A shipwreck-a murther-a fire alarm-
Whichiver ye loike-have a paper, marm?
Thin buy it, plaze, av this bit av a gurrul,
She's new in the business, and all av a whirrul;
We must ind her a hand," said little Jerry,
"There's a plinty av thrade at the Fulton Ferry.

"She's wakely for nade av the tay and the toastThe price av a paper-plaze, sir, buy a Post? Thrue as me name it is Jeremiah,

There's a foine report av a dridful fire,

And a child that's lost, and a smash av a train;
Indade, sir, the paper's just groanin' wid pain!
Spake up, little gurrul, and don't be afraid.
I'm schraichin' fo two till I start yez in thrade.
While I yell, you can sell,” said little Jerry,
Screeching for two at Fulton Ferry.

The night was bleak, the wind was high,
And a hurrying crowd went shivering by:
And some bought papers, and some bought none,
But the boy's shrill voice rang cheerily on:

Buy a Post, or a News, or a Mail, as you choose, For my arm just aches wid weight av the news. Express? Not a single one left for to-nightBut buy one av this little gurrul, sir-all right. She's a reg'lar seller here at the ferry, And I rickomind her high," said Jerry.

In the whirl of the throng there paused a man,
"The bell is ringing, I cannot wait;

Here, girl, a Commercial, as quick as you can,
The boat is starting-don't make me late."
And on through the hurrying crowd he ran,
The wee girl following close behind,
After the penny he could not find;
While, with a spring through the closing gate,
After her money bounded Jerry,
Ragged and panting, at Fulton Ferry.

"One cent from the man in the big fur coat!
Give me the change, or I'll stop the boat."
Up from the deck a laugh and a cheer,
It changed to a shuddering cry of fear
As he bent his head for the fearful spring,
And then--like a wild bird on the wing-

Over the whirling waters swung,

Touched the boat with his hands and clung,'
Gasping and white, to the rail, and cried:
Where is that mean old man, who tried
To steal one cent from a girl at the ferry,-
A poor little girl, with no friend but Jerry ?"

Over the side went a hundred hands,

From a hundred mouths rang forth commands: "Pull him in!" "Stop the boat!" "Take his stock!" Let us buy

All the papers he has!" "Send him home to get dry!"
"No, indade," said the boy-"that's not w'at I meant;
I don't want yer money; I want that one cent
From the man in the warr'm fur coat an' hat,
Who could shteal a cent from a gurrul like that.
Afiver he tries that game agin,

He'd better take me, and not Margery Flynn!"
Then cheer on cheer for little Jerry
Rang across the Fulton Ferry.

Long ago, my youthful readers,
Happened this that I have told;
Long ago that sturdy newsboy
All his daily papers sold.

And the pluck that dared a ducking,
To set right a weak one's wrong,
Served him well in every struggle.
And his life, both kind and strong,
Is a blessing and a comfort

To a world of needy boys,

Who, like him, must work in play-time
With boot-brushes for their toys.

But around the Fulton Ferry,

Still the newsboys talk of Jerry.

REST.

There is no rest. 'Tis but an empty sound,-
A dream all shadowless the world around.

Unrest is normal. Every orb or ray,

Greater or less that beams by night or day,

Sun, moon, or star that burns through endless space,

Each in its course runs one eternal race.

God never rests, eternal vigil keeps;

The Eye all-seeing slumbers not, nor sleeps ;

All things obedient to one lofty soul,
Move ever restless as the ages roll.
Unrest is life-hope-action-glory-play;
Rest is but death, cessation is decay.

Unrest is real. The glorious Power that spanned
The mighty fabric of the skies and planned
The architectural glories, far and near,

That deck each world and ornament each sphere,
Is constant in its work supreme, sublime,
In restless glory through resistless time.
There is no rest in all the realms of life.

Man is an epitome of endless strife;

The heated words which drop from human tongues,
The breath that parts the lips and fills the lungs,
Each heart-throb, each pulsation, every thrill
Of joy or sorrow, leaves him restless still.

