Soon afterwards he came out with a wooden | we're going to do about wood and the cattle bowl full of corn, going to the barn, when the I'm sure I don't know! I'm so lame, I couldn't ram started for him. milk to save my life." "You won't catch me this time, you pesky sarpint you," said the old gentleman, quickening his pace for the ice, and soon reached what he supposed his harbor of safety. The brute had found out he was shod, and running backward half the length of the yard to obtain momentum, rushed forward and struck the old gentleman in the rear with the force of a battering-ram. Away went the corn in all directions over the yard, to the manifest delight of the hungry sheep. Uncle Smullen lay prostrate on the ice: one half the wooden bowl flew over the fence, the other into the water trough, while the ram, who had exerted his utmost strength in a dead rush, not meeting with the resistance upon which he had calculated, turning a summerset upon the body of his antagonist, went end over end. Before he could pick himself up, he was seized by Joseph, and flung into the barn. The moment Joe saw Uncle Smullen fall, his better nature awoke: hastening to his aid, he inquired, "Are you much hurt, Uncle Jonathan?" "I don't know! I'm in hopes there ain't no bones broke; it's a marcy if there ain't. If I'd gone backwards, it would sartainly have killed me." "Don't worry the least mite about the cattle, Mrs. Smullen. I'll take care of them, and cut you up a lot of wood." "I'm sure I don't know how we shall ever repay you, Joseph. It's of the Lord's marcies you happened to be here." This was perfect torture to Joe. His cheeks burned, and his conscience stung. "I'm sure," said the old man, "I don't know what I shall do with that ram, now he's got to be master." "I'll take care of him," said Joe. He persuaded Sally Merrithew to go there, and stay till the old gentleman got better, then went and tied the ram's legs, and flinging him on his shoulders, carried him over to his father's. Sally was a girl of keen wit and excellent judgment. She had not the least doubt but that, in some way or other, Joe Griffin was at the bottom of the whole matter. "How came he there at that time of day, when he ought to have been in Peter Brock's shop?" was the query she raised in her own mind. His assiduous attentions to the old people had to her a suspicious look, and appeared very much like an effort to atone for an injury. The ram had never ventured on "Your face is bleeding," said Joe, wiping it the ice before - how came he to then? Still with his handkerchief. these surmises afforded not a shadow of proof. "Yes; I'm terribly shook all over, and I She was greatly perplexed. feel kind o' faint." The old man was bruised on his forehead, and his lip was cut by the edge of the bowl; but though much frightened, he was not seriously injured. Joe took him in his arms and carried him into the house, secretly resolving that this should be the last thing of the kind he would ever be guilty of. Depositing the old man on the bed, he went to the barn and tore the shoes off the ram's feet, but, in his haste to get back, dropped one on the floor of the tie-up. "I thought I was safe on that spot of ice, Joseph. He never followed me there before. I didn't think he could stand on the ice." "You see he couldn't very well," replied Joe, who was in agony lest his agency in the matter should get wind; "for you see he went end over end." "We ought to be thankful," said Mrs. Smullen, "it's no worse. There was old Mrs. Aspinwall broke her hip only by treading on a pea, and falling down on her own floor. What One morning she was milking, and, perceiving that her pail didn't set even on the floor, moved it, and underneath was one of the ram's shoes that Joe had dropped. In an instant she had a clew to the mystery. Perceiving that no one was in sight, she went to the spot of ice, found the prints of the ram's calks, and compared them with the shoe. “What a creature he is!" said Sally. “I was in hopes he had left off such things, after having been most smothered in a honey-pot, and scorched in the brush. He's broke out again, worse than ever." Sunday night he came to see her, as usual. "Joe," said she, "do they shoe at Peter's shop?" "Yes, Peter shoes lots of horses; but they go round to the houses to shoe oxen, carry the shoes and nails, and cast the cattle in the barn floor" (slings were not in use then) "to nail them on." "Do they ever shoe rams?" Joe's features instantly assumed a terrified expression. He colored to the very tips of his ears, but uttered no word. "If," said Sally, "it had been Ben Rhines, Seth Warren, Charlie, or anybody that could have taken their own part; but to set to work on that poor old man, one of the kindest men that ever lived, who took in that miserable Pete Clash, and clothed him, when he had no place to put his head, and whom everybody loves, to run the risk of killing or crippling him for life, I say it's real mean!" Joe made no reply, and Sally saw something very much like a tear in his eye. She pitied him from the bottom of her heart, but felt that for the reformation of such an incorrigible sinner it was her duty to go on. "Did you ever see that before?" she inquired, holding before the terrified culprit the identical shoe, with the nails still sticking in it. Joe uttered a groan. "If it should get out, the neighbors would never speak to you again, and you'd have to leave town. I know you feel bad," she continued, bursting into tears; "but what did put it into your head?" "The devil.” 