The Demon Boots.

The pleasant town of Crighton stands by the sea. Years have passed since I paid my first visit to Crighton on a misty daj in • dreary, dark November,' and sought the hospitality of the Terminus hotel, just outside the railway station. But I ( aye never forgotten that visit. I have a lively recollection of the Terminus hotel, though I have never since then patronized it. I cherish pleasant remembrances of its buxom widow landlady, tender mem ories of its fearfully handsome chamber maid ; and never, never have I forgotten the demon ' Boots ' of that establishment, towards whom I continue to entertain sentiments of undying and implacable animosity. May the grave of his great grandmother be defiled! May the bones of his maiden aunt on the mother's side — but no matter! I must be calm. The committee of the Crighton Literary Institute had engaged me to deliver a lecture on Handel, and the lecture was to commence at 8 p.m. I arrived at the Terminus hotel at 6; ordered dinner and sent for the ' Boots.' Five minutes later the coffee-room door was softly opened; four red knuckles and a shock became visible, and their owner asked, in a husky voice:

' D'ye want the Boots, zur ?' * Are you the Boots ?' I answered. * Ees, zar.' ' Come in, then, and shut the door. I don't want to be blown into the chimney.' Slowly and cautiously 'Boots' complied. He was short and stumpy, wore corduroy breeches and leather gaiters around his bandy legs, a dog-skin waistcoat with canvas sleeves, a red woollen comforter, and a liberal allowance of dirt. His

tangled hair, innocent of brush or comb was embellished with stray bits of straw and his general appearance suggested a recent rapid promotion from the rank of ostler to the prouder position of ' Boots.' ' Do you know the Literary Institute, Boots ?' * Ihe Institoot, zur ? Ees, zur.' 'I want to be there before eight o'clock. After dinner I shall change my dress, and you must have a fly at the door by a quarter to eight.' ' Quarter to eight. Ees, zur.' ' To-morrow morning I must leave by the eight o'clock tram. Tell the porter to be here for my portmanteau at a quarter to eight.' ' Quarter to 8. Ees, zur.' ' Boots' gave a respectful tng at the foremost part of the bundle of tow which hung over his forehead and departed. Dinner was unaccountably delayed, and and when it arrived, half an hour behind time, the cockney waiter _ oped ' I would excuse the delay, which had ' been caused by Huggles—leastways, Boots, 'avin made a mistake in some thin' he was sent out for.' So his name was 'Huggles,' con found him ! After dinner I arrayed myself in the evening costume of the period ; took my lecture and music from out of my port manteau, and was at the hotel threshold by ten minutes to 8. No vehicle was there! At this moment' Boots' stumped through the hall and made for the stair case.

' Boots!' I shouted, ' what are you about P' 'I'm gwine for your portmantel, zur. I'm the porter, zur.' No doubt. He was the Un-admirable Crighton of the establishment. ' Leave my portmanteau alone, where's the fly?' • All right, zur. I've ardered it, zur — at Muster Shillito's, zur. Quarter to 8

to-morrow mornin', zur.' 'Confound your stupidity! Why should I order a fly for to-morrow morning, when I shall be close to the station ? I told you a quarter to 8 this evening!' ' Did cc, zur ? ' Did I ? Of course I did. . Are there any cabs at the station ?' . ' Noa, zur—not afoor half arter B. I locked at my watch. Five minutes to 8! I looked at the muddy road. I looked ruefully at my patent leather boots. Only one course was left. . * You must show me. the way to the Institute !' 'Th'lnstitoot? Ees, zur.' And away we started through one of those reeking ' sea-fogs' foi which Crigh ton is proudly pre-eminent. It was five minutes past 8 when we reached the ' Institute.- It was already closed, and not a light to be seen ! I rang the bell while my friend Huggles knocked at the door. • __To answer. Had the audience gone away at one minute past 8, disgusted at my unpunctuality? i' Do they close their rooms at 8 every night ?' I asked ' Noa, zur, but p'raps it's one of their lectur nights F . It is their lecture night!' 'I think as how you're right, zur. I remember, now, as I zeed a bill this mar nin'about somebody o' the name o'Hahn dul as wur gwine to lectur at the Institoot.'

,' Handel going to lecture ? But never mind, he's the man I want to hear. Where is he to lecture ?'