There is no rest, nor can rest e'er prevail;
The world's in motion-mountain, forest, vale;
The wondrous ocean's restless currents roll
Around the sea-washed world from pole to pole;
The cloud, the storm, the darkness and the light
Proclaim resistless force and restless might.

There may be peace; the world in stillness may,
And awful silence, pass the years away;

Long centuries hide in Time's eternal breast;
Peace, silence stillness all-but never rest.
Rest is the mildew, the corroding rust,

Hope's faded ashes and Love's crumbling dust.

AN INQUISITIVE CUSTOMER.

He slipped into an ice-cream saloon very softly, and when the girl asked him what he wanted he replied: "Corn-beef, fried potatoes, pickles, and mince pie."

"This is not a restaurant; this is an ice-cream parlor," she said.

"Then why did you ask me what I wanted. Why didn't you bring on your ice-cream?”

She went after it, and as she returned he continued: "You see, my dear girl, you must infer, you must reason.

It isn't likely that I would come into an ice-cream parlor to buy a grindstone, is it? You didn't think I came here to ask if you had any baled hay, did you?"

She looked at him in great surprise, and he went on: “If I had a hardware store and you came in, I would infer that you came for something in my line, I wouldn't step up and ask you whether you wanted to buy a mule, would I?"

She went away highly indignant. An old lady was devouring a dish of cream at the next table, and the stranger, after watching her a moment, called out: "My dear woman, have you found any hairs or tons in your dish?”

but

"Mercy! no!" she exclaimed, as she wheeled around and dropped her spoon.

46

Well, I'm glad of it! If you find any, let me know, will you?"

She looked at him a half a minute, picked up the spoon, and laid it down again, then rose up and left the room. She must have said something to the proprietor, for he came running in and exclaimed:

"Did you tell that woman that there were hairs and buttons in my ice-cream?"

"No, sir."

"You didn't?"

“No, sir, I did not; I merely requested her in case she found any such ingredients to inform me!"

“Well, sir, that was a mean trick."

"My dear sir," said the stranger, smiling softly, "did you expect me to ask the woman if she had found a crowbar or a sledge-hammer in her cream? It is impossible, sir, for such articles to be hidden in such a small dish."

The proprietor went away growling, and as the stranger quietly supped away at his cream, two young ladies came in, sat down near him, and ordered some cream and cakes. He waited until they had eaten a little, and then he remarked:

"Beg pardon, ladies, but do you observe anything peculiar in the taste of this cream?"

They tasted, smacked their lips, but were not sure. "Does it taste to you as if a plug of tobacco had fallen into the freezer?" he asked.

"Ah! kah!" they exclaimed, dropping their spoons, and trying to spit out what they had eaten. Both rushed out, and it wasn't long before the proprietor came.

66

"See here, what in blazes are you talking about?" he demanded. What do you mean by plug tobacco in the freezer?"

"My kind friend, I asked the ladies if this cream tasted of plug tobacco. I didn't taste any such taste, and I don't believe you used a bit of tobacco in it!”

"Well, we don't want you to talk that way around here!" continued the proprietor. "My ice-cream is pure, and the man who says it isn't tells a bold lie!"

He went away again and a woman with a long neck and a sad face sat down and said to the girl that she would take a small dish of lemon-ice.

It was brought, and she had taken about two mouthfuls, when the stranger inquired:

"Excuse me, madam; but do you know how this cream was made? Have idea that they grated turnip and chalk with the cream?"

you any

She didn't reply. She slowly rose up, wheeled around, and made for the door. The stranger followed after, and by great good luck, his coat-tail cleared the door an instant too soon to be struck by a five-pound box of figs, hurled with great force by the indignant proprietor. As he reached the curb-stone he halted, looked at the door of the parlor, and soliloquized:

"There are times when people should infer, and there are times when they shouldn't. I suppose if I had asked that woman if she thought they had hashed up a saw-mill in the cream she'd have felt a circular-saw going down her throat."