66 'Well, I'd keep better company." "You see, Sally, I was going home to dinner one day, and the ram had the old man penned on the ice, and there they stood looking at each other. That's what put it into my head. I didn't think anything about the consequences till I saw the ram start for him. Then it all came to me, and I was over the fence in a minute; but it was too late. I don't think I'm made like other folks. Such things come over me just like lightning, and it seems as if I was hurried. This is the last shine I shall ever cut up." "You've said so before, Joe." THE CANINE SUICIDE. BY A. B. HEYWOOD. HE fine wood-cut of "Hero, the Bloodhound of Libby Prison," in OUR BOYS AND GIRLS of March 12, bears so strong a resemblance to a dog whose acquaintance I once made in the south, that I am constrained to give a brief and truthful account of his intelligent life and tragic death. Having occasion, a few years since, to spend the winter in Mobile, Alabama, I resided in the family of a gentleman formerly of New Hampshire, who owned a dog named Sultan. I soon found that the dog was an important member of the household, very much inclined to be suspicious of strangers, and dispute their right to his master's hospitality. As a matter of policy, I set about getting his good will at once, and forthwith scraped an intimate acquaintance with him, which was cultivated with becoming prudence during my stay in the city. Being a watch-dog, Sultan seldom left the premises except when borrowed by the "hogcatchers" or "dog-killers." With the latter he became famous on account of his speed and sagacity in overtaking and holding “unlicensed dogs" until they could be shot or otherwise secured. Many a time during the "dog season" he might be seen, just at nightfall, riding, calmly and proudly, into the city on the top of a cage full of those miserable curs with which Mobile abounds, and which had been saved alive to be claimed by their owners. During the political excitement attendant upon the "American movement" of that year, the city government of Mobile resolved to restore the control of Charity Hospital, "But I mean it now; I'm purposed. Won't which, strangely enough, had passed into the you give me that shoe, Sally?” "No, Joe, I'm going to keep it; and as sure as you cut up another shine, I'll show it." Joe's reformation was radical this time, and Sally ventured to marry him. Years afterwhen Mrs. Griffin - Sally Rhines was visiting her. In hunting over her drawers to find a pattern of a baby's dress, she came across the shoe, and then it came out. She gave it to the baby to play with. hands of the Catholic Sisters of Charity, to the proper authorities. Mr. S., one of the aldermen, and the dog's master, was the originator and ardent supporter of the resolution. He immediately received numerous anonymous letters, threatening to put more bullets into his head than there were hairs upon it, &c., &c., if he persisted in his course. The public pulse had reached fever height, when, on the day before a legal investigation of the matter was to take place, several of the friends of Mr. S. called upon him, and, after expressing serious fears for his personal safety, one presented him with a revolver, another with a sword-cane. Sultan was present. The NEVER buy what you do not want be- next day, on his way to the trial, Mr. S. was cause it is cheap. surprised to find the dog behind him, and ex "I should be afraid to give it to him," said Mrs. Rhines, "for fear he'd catch something, and go to cutting up shines when he grows up." claimed to a friend, "What does this mean? | Sult.?" He found that the butcher had car I have lived in Mobile four years, and I never knew that dog to follow me down town before." Turning to the dog, he said, "Sult., go home," and thought no more about it. But on ascending the steps of the courthouse, he found him again at his heels, and this time did not send him back. Mr. S. walked in with the other members of the board, laid his revolver and cane upon the table, and Sultan planted himself at his feet, ready and able to throttle the first man that dared lay violent hands on his master. Three days and three nights the trial continued. The court-room and all its avenues were thronged with an infuriated mob, who were restrained from open violence only by the arms of the members and a strong police force. During this whole time that faithful sentinel Sultan was not off guard for one moment. He seemed to comprehend the entire situation, and kept directly in front of his master wherever