The Demon Boots took off his cap, plunged his fingers down among the tow, and deliberately scratched his skull before he thought fit to say: ' Well, you zee, zur, they alius shuts up the Institoot on lectur nights,' cause the lectures is given at the town hall.' 'Why on earth couldn't you say so be fore P'

'Well, zartinly, zur—-for the matter o' that —' Ten minutes past 8! * Bun with me as fast as you can to the town hall.'

At a quarter past 8, with muddy boots and a damp visage, I presented myself at the town hall to make my debut in Crigh ton—was hissed by the audience for being late —told them my adventures, which put them in good humour; had a greater success than I deserved, and was engaged for two more musical lectures.

. The lecture over, I hastened back to the hotel, changed my hose, and being determined to go down to the beach and sniff the sea-breeze, put on a pair of cork soled boots with red morocco tops, of which I was justly proud; ordered sup per at 12; promenaded on the wet shingle for an hour and a half; got back to the hotel shrvllring and uncomfortable—and found the.coffee-room fire had gone out! The Demon Boots had been left in charge of the coffee-room fire by the waiter who, being afflicted with a cold in' the head from oyer-fUjpplX!P|;)s®f!|9B.na^ retired

*• his bedroom at an early hour with a can of hot water, half a pound of mustard, a tallow candle for his nose, and some hot rum and water for an inward application. Of course, the Demon Boots had allowed the fire to go out. I went to the bar to ask if a fire could be lighted for me, and then first I saw the widow, 'fat, fair and forty,' who ruled over the antediluvian arrangements of the Terminus hotel. She said that ■it would take a long time before a good fire could be made,' and suggested that I should take my supper in her bar parlour where a cheery fire was blazing. I joy fully accepted the proposal, took my seat by the fireside, called for the demon, who brought me a bootjack and slippers by permission—and indeed at the earnest request —of the widow, and then I gave final and explicit directions for the morn ing.

' Y.u know, Boots,' said I, reproach fully, • that you have given me a great deal of annoyance this evening.' The Demon Boots tried to put on a penitent air, but failed conspicuously, and with a grin which was feebly concealed behind his huge paw, replied * Ees, zur,' in a tone^ which showed that he derived intense enjoyment from my disasters. ' Well, now, Boots, don't let us have any more mistakes. I must catch the 8 o'clock train to-morrow morning. Call me at 7; not a minute later. Let me have my boots at the same time.' ' Ees, zur.' ! ' Here are the boots ; you can't mistake them.. You see? Cork soles, with red leather round the tops.' ' Ees, zur.' ' You had better dry the boots to-night,' said1 the widow, and the Demon Boots walked off with the cork soles, grinning all over his body. That demons should delight in walking off with soles will sound quite natural to the readers of Faust.

The waiter being laid up in dock, my supper was brought in by—O heavens ! a being so bright and beautiful that the sight of her took my breath away. Cheeks like roses, lips like cherries, etc., etc. —unquestionably a model of rustic beauty. I was only just out of my teens, I fell in love with her at once, and came to the conclusion that to call her an angel would convey a flattering compliment to the celestial host. Supper over, I sat for half an hour with my bottle and kind landlady. As there was no one else to flirt with, she practiced flirting on me, and gave me to understand in gushing but ungrammatical language thit she adored music and looked kindly on its professors. It was past 1 o'clock when the radiant being came to remove the supper things, and while she was in the room I could only look at her. A minute after she had departed, the widow suddenly asked: ' Do you admire Maria ?' I blushed vermilion from the tip of my great toe up to tLie root of the topmost hair on my bump of veneration. Detected and exposed, I was too bewildered to reply. Without appearing to take the slightest notice of my contusion, the widow con tinued : ' I have asked many gentlemen who use the house. Some do and some doa't. What is your opinion ?' ' Well, really,' I stammered. 'Of course,' continued the widow, ' I can understand that you wouldn't like to give an opinion. For my part, I think he is very handsome.' I nearly jumped into the fire. My Angelic Being a ' he ?' ■ I suppose,' I faltered, ' you mean that she is very handsome ?' ' You mean Maria's wife ? Leastways, j if she is his wife ?' My brain was giving way. I made up my mind for the worst and resolved that when they came to put the straight-jacket on me, I would request to be sent to Hanwell—the benevolent. Dr. Conley being a friend of our family. 'I don't quite understand you,' was all I could say. •'Well,' rejoined my landlady, last Thursday I heard them sing a duet at the; town hall, and there was two gentlemen: as said —' ' I beg your pardon, madam, who sang; the duet?' ' Maria and Grisi.' Ha! ha I Cured in an instant! I did not. venture to correct the pronunciation of! Maria's name, but I assured the widow; that I was of her opinion as to his| personal appearance, and thought him the king of tenors. The angelic being was as; the _ French ' say, ' rehabilitated.' The' conflict of emotions had been severe, and: I rose to light my bedroom candle. « Shall I ring for Betsy ?' asked the; widow. . What a horrible name for an angel! 11i annoyed me. ' No, thank you,' said I; ' I know my; room. And now I must say good night, and thank you very much for your kind ness.' .-.,:. J I rose; the widow rose. We shook; hands, and her hand lingered a very little in mine. It occurred to me that the! proper thing to do was to kiss the widow,1 and I fancied she thought so too. I was just about to risk the experiment when I heard a sort of warning cough; the glass door had been pushed open, and there, in a pair of noiseless list slippers, stood the Demon Boots !

