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and he goes to the judge, and he sez, This yer unfortnet man isn't responsible-he's been salviated by merkery." And he brings witnesses; you comes, Tommy, and you sez az how you've seen me took bad before; and the doctor, he comes, and he sez as how he's seen me frightful; and the jury, without leavin' their seats, brings in a verdict o' justifiable insanity -salviated by merkery!"

Space does not allow me to quote as I should wish from that most touching story,' How Sta. Claus came to Simpson's Bar.' There is a reputation in its fourteen pages. To sum up Bret Harte, he has all the dry, quaint, American humour of Artemus Ward, Mark Twain,. and their many imitators, plus a pathos which is entirely his own. You may take his stories as his diggers treat the gold-laden soil-let pure thoughts flow over them, and lo! the dirt soon disappears and pure metal remains as your reward.

Early Days.

(Suggested by Mr. Millais' Picture.)

I.

Where's better subject for a rhyme

Than you in life's pure primrose time?
Where's sweeter inspiration?

When through the peaceful summer hours
Bright blossoms, kittens, birds and flowers
Fill all your contemplation?

II.

To doubt the world you never dream:
That all things must be what they seem

You think, because you've seen them.

And if paste gems are but as bright

As diamonds of lustrous light,

You have no choice between them.

III.

You have not learned how oft we find
The sourest fruit 'neath fairest rind-
How oft no longer lingers

The bloom of joys that please the eye,

Than colours on the butterfly

When touched by careless fingers.

IV.

How oft-but no! why should we list

To doctrine of the pessimist,

Or read the dullest writer?

The world has two sides: let us then

Accept advice from wisest men

And look upon the brighter.

V.

There still are many joys for each.
To take the good within our reach

Is wisdom in the true sense;

Philosophy we ne'er will mind,
Nor heed her sayings, if we find

Philosophy's a nuisance!

VI.

And these thoughts now are nought to you
Or small puss, as you gambol through

The meadows fresh and sunny.

You take the cheerful view of things,
Not thinking of the bees' sharp stings,
But only of the honey.

VII.

But do strange dreams of one unknown,
Who'll win the heart now pussy's own,
E'er come in fancy's flashes ?-
One who-when love is deeper bliss—
To whiskers more pronounced than his
Perhaps will add moustaches?

VIII.

When to you both the arrow flies,
When by those darling daisy-eyes

His heart at length is smitten,

May his love prove as pure and true—
May he take as good care of you

As you do of your kitten!

ALFRED E. T. WATSON.

The Wooing O't.

A NOVEL.

CHAPTER XXXII.

"TORCHESTER," said Miss Grantham one wet morning a few days after the concert, as the Earl was grumbling at the weather, Miss Stamer embroidering a smoking cap, and the heiress herself pretending to touch up a sketch. "Torchester, is Geoff really going to these unpronounceable places ?"

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I suppose he is. He is gone up to town to-day about some of his preparations."

"Gone up to town! Why he never said a word about it last night!"

"Oh, he is coming back to-morrow; he is going to bring his horses with him. He wants to explore the country."

"Don't you think it is utter madness, his rushing about in this way?" "Yes, it is a pity; but there is no use in talking about it. After all, a man has a right to please himself; but I shall miss him the worst of any of you. Though I believe he treats me rather as an unlicked cub I can't help being fond of Geoff."

Oh, Lord Torchester! how can you say such things!"

"It's the truth. Fact is, the older I grow the better I can stand his patronage."

"In short, your heart's in the right place, Tor, wherever your head may be," said Miss Grantham.

"Which means I am a good-natured simpleton."

"No, no," she returned, laughing; "you have grown awfully knowing of late."

"That is, since I have learned how to fall in and out of love." "How long have you known the art?" asked Miss Grantham, looking sideways to see the effect of some touches on her drawing.

"I have had two bad attacks since I came of age; one was suddenly and completely cured by the obduracy of the object."

At this Miss Stamer raised her eyes with a look of utter surprise and unbelief, beautiful to behold.

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'Mary evidently doubts that fate could permit such things to be," said Miss Grantham, laughing.

"How can you say such things, dear Margaret?"

"But pray continue your confessions, Tor. What stage are you in now?"

Regaining strength and reason rapidly; and, for a complete cure, have serious thoughts of trying change of air under Geoff's charge."

"Now I am quite sure you will do nothing of the kind. You are intended by nature for a pillar of the state to uphold the family credit at Mount Trafford, and Conservative principles in the House, to be solidly useful and be the pride of your mother's existence."

"Instead of singing an adorable second, cruising about in a theatrical yachting costume, cultivating fascinations, and working hard for high honours as a critic of beauty, form, colour, and all the rest."

"Now, Torchester, that's too unblushing an attack on poor Sir Hugh, who is very nice and pleasant."

"Nice," repeated the Earl. "What a queer feminine word 'nice' is. Fancy a fellow like Erskine-who thinks himself a mixture of Adonis and Apollo-or what's his name, Bulwer's heroes all in one, being called 'nice,' like a pigeon pie or a new bonnet. I do not think he would like it."

"Do you think I would wear a bonnet that deserved no better praise than 'nice'? Far from it, my lord. It must be ravissante, delicious. But you are really too bad, and to talk of going away when Sir Hugh has promised to bring his yacht round next week and we intend to finish our sojourn with a cruise somewhere."

"I hope it will be weather permitting. This would be a pleasant day at sea.

"Oh, of course! Are you going, Mary ?" for Miss Stamer rose from

her seat.

"Yes, it looks a little lighter, and I promised mamma to be back at three."

"I will see you to-morrow before we go to the Duchesse's dinner. I imagine it will be very slow."

"Good-bye, then."

Miss Grantham resumed her drawing, and Lord Torchester looked out of the window.

"Torchester," she said at length, "you are not going to follow Geoffrey's bad example and become a wanderer on the face of the earth?"

1

"Not quite; but I do think of accompanying him part of the way. You see I don't care much for society, that is, dancing and singing and attitudinising. If I begin to settle down in London and Mount Trafford I will never move, and I want to see a little more of the world first."

"I can understand that," said Miss Grantham, putting away her drawing and coming round to the fire; "but what am I to do when you are both gone? Why Geoff is like-well, my uncle and you