about it?" Before Mr. Martin could reply, Mr. Harry Brackett and the three Miss Pettitoes came forward. Mr. Brackett bore in his arms the pair of vases.

Then Mr. Brassy knew why Mr. Martin had congratulated him. "You have won the prize," cried Harry Brackett. "I have for a fact," Sam Brassy answered, looking at Miss Bessie Martin.

-Anonymous.

SAUNDERS MCGLASHAN'S COURTSHIP

Saunders McGlashan was a hand-loom weaver in a rural part of Scotland. In his early youth his father died and left him with the care of his mother and the younger children. He was a grayhaired man now. The bairns were married and awa'. His old mother, on whom he had lavished the most tender care, was lying beside his father in the kirkyard. He returned to the house alone. He sat down in his father's chair, crowned with a priceless crown of deserved blessing, but there was no voice to welcome him.

"What'll I dae?" he said. "I think I'll just keep the hoose mysel'."

But when winter set in, his trials began. One dark morning he awoke and said: "What needs I lie gautin' here? I'll rise and get a licht." So he got his flint and steel and tinder box, and set to work. The sparks from the flint and steel would not ignite the tinder. He struck vehemently, missed the flint, and drove the steel deep into his knuckles. "I said in my haste this mornin' that I wud hae a wife, and noo I say in my solemn leisure, this very day I shall have a wife."

Instinct told him that when he went a-wooing his best dress should go on; and looking in the glass he said: "I canna gang to see the lassies wi' a beard like that." The shaving done, he rubbed his chin, saying with great simplicity, "I think that should dae for the lassies noo." Then he turned and admired himself in the glass, for vanity is the last thing that dies in a man.

"Ye're no a very ill-looking man after a' Saunders; but it's a' very weel bein' guid lookin' and well-drest, but what womanam I gaun to seek for my wife?"

He got at length a paper and pencil and wrote down with great deliberation six female names in large half-text, carefully

dotting all the "i's" and stroking all the "t's" and surveyed the list as follows:

"That's a' the women I mind about. There's no great choice among them; let me see," putting on his spectacles, "it's no wiselike gaun courtin' when a body needs to wear specs. Several o' them I've never spoken till, but I suppose that 's of no consequence in this case. There's Mary Young; she's not very young at ony rate. Elspeth McFarlane; but she's blind o' the recht e'e, and it's not necessary that Saunders McGlashan should marry an imperfect woman. Kirsty Forsyth; she's been married twice already, an' surely twa men's enough for ony woman. Mary Morrison, a bonnie woman; but she's gotten a confounded lang tongue, an’ they say the hair upon her heid 's no her ain hair. I'm certain it's her ain tongue at ony rate! Jeannie Millar, wi' plenty o' siller not to be despised. Janet Henderson, wi' plenty o' love. I ken that she has a gude heart, for she was kind to her mither lang bed fast. Noo which o' thae six will I go to first? I think the first four can bide a wee, but the last twa siller and love! love and siller! Eh, wadna it be grand if a person could get them baith! but that's no allowed in the Christian dispensation. The patriarchs had mair liberty. Abraham wud just hae ta'en them baith, but I'm no Abraham. If I bring Janet Henderson to my fireside and she sits at that side darnin' stockin' and I sit at this side readin' after my day's wark, an' I lauch ower to her an' she lauchs ower tae me, isna that heaven upon earth? A body can get on in this warld withoot siller, but they canno get on in the warld withoot love. I'll gie Janet Henderson the first offer."

He put on his best Sabbath-day hat and issued forth into the street. Instantly at all the windows commanding a view of the street there were female noses flattened against the panes. Voices might be heard crying, "Mither! mither! mither! Come here! come here! Look! look! look! There's Saunders McGlashan wi' his beard aff, and his Sabbath-day claes on in the middle of the week! He's lookin' awfu' melancholy. I wonder wha's dead." Quite unconscious of the sensation he was creating, he walked gravely on toward the house of Janet Henderson.

"Lord preserve me, Saunders, is that you? A sicht o' you's guid for sair een! Come awa into the fire. What's up wi' ye the day, Saunders? Ye're awfu' weel lickit up, ye are. I never saw you lookin' sae handsome. What is 't ye 're after?"

"I'm gaun aboot seeking a wife."

"Eh, Saunders, if that's what ye want, ye needna want that very lang, I'm thinkin'."

my

66 But ye dinna seem to understand me; it's you I want for wife."

"Saunders McGlashan! think shame o' yoursel', makin' a fool o' a young person in that manner."

"I'm makin' nae fool o' ye, Janet. This very day I'm determined to hae a wife. You are the first that I have spoken till. I houp there's nae offense, Janet. I meant nae offense. Eh! oh! very well; if that's the way o't, it canna be helped;" and, slowly unfolding the paper which he had taken from his waistcoat pocket, "I have several other women's names markit down here tae ca' upon."