'Beg your pardon, zur. What time did you say you was to be called in the marnin' ? Your boots is dried, and I'm gwine along to bed.' I felt inclined to assault him with the boot-jack. .'

'Seven o'clock; I told you before!' I thundered out; and then, all ideas of flirtation being obscured by considerations connected with my. personal effects, li added:. . <

,* Don't forget my boots cork-soled boots with red tops !'—took a somewhat abrupt farewell off to bed, -where "I soon fell asleep, and dreamed that Grisi, wearing my cork-soled boots, became' Madame Huggles. Grisi; Maria espoused the' angelic Betsey, .and the widow was' married to Dr. Conley, at the Hanwell' Lunatic Asylum. When I awoke it was daylight, and I heard the sound of vehicles passing to' the railway station. I looked at my watch —half past seven ! The Demon Boots had failed to call me. I rang the; bell furiously, and five minutes later he! opened the door with a placid grin and: said: ' Five-and twenty to eight, zur.' ' ' GiVe me my boots,' I roared put. 'Herethey bC, zurl' 'Z ;[;,_.

I slammed the door upon him, seized the right boot, and commenced pulling it on. But I tried in vain; it wouldn't come on. It must have shrunk in last night's drying. There was no mistake about the boots themselves. There they were, the beloved cork-soles, with the red tops, for which 1 paid two guineas a week before. I tugged and tugged till jfche perspiration stood on my forehead. A quarter to 8 ! and I had to lecture at Bristol that very day. I kicked the toe ;of the boot against the leg of the bed; I kicked still more violently against the skirting-board of the room. All in vain. I formed a desperate resolve. Taking ;out my pen-knife I slit the boot open 'from the middle down to the heel. The I f five minutes' bell ceased ringing. With effort I forced my foot into the ruined boot, and I had hardly done so before I heard the whistle of the .departing train. The next train would not leave till a- quarter to 9, so I threw myself on the bed, fatigued and savage. Enter Mr. Huggles, beaming all over. ' Train's gahn, zur. Next train quarter to nine.'

I pulled the boot off and aimed it at his head with homicidal intentions, but he avoided the vengeful missile with a celerity which upset all my calculations, and the unoffending door panel became his * souffre douleur.' Ten minutes later the monster tapped cautiously at the door. * May I come in, zur ?' * Come in ! What do you want now ?' ' Oh, if you please zur, would you let me look at your boots ?' 1 Why ?' 1 Well, zur, there's one other gentleman stopping at the house, and he sleeps in the next room, and he say that the boots as I've took him isn't his'n.' ' Eh ?' said I, starting up in consider able perturbation. 'Do you mean to say that he also wears cork-soled boots ?' ' Ees. zur, he do,' ' But not with red tops ?' ' Ees, zur, they be.' ' Nonsense, Boots; you must have , made a mistake. Go to the gentleman and get my boots, and then I will give you his. A minute later the Demon brought back my boots—my beautiful, my own! The Demon took up the ' other gentle man's boots, and saw where the hand of the spoiler had been. ' Summit wrong with this here boot, zur, hain't there P' ' Well, yes. You had better tell tho other gentleman that he will find a slight alteration made in one of the boots. 1 think it is an improvement.' Mr. Huggles shook his head dubiously but took away the boots; and I heard him tap at the door of the adjoining room. His explanations were evidently not received in an amicable spirit, for the ' other gentleman' broke out into lan guage of the most uncomplimentary kind respecting Huggles, and with a rapid crescendo of vituperation, arrived ar an appalling fortissimo,culminating in threats of personal violence, which led to the precipitate retreat of Mr. Huggles down the stairs. From that moment I felt that there was a bond of sympathy between the ' other gentleman ' and myself. We shared a common hatred of the Demon Boots.

