to drag the monster forth. Bob therefore ran off for Tom Titus the blacksmith, who was supposed to care for nothing, and in less than two minutes Tom Titus arrived with about three feet of rod-iron red hot.

"Darng un!" cried Tom, "this 'ere'll make un quit together!"

"Dear me! my good man,” said the gentleman in black, "don't use that unchristian implement! don't put the dumb thing to such horrible torture!"

"It don't siggerfy a button," cried Tooler, "I marn't go to stop here all day. Out he must come."

Upon this Tom Titus introduced his professional weapon, and commenced poking about with considerable energy, while the snapping and growling increased with each poke.

"I'll tell you what it is," said Tom Titus, turning round and wiping the sweat off his brow with his naked arm, "this ere cretur here's stark raavin' mad."

"I knew that he was," cried the gentleman in black, getting into an empty wagon which stood without horses just out of the road; "I felt perfectly sure that he was rabid."

"He's a bull-terrier too," said Tom Titus, "I knows it by's growl. It's the worsest and dargdest to go mad as is." "Well, what shall us do wi' th' warmint?" said Tooler. "Shoot him! shoot him!" cried the gentleman in black. "Oh, I've goot a blunderbuss, Bob!" said Tom Titus, "yow run for❜t together, it's top o' the forge."

Bob started at once, and Tom kept on the bar, while Tooler, Sam, and Harry, and Bill, held the heads of the horses.

"He's got un; all right!" cried Tom Titus, as Bob neared the coach with the weapon on his shoulder. "Yow'll be doon in noo time," he added, as he felt with his rod to ascertain in which corner of the boot the bull-terrier lay.

"Is she loarded?" asked Bob, as he handed Tom Titus the instrument of death.

"Mind you make the shot come out at the bottom," shouted Tooler.

“I wool,” said Tom Titus, putting the weapon to his shoulder. "Noo the Loord ha' marcy on yer, as joodge says sizes," and instantly let fly.

The horses of course plunged considerably, but still did no mischief; and before the smoke had evaporated, Valentine introduced into the boot a low melancholy howl, which convinced Tom Titus that the shot had taken effect.

"He's giv oop the ghost; darng his carkus!" cried Tom, as he poked the dead body in the corner.

"Well, let's have a look at un," said Tooler, "let's see what the warmint is like."

The gentleman in black at once leaped out of the wagon, and every one present drew near, when Tom, guided by the rod which he had kept upon the body, put his hand into the boot, and drew forth a fine hare that had been shattered by the shot all to pieces.

He arn't a bull-terrier," cried Bob.

"But that arn't he," said Tom Titus. "He's some'er aboot here as dead as a darng'd nail. I know he's a corpse." "Are you sure on't?" asked Tooler.

"There arn't any barn dooor deader," cried Tom. “Here, I'll lug um out an' show yar.

'No, no!” shouted Tooler, as Tom proceeded to pull out the luggage. "I marn't stay for that. I'm an hour behind now, blarm un! jimp up, genelmen!"

Tom Titus and his companions, who wanted the bull-terrier as a trophy, entreated Tooler to allow them to have it, and having at length gained his consent, Tom proceeded to empty the boot. Every eye was, of course, directed to everything drawn out, and when Tom made a solemn declaration that the boot was empty, they were all, at once, struck with amazement. Each looked at the other with astounding incredulity, and overhauled the luggage again and again.

"Do you mean to say," said Tooler, "that there arn't nuffin else in the boot?"

66

'Darng'd a thing!" cried Tom Titus, "coom and look." And Tooler did look, and the gentleman in black looked, and Bob looked, and Harry looked, and Bill looked, and Sam looked, and all looked, but found the boot empty.

"Well, blarm me!" cried Tooler. "But darng it all, he must be somewhere."

'I'll taake my solumn davy," said Bill," that he was there." "I seed um myself," exclaimed Bob, "wi' my oarn eyes, an' didn't loike the looks on um a bit."

"There cannot," said the gentleman in black, "be the smallest possible doubt about his having been there; but the question for our mature consideration is, where is he now?"

"I'll bet a pint," said Harry, "you blowed um away."

"Blowed um away, you fool!--how could I ha' blowed um away?"

'Why, he was there," said Bob, “and he baint there noo, and he baint here nayther, so you must ha' blowed um out o' th' boot; 'sides, look at the muzzle o' this 'ere blunderbust!"

