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A lost man!

came.

"Who!

Thin I listened. Prisently an answer

Whoo! Whooo!

"Jamie Butler, the waiver ! sez I, as loud as I could roar, an', snatchin' up me bundle an' stick, I started in the direction of the voice. Whin I thought I had got near the place, I stopped an' shouted again, "A lost man!"

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" said a voice right over my

head.

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Sure," thinks I, "it's a mighty quare place for a man to be at this time of night; maybe it's some settler scrapin' sugar off a sugar-bush for the children's breakfast in the mornin'. But where's Will and the rest of them?" this wint through me head like a flash, an' thin I answered his inquiry.

All

"Jamie Butler, the waiver," sez I; "an', if it wouldn't inconvanience yer Honour, would yez be kind enough to step down an' show me the way to the house of Dennis O'Dowd?"

" Who! Whoo! Whooo! sez he.

"Dennis O'Dowd," sez I, civil enough, "an' a dacent man he is, and first cousin to me own mother."

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!" says he again.

Me mother!" sez I, "an' as fine a woman as iver peeled a biled pratie wid her thumb nail, an' her maiden name was Molly McFiggin."

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!

"Paddy McFiggin! bad luck to yer deaf ould head, Paddy McFiggin, I say, do ye hear that? An' he was the tallest man in all the county Tipperary, excipt Jim Doyle, the blacksmith."

"Who! Whoo! Whooo!"

"Jim Doyle the blacksmith," sez I, " ye good for nothin' blaggard naygur, an', if yiz don't come down an' show me the way this min't, I'll climb up there an' break every bone in your skin, ye spalpeen, so sure as me name is Jimmy Butler!"

"Who!

Whoo! Whooo!" sez he, as impident as iver.

I said niver a word, but lavin' down me bundle, an' takin' me stick in me teeth, I began to climb the tree. Whin I got among the branches I looked quietly around till I saw a pair of big eyes just forninst me.

"Whist," sez I, "an' I'll let him have a taste of an Irish stick," an' wid that I let drive, an' lost me balance an' came tumblin' to the ground, nearly breakin' me neck wid the fall. When I came to me sinsis I had a very sore head, wid a lump on it like a goose egg, an' half of me Sunday coat-tail torn off intirely. I spoke to the chap in the tree, but could git niver an answer at all, at all.

"Sure," thinks I, "he must have gone home to rowl up his head, for by the powers I didn't throw me stick for nothin'."

Well, by this time the Moon was up, an' I could see a little, an' I detarmined to make one more effort to reach Dennis's.

I wint on cautiously for a while, an' thin I heard a bell. "Sure," sez I, "I'm comin' to a settlement now, for I hear the church bell." I kept on toward the sound till I came to an ould cow wid a bell on. She started to run, but I was too quick for her, an' got her by the tail an' hung on, thinkin' that maybe she would take me out of the woods. On we wint, like an ould country steeple-chase, till, sure enough, we came out to a clearin', an' a house in sight wid a light in it. So, leavin' the ould cow puffin' an' blowin' in a shed, I went to the house, an', as luck would have it, whose should it be but Dennis's?

He gave me a raal Irish welcome, an' introduced me to his two daughters, -as purty a pair of girls as iver ye clapped an eye on. But, whin I tould him me adventure in the woods, an' about the fellow who made fun of me, they all laughed an' roared, an' Dennis said it was an owl.

"Do ye tell me now?" sez I. and a quare bird."

"Sure it's a quare country

An' thin they all laughed again, till at last I laughed myself that hearty like, an' dropped right into a chair between the two purty girls, an' the ould chap winked at me and roared again.

Dennis is me father-in-law now, an' he often yet delights to tell our children about their daddy's adventure wid the owl.

ITALIAN.

A SENATOR ENTANGLED.

JAMES DE MIlle.