I descended to the coffee-room in search of breakfast. A dapper little mau was seated by the fire with a pair of list slip pers on his feet. Obviously this was the ' other gentleman,' and he knew in a moment who I was. His manner toward I me was far from cordial, but his frigidity relaxed when I explained and apologized, and offered to pay for the damage I had innocently done, which offer lie firmly but politely declined, and he became quite sympathetic when I expressed very strong sentiments respecting the Demon Boots. We parted pleasantly, and I ran lightly up stairs to see if my luggage had all been taken out of the bedroom. While passing along the landing I heard voices, and, looking down a cross passage, I beheld my radiant angel struggling in the arms of the Demon Boots, and heard her say —• ' Doan't cc be a fool, Huggles. Let goo!' ' I shan't, till you gives I a kiss !' For nearly a minute I was an unper ceived spectator of a vigorous struggle between Beauty and the Beast, which ended victoriously for the beast, who got beauty's head into ' Chancery.' ' Will 'cc give I a kiss, then ?' ' Horror of horrors ! She threw her arms round his bull neck and gave him a rasounding kiss ! This was the crowning outrage. I gave a loud ' Ahem!' The Angel bolted up-stairs, and the Demon Boots came towards me, unabashed and grinning, and said : ' I wur just a cooming for your port mantel, zur.' Ten minutes later—just before the express started—a bundle of tow, with a well-remembered visage below it, appear ed at the carriage window : 'I begs your paardun, zur, but you han't gien me nothin' for carry in' your portmantel!' 'Go to —, the place from whence you came !' was my reply to the Demon Boots and we parted, never to meet again in this world. I am sincerely desirous that we may not meet in the next !

A story is going the rounds respecting a well-known subordinate member of the Ministry. He is a member of the St Stephen's Club, which stands at the corner of the Thames Embankment, opposite to the clock tower of the House of Commons. There are two subways leading to the club, one connecting it directly with the Houses of Parliamentand the other leading on to the embankment. The other night the member of the Government alluded to was comfortably seated in the club, when the division bell of the House was rung. He rushed out without his hat, but in his hurry he ran down the wrong subway, taking the one leading to the embankment instead of the one communicating with the House. Perceiving his wild flight, and doubtless much struck with his excited appearance, the policeman on duty at the end of the tunnel jumped to the conclusion that he was about to commit suicide by throwing himself into the river from the embank ment. ~ Actuated by humane motives, the policeman seized him and insisted upon taking him to the station. Nor was he satisfied until an independent member of Parliament, who happened to be passing, vouched for the sanity and respectability of Her Majesty's junior Minister.

Her First Season.

(feom 'the would.') We remember a song in our own youth in which a witty old lady tells her grand daughter, above all things, 'of young men to beware,' and which ends with the conclusive retort by the pert bonnibel. " Bat if all the youw? ladles of men were afraid. Why granny herself would have died an old maid.''

