And hastened to woo her, and sweetly he would,
For his love grew until to a mountain it grewed,
And what he was longing to do, then he dooed.

In secret he wanted to speak, and he spoke,

To seek with his lips what his heart long had soke;
So he managed to let the truth leak and it loke.

He asked her to ride to church, and they rode;

They so sweetly did glide that they both thought they glode,

And they came to the place to be tied and were toed.

And homeward, he said, let us drive, and they drove;
And as soon as they wished to arrive they arrove,
For whatever he couldn't contrive she controve.

The kiss he was dying to steal then he stole ;

At the feet where he wanted to kneel there he knole, And he said: "I feel better than ever I fole."

So they to each other kept clinging and clung,
While time on his swift circuit was winging and wung,
And this was the thing he was bringing and brung.

The man Sally wanted to catch and had caught—
That she wanted from others to snatch and had

snaught

Was the one she now liked to scratch and had scraught.

And Charley's warm love began freezing and froze,
While he took to teasing and cruelly tose

The girl he had wished to be squeezing and squoze.

"Wretch !" he cried, when she threatened to leave him

and left,

"How could you deceive me as you have deceft ?”

And she answered: "I promised to cleave and I've cleft!"

C. A. S.

THE BURIAL OF THE OLD FLAG.

THERE is not in all the north countrie,

Nor yet on the Humber line,

A town with a prouder record than
Newcastle-upon-the-Tyne.
Roman eagles have kept its walls;
Saxon, and Dane, and Scot

Have left the glamor of noble deeds,
With their names, on this fair spot.
From the reign of William Rufus.
The monarchs of every line
Had a grace for loyal Newcastle
The city upon the Tyne.

By the Nuns' Gate, and up Pilgrim Street,
What pageants have held their way!
But in seventeen hundred and sixty-three,
One lovely morn in May,

There was a sight in bonnie Newcastle!

Oh! that I had been there

To hear the call of the trumpeters

Thrilling the clear spring air,

To hear the roar of the cannon,

And the drummer's gathering beat, And the eager hum of the multitudes Waiting upon the street!

Just at noon was a tender hush,

d;

And a funeral march was heard With arms reversed and colors tied Came the men of the Twenty-third, And Lennox, their noble leader, bore The shreds of a faded flag, The battle-flag of the regiment, Shot to a glorious rag; Shot into shreds upon its staff, Torn in a hundred fights, From the torrid plains of India To the cold Canadian heights.

There was not an inch of bunting left;
How could it float again
Over the faithful regiment

It never had led in vain?

And oh the hands that had carried it! It was not cloth and wood:

It stood for a century's heroes,

And was crimson with their blood;

It stood for a century's comrades.
They could not cast it away,

And so with a soldier's honors
They were burying it that day.

In the famous old North Humber fort, Where the Roman legions trod,

With the roar of cannon and roll of drums
They laid it under the sod.

But it wasn't a tattered flag alone
They buried with tender pride;
It was every faithful companion
That under the flag had died.
It was honor, courage, and loyalty
That thrilled that mighty throng
Standing bare-headed and silent as
The old flag passed along.

So when the grasses had covered it
There was a joyful strain;

And the soldiers, stirred to a noble thought,
Marched proudly home again.

The citizens went to their shops once more,
The collier went to his mine;

The shepherd went to the broomy hills,
And the sailor to the Tyne;

But men and women and children felt

That it had been well to be

Just for an hour or two face to face

With honor and loyalty.

MARY A. BARR.

T

BRAVE AUNT KATY.

IT was Ned Thornton's eighteenth birthday. A year

previous, when he had received the merry congratulations of friends upon a similar event, he was a rollicking, fun-loving, clean-hearted, and popular boy as ever

bandied a bat or tossed a snow-ball. Within twelve months from that day he had fallen from his high estate and become that saddest of earthly sights to pure eyes, a fast young man."

66

As he lounged carelessly over the counter of a drinking-saloon, waiting for the glass of beer just ordered, and wondering why the fellows whom he was to have met there by appointment were so "slow," he seemed as impervious to any tender emotion as though his handsome face and form had been carved out of granite.

As he stood tapping on the smooth marble, and thinking of the wild debauch which had been planned for the coming evening, a glass door in his rear opened; he heard a sigh, and turning, confronted an old, wrinkled, black woman.

With a scrubbing-brush in one hand and a small pot of sand in the other, she stood an instant, steadily scanning him from head to foot.

"Hallo, aunty! Have you an idea of scouring me?" he asked.

"De outside is peart and smart lookin' enuff, sir; it's inside whar de great stain is dat I can't tech," she replied, never removing her earnest gaze.

The blood mounted to Ned's forehead until his eyes flashed at what he considered her insolence.

"What do you mean, you old fool? I'll teach you the proper way to address me; I'll—”

"Stop, stop, honey!" she exclaimed, laying the back of the brush, with her hand still clasping it, upon his coatsleeve. I'se already drest you more times dan you kin count. 'Twon't help you none to 'buse and scarify old Katy. I'se long wanted a chance at you, an' now I'll speak my mind. You is mos' a man now, you is;