THE Countess di Nottinero was not exactly a Recamier, but she was a remarkably brilliant woman, and the acknowledged leader of the liberal part of Florentine society.

a

The good Senator had never before encountered thorough woman of the world, and was as ignorant as a child of the innumerable little harmless arts by which the power of such a one is extended and secured. At last the Senator came to this conclusion, La Cica was desperately in love with him.

She appeared to be a widow. band that he had ever seen.

At least she had no husNow, if the poor Cica was But let it

hopelessly in love, it must be stopped at once. be done delicately, not abruptly.

One evening they walked on the balcony of La Cica's noble residence. She was sentimental, devoted, charming.

The conversation of a fascinating woman does not sound so well when it is reported as it is when uttered. Her power is in her tone, her glance, her manner. Who can catch the evanescent beauty of her expression or the deep tenderness of her well modulated voice? - who indeed?

"Does ze scene please you, my Senator?" "Very much indeed."

"Youar countryman haf tol me zey would like to stay here alloway."

"It is a beautiful place."

"Did you aiver see any thin moaire loafely?" And the Countess looked full in his face.

"Never," said the Senator, earnestly. The next instant He had been betrayed into a compliment. The Countess sighed.

he blushed.

"Helas! my Senator, that it is not pairmitted to mortals to sociate as zey would laike.”

"Your Senator,'" thought the gentleman thus addressed ; "how fond, how tender, poor thing! poor thing!

“I wish that Italy was nearer to the States," said he. “How I adamiar youar style of mind, so different from ze Italiana! You are so strong, so nobile.

laike to see moar of ze poetic in you."

Yet would I

"I always loved poetry, marm," said the Senator, desperately.

"Ah-good — nais eccelente.

I am plees at zat,"

Your langua ees not

cried the Countess, with much animation. "You would loafe it moar eef you knew Italiano.

sufficient musicale for poatry."

"It is not so soft a language as the Italian."

"Ah

no

not so soft. Very well. And what theenka you of ze Italiano?"

"The sweetest language I ever heard in all my born days."

"Ah now

Senator."

you hev not heard much of ze Italiano, my

"I have heard you speak often," said the Senator, naïvely.

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Ah, you compliment! I sot you was aboove flattera."

And the Countess playfully tapped his arm with her little

fan.

“What Ingelis poet do you loafe best?

"Poet? English poet?" said the Senator, with some sur

prise. "O- why, marm, I think Watts is about the best of the lot."

"Watt? Was he a poet? I did not know zat. He who invented ze stim-injaine? And yet if he was a poet it is naturale zat you loafe him best."

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Steam-engine? O no!

This one was a minister."

"A meeneestaire? Ah! an abbe? I know him not. Yet I have read mos of all youar poets."

He made up hymns, marm, and psalms, for instance, 'Watts's Divine Hymns and Spiritual Songs.'"

Songs? Spirituelle? Ah, I mus at once procuaire ze works of Watt, which was favorit poet of my Senator.”

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"A lady of such intelligence as you would like the poet Watts," said the Senator, firmly. He is the best known by far of all our poets."

"What! better zan Sakespeare, Milton, Bairon? You much surprass me."

"Better known and better loved than the whole lot. Why, his poetry is known by heart through all England and America."

"Merciful Heaven! what you tell me! ees eet possble! An yet he is not known here efen by name. It would please me mooch, my Senator, to haire you make one quotatione. Know you Watt? Tell to me some words of his which I may remembaire."

"I have a shocking bad memory." "Bad memora !

O, but you remember somethin, zis mos beautiful charm nait, - you haf a nobile soul, you mus be affecta by beauty, - by ze ideal. Make for a me one quotatione."

And she rested her little hand on the Senator's arm, and looked up imploringly in his face.

The Senator looked foolish. He felt even more so. Here was a beautiful woman, by act and look showing a tender interest in him. Perplexing, - but very flattering, after all. So he replied,

"You will not let me refuse any thing."