It is to no purpose that the last genera tion, which was such a fool, would fain make this one so wise. Its sermons are preached in vain ; and in many a pleasant country-house, just as the primroses are beginning to smile in the dull hedge bottoms, as the lark trills upwards to acknowledge the vernal sun, as the copses grow a dim purple here, a delicate gray there, and tulips and jonquils fill them selves with honey from who knows where, there sits a young and lovely maiden, considering not the lilies of the field, con tented not with the scent of the migno riette-box in her window, nor with the treble of the plump thrushes, nor with the sunlight, nor with the starlight, nor even yet with the moonlight, but whoso callous breast is heaving with- the impatient expectation of the unknown, who yearns for tho sound of the dancers dancing in tune, for the sight of the brilliantly-lit rooms, of the tasteful toilettes of the knightly men and dazzling women, of a real dance-card —her own, her very own—filled to overflowing with engagements, and of a crowd of handsome suitors too late to satisfy. The heaven of society is opening before her view. She is this year to have her first London season, and the time is drawing dread fully, delightfully near. She is to be presented, she is to ride in the How, she is to go to the opera, she is to be at several garden parties, she will be a visitor ever so many times at the Botani cal and Horticultural, she is to be made a member of Prince's, she is to sit behind the gilded screen in the ladies' gallery of the House of Commons, she is to listen to the wisdom of the peers under less close confinement, she is to dine at Greenwich, she is to dine at Richmond, she is to be taken down to Ascot on the ladies' day at the very least, she is to stay in town for Goodwood, she is to have no end of new and lovely gowns and costumes, she is to do no end of shopping; in fact, what is there she is not to do, see, think, feel, and experience? She is to 'come out,' and after having been so long a chick, she is to bo a full-grown bird with wings, and strut like the rest, to be a woman of the world, to 'know all about it,' to do and be as Winnie and Cissie and Eobina did and were before her. Stirred by the wind of imaginative ambition, she already sees the prancing chariots rolling along Piccadilly, the crush at the Corner, the blaze of wealth and beauty and fashion in the Park; the fairest princess in the world, perched very high in her Roval carriage, and dispensing smiles as though she were made of nothing but beauty and gracious ness. She feels herself, all swathed in muslin and lace and flowers, being whirled in the semi-darkness through the streets, by the aid of whose lamps she ever and anon catches glimpses of beings, equally young and equally happy with herself, evidently bent on the same delightful errand. They are going to a ball, and so is she. She sees herself ascending the grand staircase of Covent-garden, and in a moment more she will hear the wonderful trilling of Patti or the silvery warble of Nilsson, What will she not do? She covers her face with her hands. The picture is too bright, the prospect is 100 dazzling. She is positively frightened; so she says her prayers and goes to sleep. Will she say them as slowly, as devoutly.as collectedly as she says them now when she comes home from her first ball, or her second or her third, when Strephon's com pliments are gurgling in her ears, and the swing of that lovely waltz—O, how divinely Captain Salarius did dance !^—is haunting her bruin ? When she returns from the hot, scented, stifling, fatiguing, but withal exciting atmosphere, where she saw Faust make such extraordinary love to poor vain Marguerite, will she pray as simply and as fervently then as she prays now ? One should have one London season as one should have one everything. But two London seasons are rather stupid; three London seasons are afflictingly monoton ous ; four London seasons are a trial of the flesh; and more than four London seasons are what is in pious society called the devil. But then the back is made to the burden; and monotony, stupidity, affliction and the devil gradually become part and parcel of the existence of a thoroughly-seasoned 'habitue' of the season. It is only the relay of those who come up to it for the first time who render the scene and the situation endurable to poor worn-out mortality. Alas, that the young, virtuous, and lovely creature, who once blushed, trembled, and almost wept at the bare thought of the delights the season would bring, should live to think of a third season with indifference, of a fourth with disgust, of a fifth with regret, and to compress all her philosophy of life into the mournful observation of Thack eray that toffee is not so good as it used to be.

Varieties.

Conversation in a Bail way Car. —' I'm afraid I'm sitting on your crinoline, ma'am.' ' Oh, never mind, Sir, its of no consequence; you can't hurt it.' ' No, ma'am, it's not that, but the confounded thing hurts me.' t The latest verdict recorded was upon a gentleman who expired in a fit of inebria tion. The jury returned : ' Death by hanging—round a grog shop.' A Dutchman, being called upon for a toast, said: 'Here is to de heroes who fit, pled, and died at the pattle of Punker Hill —of whom lam one.' \. • A woman's heart, like the moon, should have but one man in it. An elderly lady, telling her age, re marked she was born on the 23rd of April. Her husband, who was present, observed, ' I always thought you were born on the Ist. of April.' 'People might well judge so,' responded the lady, ' by the choice I made of a husband.'

On the whole globe, at least ninety million people speak the English language, about seventy-five millions German, fifty-fivie millions speak Spanish, and only forty-five millions speak the French lan guage. These matters of fact may serve to remove erroneous opinions.

Number 777.