he went, as if every instant expecting his services would be required. The matter was settled, however, without bloodshed. Quiet was restored, and Sultan never again showed the slightest disposition to go "down town" or take part in any political excitement. At length Mr. S. concluded to wind up his business affairs in Mobile and go north. The time was set for his departure, and on the previous day he remarked that he did not know what to do with Sult. He could not take him north, and he could not bear to shoot him. He finally decided to leave him on the premises, saying, that whoever took possession would find him a trusty watchman. Sultan, who was lying at his master's feet, rose and slowly walked out to a dark shed behind the stable, and dug a deep hole, large enough to receive his own body. Not making his usual appearance at the kitchen door for his supper that night, search was made, and he was found curled up in this hole; and neither calling, coaxing, threats, nor commands could entice the hitherto obedient dog from his position. Knowing well the intelligence and sagacity of the animal, it occurred to Mr. S. that he might be bent on selfdestruction; but taking it for granted that hunger would bring him to his senses, he made arrangements with the keeper of Bell Market, across the street, to carry him food and water twice a day, and left the city. In the course of a few weeks his son returned to Mobile, and his first question, on reaching the old homestead, was, "Where is WE THE FLOWER GARDEN. BY AUNT CARRIE. E can at least try to arrange our gardens as tastefully as the French and English florists. They cut their lawns so as to resemble rich green velvet; their flower beds are cut out in different shapes all over this "lawn of green velvet." These beds are planted in masses of blue, scarlet, yellow, crimson, white, &c. Separate beds of each color blend harmoniously on the carpet of green. A shaded star is beautiful - the points of the star light, shading down to a dark centre. Verbenas can be arranged thus, and phlox Drummondii. We will give a few directions for ribbon beds, still preferring our readers should exercise their own taste. In forming a circular bed about twenty feet in diameter, plant the first circular line towards the grass with blue lobelia, or the silver-leaved white alyssum. Next plant Mrs. Pollock geranium, now so famous; it grows about nine inches high, with its gorgeous leaves and flowers; next to that, the silver-leaved or snow geranium; then, a circle of chocolate coleus Verschaffeltii, the centre being a mound of scarlet salvia, or the scarlet perfection geranium, of the Zonole class. This variety is quite tall, and blooms profusely. We saw a very pretty ribbon mound last year, planted with a clump of canna or pampas grass in the centre; next, coleus Verschaffeltii; then, phalaris arunclinaca picta, a new style of ribbon grass; then, a circle of crystal palace scarlet geranium; then a fringe of centaurea gymnocarpa, whose fern-like white leaves form a beautiful bordering. Some would border such a bed with blue lobelia or pink gypsophilii; but the white fringe of the centaurea, mingling with the green of the turf edge, was more chastely beautiful. For beds having a background of shrubbery, large and bright-colored foliage, or showy plants, such as the crimson-foliaged amarantus sanguineus, growing six feet in height, should be planted first; then, salvia Gordonii, with scarlet, feather-like flowers, at taining a height of four feet; in front, dactylis glomerata variegata, a beautiful, variegated grass, two feet high. For narrow ribbon beds along the margins of walks, low-growing plants are needed, such as snow-flake lobelia, or blue; pink or white gypsiphilia, or silverleaved alyssum, for the front line; next, Tom Thumb tropeolum; then, as the centre or third line, fuchsia golden and blue. All these can be raised from the seed except the fuchsia. All geraniums grow easily from slips. We advise our young friends to purchase at once a good-sized plant, and cut it up into slips, which should be started in half sand and half soil, as we have before given directions. Verbenas, geraniums, and many other kinds of plants, will root easily in water. Place the slips in small bottles, filled with spring water, and hang them where they can receive the full sun. THE MERMAID. HIS was the name of a celebrated tavern T formerly situated in Bread Street, London, which was the favorite resort of actors and literary men in the time of Elizabeth. The famous Mermaid Club, founded by Sir Walter Raleigh, and including, as members, Ben Jonson, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Carew, Donne, and probably Shakespeare, met here for social and convivial enjoyment. Fuller makes this tavern the scene of the noted "wit combats" between Shakespeare and Jonson, although there is no positive evidence that Shakespeare was one of the club, or that he frequented the Mermaid, our confidence that this was the case resting, as has been said, "upon the moral