She saw the man meant business, stopped her spinning, looked down, was long lost in thought, raised her head, and broke the silence as follows:

"Saunders (ahem!) McGlashan (ahem!), I've given your serious offer great reflection. I've spoken to my heart, and the answer 's come back to my tongue. I'm sorry tae hurt your feelin's, Saunders, but what the heart speaketh the tongue repeateth. A body maun act in thae matters according to their conscience, for they maun gie an account at the last. So I think, Saunders,I think I'll just - I'll just "covering her face with her apron -"I'll just tak' ye. Eh! Saunders, gae 'wa' wi' ye! gae 'wa'!" But the maiden did not require to resist, for he made no attack, but solemnly sat in his seat and solemnly said: "I'm rale muckle obleeged to ye, Janet. It'll no be necessary to ca' on ony

o' thae ither lassies noo!"

He rose, thinking it was all over, and turned toward the door; but the maiden was there first, with her back at the door, and said: "Lord preserve me! what have I done? If my neebors come tae ken that I've ta'en you at the very first offer, they'll point the finger of scorn at me and say, ahint my back, as lang as I live, 'that woman was deein' for a man;' so ye maun come every day for the next month, and come in daylicht, so they 'll a' see ye comin' an' gaun, and they 'll say, 'that woman 's no easy courtit, I can tell ye. The puir man's wearin' his shoon aff his feet!' For, Saunders, though I'll be your wife, Saunders, I'm determined to hae my dues o' courtship a' the same."

She lit the lamp of love in his heart at last. For the first time in his long life he felt the unmistakable, holy, heavenly glow; his heart broke into a full storm of love, and, stooping down, he took her yielding hand in his, and said: "Yes, I wull; yes, I wull! I'll come twice every day, my Jo! my Jo-Jaanet!"

Before the unhappy man knew where he was, he had kissed the maiden, who was long expecting it. But the man blushed crimson, feeling guilty of a crime which he thought no woman could forgive, for it was the first kiss he had gotten or given in fifty long years, while the woman stood with a look of supreme satisfaction, and said to him:

"Eh! Saunders McGlashan, isna that rale refreshin'?"

-Anonymous.

THE TWO RUNAWAYS

Years ago there dwelt in Middle Georgia a wealthy but ec centric bachelor planter, known by the name of Major Crawford Worthington. He was the owner of a number of slaves, to whom, on the whole, he was very kind. One of them, named Isam, had been with him from childhood; in fact, they had sort of grown up together. Isam had an annual runaway freak, which usually lasted about a fortnight. The strangeness of this action on the part of his slave troubled the Major more than a little, not that he cared an iota for his loss of time, nor for his bad example, but it galled him to think that there was anything in connection with a negro which he could not fathom. At last the Major struck upon a plan whereby he should solve the mystery, and he accordingly threatened Isam with dire punishment if he should go off another time without letting him know. The threat had the desired effect; the Major was duly informed; whereupon, to the astonishment of the negro, the master signified his intention to accompany him on his expedition, and accordingly the two runaways started. For nearly two weeks they remained in the woods, only a few miles distant from their home, where they lived in a semi-civilized state, hunting, fishing, and foraging, both, indeed, enjoying themselves hugely. A day or two prior to their return, they had been out foraging for dinner, and were on their way to camp, heavily laden with their spoils. The two had just

reached the edge of the canebrake, beyond which lay the camp, and were entering the narrow path, when a magnificent buck came sweeping through, and collided with Isam with such force and suddenness as to crush and spatter his watermelons into a pitiful ruin, and throw the negro violently to the ground. Instantly the frightened man seized the threatening antlers and held on, yelling lustily for help. The deer made several ineffectual efforts to free himself, during which he dragged the negro right and left without difficulty, but, finding escape impossible, turned fiercely upon his unwilling captor, and tried to drive the terrible horns through his writhing body.

"O Lord! O Lord!" screamed Isam; "O Lord! Mass' Craffud, cum holp me tu'n dis buck loos'."

The laugh died away from Major Worthington's lips. None knew better than he the danger into which Isam had plunged. Not a stick, brush, stone, or weapon of any description was at hand, except his small pocketknife. Hastily opening that, he rushed upon the deer. Isam's eyes were bursting from their sockets, and appealed piteously for the help his stentorian voice was frantically imploring, until the woods rang with his agony. Major Worthington caught the nearest antler with his left hand, and made a fierce lunge at the animal's throat. But the point of the knife was missing, and only a trifling wound was inflicted. The next instant, the deer met the new attack with a rush that carried Isam with it, and thrust the Major to the ground, the knife falling out of reach. Seeing this, the negro let go his hold, rolled out of the way, and with a mighty effort literally ran upon the top of a branching haw-bush, where he lay spread out like a bat, and moaning piteously.

"Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud, stick ter 'im! Wo' deer! wo' deer! Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud."

And the Major stuck. Retaining his presence of mind, he threw his left arm over the deer's neck, and, still holding with his right the antler, looked about for Isam, who had so mysteriously disappeared.

"Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud, stick ter 'im. Hit's better fur one ter die den bofe! Hole 'im, Mass' Craffud, hole 'im! Wo' deer! wo' deer! Stick ter 'im, Mass' Craffud, steddy! Look out fur es ho'n! Wo' deer! Steddy, Mass' Craffud!"

By this time the struggles of the beast had again ceased, and,