Thebe was a time when lotteries were 1 very common things, quite legal, and . by no means disreputable, and when worthy people bought tickets, and made no secret of the matter. It was a good while ago, of course, and you would have to look long for the worthy gentleman who one night about dark walked into a lottery office for the purpose of buying a ticket. , He had tight boots and light trowsers with straps, and the fur collar of his coat stood up above his ears, and he wore that awful thing, a stock, about his throat, and he was in the height of that year's fashion, and was regard ed by those who met him rather with admiration than with one stare of astonishment, with which we should greet him now—with which, indeed, we shonld greet any of the ladies or gentlemen of that year; the first habited as above, with curly bell shaped hats upon their heads, and twisted canes in their hands; the latter in coal-scuttle bonnets and leg of-mutton sleeves, and two straight breadths and two gores in their skirts, which were short, and showed low slippers and silk stockings, and with long stringed work-bags on their arms, and big parasols over the big bonnets, before which hung, for modesty s sake, curtains of black or white lace which they called veils. Mr. Sogers, for that was this I gentleman's name, stepping up to the : counter, asked to look at tickets. Perhaps he held the superstition that there was luck in odd numbers, for as soon as they were spread before him he decided on the number seven hun dred and seventy-seven; paid its price and walked off with it in his waistcoat pocket. As he turned the corner the big poster on the wall seemed to be written especially for him. ' Capital prize, ten thousand dollars. Tickets five dollars each. Don't delay.' I had a dream that meant luck last night,' said Mr. iiogers to himself; ' and I have a fancy that I shall draw the great prize. 1 hat's a splendid number.' Then he turned another corner, and spied a face peeping out of the win dow of a small brick house. The face of Mrs. Eogers, who feared Mr. E's favourite dish was spoiling. ' That reminds me,' said -Vfr. Rogers, ' I must not tell Esmerelda. The luck will be spoilt if one tells of the ticket; and she'd talk so much of itl— women will talk so much.'

So Mr. Kogers drank his tea and said nothing of the lottery ticket' which he hid at the bottom of his trunk, a bulging, hair-covered thing, with T. K. on the side in brass nails.

But though he said nothing, his mind was full of it; he thought of that capital prize of ten thousand dollars while he ate his breakfast; he dined off it; he dreamed it. He was a schoolmaster, and while ruling the boys' copy books and setting copies for them he was so filled with the idea that all the boys who had reached P had Prize written for them, and all the boys who had come to D had Draw, Drawn, Drawing before their eyes, while those with T's copied Tick, Ticket, Tick, Ticket, all the writing hours. Little Mrs. Eogers, who was much younger than her husband, saw that something was on his mind, but did not dare to ask what it was. He tossed and turned in his sleep, and scribbled sevens on the newspaper, and on the backs of letters, and even wrote the magic figure on his nails with lead pencil. And once, in a moment of excitement, caused by somebody asking the first day of the month, said with great fervour: 'And I only wish it was the first of next month!'

* Why dear ?' asked Mrs. Rogers. 'Oh,' said Mr. Eogers, 'it's—it's my birthday, you know.' ' Oh yes, so it is,' said Mrs. Bogers, 'but I never knew you cared for birthdays, my dear,' And Mr. Eogers did not tell her that the lottery drawing took place on the first of September. It was breakfast-time when this re mark was made, and Mrs. Eogers sat over the table long after her spouse had left, wondering what sort of present she could make him for his birthday. She had not a penny of her own, nor had she any means of earn ing one; and to send a man a birth day present for which the bill must come in to him might not be considered a delicate attention even from a wife. 'I don't suppose I can give him anything nicer than a pen-wiper or a pincushion,' she said with a sigh; ' but I'll do that, at least.'

And then she rummaged out of her bag of odds and ends black cloth and scarlet velvet and a few gold beads — gilt, rather —and hid them at the bot tom of her work basket. There were only three days between that and the first of September; and when she had remembered the design of a fine pen wiper—a butterfly, gorgeous with red and black wings and'the gold eyes and body, she set to work on it diligently; and needing a card for the centre of the affair, peered into boxes and drawers, until at the bottom of Mr Roger's hair trunk she found the very thing she wanted, a yellow, dingy, thumb—marked thing with 777 upon it, and made use of it at once. Then sweetly smiling and quite unconscious of what she had done, she finished off the jpen-wiper with antennae of gold