impossibility that he should have been absent." Beaumont, in a poetical letter to Ben Jonson, describes the meetings of the club in these words: "What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! heard words that have been W. GEORGE SANDYS, an Englishman, who travelled in the East in the early part of the seventeenth century, before coffee was known in England, says of that beverage, "They drank it as hot as they could endure it. It is as black as soot, and in taste not much unlike it; good, they say, for digestion and mirth.” "ONE of the very best remedies for the stomach," says Pliny, "is to use a snail diet. They must be left to simmer in water for some coals, and eaten with fish sauce. time; after which they must be grilled on hot Another point to be observed," he says, "is to take an uneven number of them." WHITEFIELD is said to have delivered eighteen thousand sermons during his career of thirty-four years. ORIGINAL DIALOGUE. THE LITTLE GYPSY GIRL. DRAMATIZED FROM THE FRENCH BY JAMES L. ROBINSON. CHARACTERS.-ALICE, a Girl of twelve years; SARAH, a Girl of sixteen years; MOTHER FRAGARD, Mother VerdUCHENE, two old Gypsy Women; Jean VerducHENE, Chief of the Gypsies; LAME LOUIS, a Gypsy with crutches; and several other Gypsies of both sexes; M. BARBIER, Treasurer to the King of France; DAME Mathurine, Housekeeper to M. Barbier; JACQUARD, Porter to M. Barbier; DAME JACQUARD, Wife of the Porter. SCENE I. ALICE, dressed in miserable rags, with an empty basket on her arm, enters, walking slowly; she pauses, draws a deep sigh. Enter SARAH, from the opposite side of the stage; she walks softly on tiptoe till she sees ALICE, then springs quickly forward, and shakes her impatiently by the shoulder. Enter DAME MATHURINE, on her way to church. She approaches the girls. Dame M. (Sharply.) You pair of little beggars! I think you might find a fitter time to laugh than Sunday, and a fitter place than here by the church, disturbing the thoughts of good Christians who pass. Sarah. (In a whining tone, courtesying meekly.) Indeed, madame, if we thought it was any offence, we would not do it. Dame M. (Adjusting her spectacles.) You are a young hypocrite! [Exit DAME M. (SARAH makes a face and snaps her fingers in contempt as the old lady's back is turned.) Alice. You are not doing right now, Sarah; you know you are not. If you had been at the church to-day, you would have heard the preacher say Sarah. (Interrupting.) Really, Alice, if you go on in this way, no one will believe that you are a Gypsy, no more than that I am. a princess. Perhaps I know more about you than you think. Be this as it may, one look at you and your ways would convince me that you are not a born Gypsy. Alice. How so? I pray you may be right! What makes you think so? Sarah. Everything about you. It is true you are dressed like the rest of us; but your Sarah. So! I have found you at last! What clothes, though ragged, are never dirty. Your have you been about so long? hair is more tidily arranged than ours, and I Alice. Hush! O, hush! Sarah, don't be verily believe you comb it out every three or angry with me! four days. Sarah. I'm not angry with you; but they have missed you from the court. The old mother has been crying out for you this hour; and if you don't get a beating when you get back, I wonder at it! Alice. I cannot help it, Sarah; I will not beg to-day. Do you know that it is Easter Sunday, and the chimes have been ringing, and there are flowers in the church; and I have been there praying, and asking for grace and strength to be patient and bear all? Sarah. Alice, I don't know what has come over you of late; instead of playing, or going to beg with the rest of us, you are weeping and praying in every hole and corner, or talking to me of a whole heap of things that are clear nonsense to me. Alice. O, sister, if you but knew how wretched we are!-we Gypsy children. Sarah, (Bursting into loud laughter.) Wretched? Ha, ha, ha! You make me laugh! I'm well fed enough; and where's the queen with finer velvet and satin than mine? (Flirting out her ragged dress and courtesying.) Ha, ha, ha! Alice. Every day, I do assure you; indeed, I do, Sarah; every day. Sarah. There, you see it is even oftener than I thought! Then you actually wash your hands and face I don't know how many times a day. Alice. O, Sarah, only twice! indeed, only twice a day! Sarah. Only twice! Is that all? And pray how much oftener would you wish to? I doubt if her majesty the queen pretends to do more than that! No, no; any one with eyes can see that you are not a Gypsy child. Alice. Would I were not! Sarah. But, I tell you, we had better get back as quickly as we can to the Court of Miracles. If the old mother could have heard our talk, she would say you were spoiling me. And, indeed, Alice, do you know that I have been good for nothing ever since you began to preach to me; and that you have been crying and breaking your heart all day long, and all night too, when we were lying together on the straw? I have got so much in my head all your |