"Well, of all the rummest goes as ever happened,” said Tooler, thrusting his hands to the very bottom of his pockets, "this ere flogs 'em all into nuffin!"

"It is perfectly astounding!" exclaimed the gentleman in black, looking again into the boot, while the men stood and stared at each other with their mouths as wide open as human mouths could be.

“Well, in wi' 'em again," cried Tooler," in wi' 'em!-Blarm me if this here arn't a queer un to get over."

The luggage was accordingly replaced, and Tooler, on mounting the box, told the men to get a gallon of beer, when the gentleman in black generously gave them half a crown, and the horses started off, leaving Tom with his blunderbuss, Harry, Bill, Sam, and their companions, bewildered with the mystery which the whole day spent in the alehouse by ne means enabled them to solve.

THE WEDDING FEE.-R. M. STREETER.

One morning, fifty years ago,-
When apple trees were white with snow
Of fragrant blossoms, and the air

Was spell-bound with the perfume rare,—
Upon a farm horse, large and lean,
And lazy with its double load,

A sun-browned youth and maid were seen
Jogging along the winding road.

Blue were the arches of the skies;
But bluer were that maiden's eyes,

The dew-drops on the grass were bright;
But brighter was the loving light

That sparkled 'neath the long-fringed lid,
Where those bright eyes of blue were hid;
Adown the shoulders brown and bare
Rolled the soft waves of golden hair,
Where, almost strangled with the spray,
The sun, a willing sufferer, lay.

It was the fairest sight, I ween,
That the young man had ever seen;
And with his features all aglow,
The happy fellow told her so!
And she without the least surprise
Looked on him with those heavenly eyes;
Saw underneath that shade of tan
The handsome features of a man;
And with a joy but rarely known
She drew that dear face to her own,
And by her bridal bonnet hid-
I cannot tell you what she did!

So, on they ride until among

The new-born leaves with dew-drops hung,
The parsonage, arrayed in white,

Peers out,-a more than welcome sight.
Then, with a cloud upon his face,
"What shall we do," he turned to say,
"Should he refuse to take his pay
From what is in the pillow-case?
And glancing down his eye surveyed
The pillow-case before him laid,
Whose contents reaching to its hem,
Might purchase endless joy for them.
The maiden answers, "let us wait,
To borrow trouble where's the need?"
Then, at the parson's squeaking gate
Halted the more than willing steed.

Down from the horse the bridegroom sprung;
The latchless gate behind him swung:
The knocker of that startled door,

Struck as it never was before,

Brought the whole household pale with fright;

And there, with blushes on his cheek,

So bashful he could hardly speak,

The farmer met their wondering sight.

The groom goes in, his errand tells,
And, as the parson nods, he leans
Far o'er the window-sill and yells,
"Come in! He says he'll take the beans!"

Oh! How she jumped! With one glad bound,
She and the bean-bag reached the ground.
Then, clasping with each dimpled arm
The precious product of the farm,
She bears it through the open door;.
And, down upon the parlor floor,
Dumps the best beans vines ever bore.

Ah! happy were their songs that day,
When man and wife they rode away.
But happier this chorus still

Which echoed through those woodland scenes:
"God bless the priest of Whitinsville!
God bless the man who took the beans!"

THE BONDAGE OF DRINK.

You think I love it! if this nerveless hand
Could gain immortal strength, this very hour,

I'd sweep this hellish traffic from the land,

And crush its blighting, maddening, nightmare power Yea, now with all my latest dying breath,

I'll curse the thing that drags me down to death !

Love it? I loathe it! Yet I drink, and drink,
And hate my bondage with a loathing hate;
And hate myself as through the town I slink.
The pledge? No, no! Too late-too late!
No pledge! I've tried it twice-a waste of breath!
Too late-there's no release for me but death.

It's bad enough to drink; but not to drink-
Doth such a train of horrors wake
As in one hour would leave me dead, I think;
Ah, keep away, ye fiends, for pity's sake!
The very thought of them affects my brain;
My end will be when they shall come again.

Love rum? I'd love to hold my head up high

And breathe God's air a free and fearless man
And look with undimmed eyes on earth and sky,
With steady nerve to do, and head to plan.
I'd love to grapple trials as they come,
In manly fashion, brave and strong. Love rum!

If I could go into some land

Where no drink is, God knows how willingly