thread and hid it until the birthday should dawn. . ■< On that day, the wonderful first ot September, Mr. Eogers arose betimes; so did his wife. She presented him with his pen-wiper, he accepted it with a kiss, and pretended to feel thankful, though it only reminded him of bis desk, his copies, the slavery of his life. Now that the time had come, he felt sure that he had only squandered money; that 777 was a blank. He dreaded the knock of the news-carrier the glance at the column of the paper in which the prizes would be published He groaned and hid his face in his hands. 'Are you ill dear?' asked Mrs. Eogers. He only groaned again. But at this moment came the paper man's knock, and with a sudden revul sion of feeling he rushed to the door. He took the paper into his shaking hands and spread it on the table, and the first words that met his eyes were: 777. capital peize $10,000. The effect of this announcement on Mr. Bogers was tremendous. He started to his feet and danced about the room. He shouted ' huzzah!' and gave three cheers, as though he had been at a political meeting. Then he rushed to the table where his boys' copy books lay piled, and, seizing them them one by one, flung them into the open grate yelling: 'No more school teaching. No more slavery. Huzzah!' While Mrs. Kogers, weeping and wringing her hands, besought him to come to his senses, and felt fully assured that her husband had suddenly become a raving maniac. Finally he finished by throwing the butterfly pen-wiper on the top of the pyre, and falling into a cnair weeping. Then little Mrs. Eogers came out of her corner, and with both arms about his neck, besought him to tell her what ailed him.

' Seven hundred a.nd seventy.seven! Capital prize!' said Mr. Eogers. ' I've drawn it, Esmerelda.'

iismerelda rushed for the paper, found the list of prizes, read the announcement, and sat down, gasping for breath.

'That's why you burnt the copy books,' she said. ' But, oh, why need you have burned my pen-wiper? It was so pretty I thought you'd care for it. I declare I could saye it, I believe it's only scorched. But Mr. Eogers was not qnite him self.

' Hang pens, pen-handles, and pen wipers !' he said, and jammed his boot heel into the coals.' ' I'll never touch one again.' Mrs. Bogers felt hurt, but still she made allowance, for her husband ; and the fact of the prize was just beginning to dawn upon her. 'Are you sure?' said she, 'O, do show me the ticket! Perhaps you've made a mistake. seven hundred and —.' Oh, dear, I can't find it.' 'I'll show you,' said Mr. Eogers, wiping his forehead. 'Here, Esmer elda.'

He walked into the little bedroom, and knelt down by his trunk. He felt down to the bottom. He felt at the sides. He tossed things out. He glared wildly. 'It's here,' he said. 'I know it's here ; but —1 can't find it.' ' Oh ! Rogers,' criedliis wife, ' what was it like ? Tell me !' ' Yellow — square — dirty. Esmer elda, you haven't done anything with it ?' Esmerelda gave a shriek. She flew towards the gate. 'The pen-wiper —save it!' she screamed.

'Hang the pen-wiper!' cried Mr. Eogers, and he jammed his heel into the coals once more, and the flames burst hot and red over the half-burnt butterfly and consumed it in an instant. ' Can't you think of anything else but that confounded pen-wiper? The ticket! Look for it Esmerelda !'

' It's in the butterfly. How did I know? Tou never told me! I thought it was an old card .' said Esmerelda, 'Oh, why didn't you save it?'

'In the butterfly ? What butterfly ?' cried Mr. Bogers, staring about him. ' Butterfly pen-wiper >' cried Mrs. E., and fainted away in tire corner. It happened to be a Saturday, 'ihe school had holiday. All day long the master sat and stared at the fire. All the day long his wife wept and be moaned herself. He took no pity on her. He said:

' I hate you, and never can forgive you V And she thought of suicide. They had no dinner. At night she made tea, and they drank it with averted faces. Then she crept away to herlr&le spare bed-room up-stairs, leaving^rnm by the fire The church bells rang sweetly but neither of that wretched pair went to church. It never could be forgotten, that miserable Sunday, by either of them; and worst of all, Monday morning was coming, and the school boys and the work of the day. About dusk Mr. Bogers bethought him to walk out. Q-enerally they walked out together. Now Mrs. Eogers sat and heard the voices of the holiday-making people in the street, and felt, as she said to herself, as though she were divorced. When Mr Eogers returned his tea was on a stand, and Esmerelda was shut up in the spare bedroom

again. Both arose next morning unrefreshed and miserable. She felt like a crimi nal j he as the very vengeful ghost of

a foully-murdered m% nrigh^tT supposed to feel HeJSpked, himself aloud a number of sinjyU quegtio v As: 'Why do m^i wryidi °B- who make pen-wipe^ thousand dollars ? .t^. ' Why don't she poison me • better than beggar me, he said, still t 0 fe self, still aloud, '.but she shall snffJ for this.' er

And then Mrs. Eogers wept- fop poor eyes bulged out of her fori There was a big swollen vein down the middle of her forehead. She was the most wretched of little women.' '

