miles, they always came home to roost. But one sad day a stranger, coming to the house, shot the goose, not knowing that it was tame, and brought it to the Indian's wife as a present. Of course he was very sorry when he found what he had done but that could not bring back life to the beautifnl creature, and they hung it 'up by the shed, with its head hanging down. Presently the gander came by, and when he saw his mate thus hanging, he tried to do all that he could to reach her. He fetched stones and scraps of food and piled them up under her beak. Perhaps he thought that if she could reach them and eat something, her legs might come down and her head go up, and they would walk and fly about as of old. It took a long time to make the pile high enough, but still she never spoke or moved, and after a time the Indians missed the gander, so they searched for him everywhere. And where do you think he was found ? Under the shed, where he had burrowed his way, quite dead. wasted away from grief and starvation, just below the place where the goose had hung.—Sunday. OLD MARTIN'S DREAM. Old Martin, the ugly, scarred, cross-grained terror of the village, had a strange dream last night. He had lived in Mewborough for six years, during which time he had never been known to do a kind action to anyone. The children hooted at him because of his dis- figured face, caused by a terrible accident in his youth. Nobodylovedhim.andapparentlyhelovednobody. Yet his heart was not altogether hardened, and he some- times yearned for a happier, less loveless life. Now he had dreamed that an angel came to him, and told him that, if the kiss of a little child were imprinted on his forehead, he would find it easier to. seek his God again, and to lead a better life. The next day, in spite of himself, he was disturbed in his mind, for he knew that nothing was more un- likely than for a little child to kiss him. As he sat brooding by the fire in his lonely cottage, he heard a knock at the door, and a little voice say- ing: May I come in, please ?" He opened the door, and gazed, bewildered, upon an innocent little child. Her clear blue eyes fixed themselves on his scars. Oh, poor, poor!" cried a pitying litttle voice. And two little red lips kissed the poor disfigured forehead. Did God send her, or was it only chance that made the rector's little girl stray away from her nurse that day ?—Sunday Magazine. i.1 SAVED BY A DOS. One of the most extraordinary incidents of the kind on record occurred to the Rev. B. Edmonston, grandson of Dr. Edmondston, in his day the only doctor on the Shetland Islands, and a very distin- guished naturalist. He went out fowling in a boat, his only companion being a collie dog named Hope, and when on the low-lying rocks of Skarta Skerry, his boat broke away from its moorings and drifted off with the retreating tide. He was far from the mainland, and could not swim, and knew that when the tide flowed shorewards, the rock would be covered by many feet of water, and death by drowning must ensue. Then a sudden thought struck him. I tore," he wrote in his account of the incident, a leaf from my pocket-book, and wrote, I am on the Skarta Skerry; boat adrift.' Hastily, but securely, I wrapped my missive in my handkerchief, which I tied firmly to Hope's collar, all the time say- ing to the intelligent creature, 'You must go home with this, Hope—home. Now, Hope, you will be sure to take my message home—and quick.' The dog grasped the situation, sprang into the sea, swam ashore, dashed home at racing speed, and the life of its master was saved. This is a true and notable dog story.—Leeds Mercury. WRITING TO THE QUEEN. In writing to the Queen she is invariably addressed as Your Majesty," but in conversation she (as well as the Princesses) must be spoken to as Ma'am "— that is to say, by persons of position servants and humbler subjects use Your Majesty verbally. The proper method of writing a letter to the Queen is one of the strangest details of Court etiquette. It is written with a mixture of the first and third persons such as is allowed under no other circumstances, as thus Lord Salisbury presents his humble duty to your Majesty, and begs to acquaint your Majesty," and so on The Queen invariably replies in the third person—" The Queen has received Lord Salis- bury's communication." In writing to any other Sovereign her Majesty's uses the first person, begin- ning Sire and dear Brother." The only persons to whom on rare occasions her Majesty has written a letter beginning in the ordinary way, Sir," and continuing in the first person, are Presidents of the American and French Republics.

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; AMERICAN HUMOUR.

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.'.LITERARY EXTRACTS. -1

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1- .HOME HINTS.

-------FAIIM LABOrHEHS AND…

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