As he sipped his coffee, and she cried, the morning paper-flew into the window which stood open. It Was the carrier's way of saving time. It fell at Mr Roger's feet. Betook it up and opened it with a.bittet remembrance of his last opening the paper. And these were the first words that met his eves: ':

' Special Announcement.—Thenum agers of the Eagle lottery.desire to rectify a grave mistake in Saturday's report. No. 777 did not drawlthe capital prize. It was drawn by Ko. 775. The fault was the printer's' 'Hang the printer!' cried M P% Eogers. 'Esmerelda!' f Oh !' said Esmerelda. ' I forgive you, my dear,' said Mr. Bogers. ' I'll never say another word about it. never.' 'Oh, how noble!' sobbed Hr?. Eogers.

Then Mr. Eogers went to his school boys and his copies, and the boy who had come to F had ' Fool, folly, foolish foolishness,' on the top line of his book ; and the boy who had come to I, wrote 'Idiot, idiots, Idiot, idiots/ after his master's pattern, all the writing hour.

Didn't go a Cent on Style.

They came into the town on SundaY says the Fulton (New York) Titties behind a poor, tired-looking beast that inclined to be bow-legged. A buxom-iooking Miss in her teens was arrayed in a yellow dress, with two flounces and a long train, and the young man who sat beside her, blazing with a red necktie and a woollen shirt/ looked to be no more than twenty-five. They left the horse to munch his hay by the road-side, and, sailing up. the street, halted before a minister's resi dence and pulled the bell. 'Mister,' said the young man, as the worthy ' divine appeared in the doorway, .-'..ef you haint busy for a minute or so, Jane here and me would like you to hitch us together.' ' Certainly friends; would vor like to step in and .have the ceremony performed in the par lour?' ' Y-e-s, that'll do as well as as any way. There haint to be no style about this thing, you know; just give us a bit of a quiet talk^an' that's all we want.' 'Have you any friends or witnesses with you?' 'No, no. Its a quiet affair—a quiet affair. We don't go a cent on style. Why, we didn't think o' comin' tall last night. I was over to Jane's house; a takin' supper along with her, you know, and after the old folks had gone to,bed,.as we sot there talkin', I told her tfcat, seem' how her father's farmjinedpuys, and bein' as we'd growed up together, and set up nights alongside each other in the same chair for so long, Itgld her we mought as well live togethe_.;m the little shanty back o' the .farm. There want no style along of our lovin', an' we won't have.none a^out the weddin'. I think we will be. jpfc as happy, and love each other jusfeas well.' So the two were ushered jnto the little parlour, and the words that made them husband and wife were said in a quiet way. At the endjYtbe minister took the youngj man bjithe hand and congratulated Z-: him, .and stepped forward to kiss the blushing bride. 'Here, Mister,' saidithenew husband, 'that won't do us. Thisajnt no stylish affair, where everybody hugs the bride. Don't take it to. heart-V what I've said, mister; its only *y way. An' now I guess we'll be goin. When we're killing the hogs .1.11 fetish, you a bit of a roast, it may be, aa when the garden sass comes, you can have a mess o' string beans or green corn.' They then backed out oftne door, and went tripping arm in arm down the street, and soon were rat tling off towards home in their old shaky buggy—a happy twain. didn't go a cent on style. |

DEAN SWIFT'S RECIPE FOR COURT SHIP.

Two or three dears, and two or three aweefc Two or three balls, or twd or three treats, Two or three Serenades, given as lure, , Two or three oaths, how much they endurt. Two or three messages sent in one day, Two or three times led out from the pl»yi Two or three ticket? for two or three timei, Two or three love-letters, writ all in rhyme*. Two or three months keeping strict to theo rales, Can never fail making a couple of fools.

A Presbyterian minister, while marrj' ing a couple of his rustic parishioner felt exceedingly disconcerted, on hk«*' ing the bridegroom if he were willinff*1 take the woman for his wedded wifely his scratching his head, and sajro.' 'Ay, I'm wullin'; but I'd rather haew. sister.' "' ' j^s». Woman's revenge—-if she dies foP» \ As the bride got out of the carrj Jc/\£ caught her veil and tore itr'atidth^ffl^" groom was ill-natured abcSnt _L*a^^li^ when the saidi';'."w^ r^i'-; have this ma P' etc., shecs?id. jKr - that was the nd of thatjmarriaglr

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