PATHOS.

From Laughter to Tears.

We

Patho is the truthful description of a solemn scene. enjoy pathos as much as we enjoy humor. Tears and laughter come from the same fount. How many times we have seen young lad es crying over a pathetic love-story. They would read and cry, read and cry. If they didn't enjoy that pathos they would throw the book away. The book may not have cost ten cents, but they were trying to get a uollar's worth of cry out of it.

Pathos and humor are twin sisters They are both true to

nature.

A Beautiful Death.

Eli Perkins.

"Doctor, is I got to go?"

"Aunt 'Liza, there is no hope for you."

"Bress the Great Master for his goodness. Ise ready.” The doctor gave a few directions to the colored women that sat around 'Liza's bed, and started to leave, when he was recalled by the old woman, who was drifting out with the tide :

"Marse John, stay wid me till it's ober. I wants to talk ob de old times. I knowed you when a boy, long 'fore you went and been a doctor. I called you Marse John den; I call you de same now. Take yo' ole mammy's hand, honey, and hold it. Ise lived a long, long time. Ole marster and ole missus hab gone before, and de chillun from de ole place is scattered øber de world. I'd like to see 'em 'fore I starts on de journey tonight. My ole man's gone, and all de chillun I nussed at dis breast has gone too. Dey's waitin' for dere mudder on de

golden shore. I bress de Lord, Marse John, for takin' me to meet 'em dar. Ise fought the good fight, and Ise not afraid to meet de Saviour. No mo' wo'k for poor old mammy, no mo' trials and tribulations-hold my hand tighter, Marse John-fadder, muddermudder-marster-misses-chillun-Ise gwine home."

The soul, while pluming its wings for its flight to the Great Beyond, rested on the dusky face of the sleeper, and the watchers, with bowed heads, wept silently. She was dead.

Mrs. Southey on the Pauper's Death.

Tread softly bow the head

-in reverent silence bow ;

no passing bell doth toll, yet an immortal soul is passing now. Stranger! however great, with lowly reverence bow there's one in that shed poor one by that paltry bed greater than thou. Beneath that beggar's roof, lo! Death doth keep his state! Enter-no crowds attend; enter-no guards defend this palace gate. That pavement, damp and cold, no smiling courtiers tread; one silent woman stands, lifting with meagre hands, a dying head. No mingling voices sound — an infant wail alone; a sob suppressed-again that short deep gasp, and then the parting groan! Oh! change-oh, wondrous change! burst are the prison bars! This moment there, so low, so agonized ;—and now, beyond the stars! Oh! change -stupendous change! There lies the soulless clod:- the sun eternal breaks-the new immortal wakes- wakes with his God!

"If I Had Only Spoke Him Fair at the Last."

There was a great colliery explosion in England. An hundred men were killed, and their corpses lay at the mouth of the coal mine for recognition. Wives were wringing their hands and children were crying, and a wail of desolation filled the air.

Sitting at the mouth by a pale corpse was a young wife. She looked at her husband, but uttered no cry; her eyes were dry. She rocked herself to and fro, her face white with anguish.

"Oh, that I had spoken fair to him at the end!" moaned; "O, that he would come to life one minute that I could say 'Jimmy. forgive me,' but nothing can help me now. O, I could bear it all if I'd only spoken fair to him at the end!" And then at last, the story came. They had been married a year, she and Jim; and they both "had tempers," but Jim, he was always the first to make up. And this very morning they had had trouble.

It began because breakfast wasn't ready, and the fire wouldn't burn; and they had said hard words, both of them. But at the very last, though breakfast had not been fit to eat, Jim had turned round at the door, and said:

"Gi'e me a kiss, lass You know you love me, and we won't part in ill-blood;" and she had been in her temper stil and answered:

"No, I don't know as I do love you," and had let him go, with never a kiss and never a fair word; and now And there she stopped, and awful, tearless sobs shook her and the visitor could only say:

"Do not grieve so hopelessly; perhaps he knows what you feel now." But the mourner's ears were deaf to all comfort, and the wailing cry came again and again :

"Oh, if I had only spoke him fair at the last!"

It is not a common story, this. We quarrel with those we love, and part, and meet and make up again; and death is merciful, and waits till we are at peace; yet how possible is just such an experience to any one of us, who parts with some dear one in anger, or who lets the sun go down upon wrath! But it is always the noblest nature, the most loyal heart, which is the first to cry, "I was wrong; forgive me."

The Effect of a Kind Word.

That was a delicate compliment given by a ragged little Irish newsboy to the pretty girl who bought a paper of him. "Poor little fellow," said she, "ain't you very cold?" "I was, ma'am, before you passed,” he replied.

"Kissing Mother."

A father, talking to his careless daughter, said:

George Peck

"I want to speak to you of your mother. It may be that you have noticed a careworn look upon her face lately. Of course, it has not been brought there by any act of yours, still it is your duty to chase it away. I want you to get up to-mor row morning and get breakfast; and when your mother comes, and begins to express her surprise, go right up to her and kiss her on the mouth. You can't imagine how it will brighten her dear face.

"Besides, you owe her a kiss or two. Away back, when you were a little girl, she kissed you when no one else was tempted by your fever-tainted breath and swol en face. You were not as attractive then as you are now. And through those years of childish sunshine and shadows, she was always ready to cure, by the magic of a mother's kiss, the little, dirty, chubby hands whenever they were injured in those first skirmishes with the rough old world.

And then the midnight kiss with which she routed so many bad dreams, as she leaned above your restless pillow, have all been on interest these long, long years.

"Of course, she is not so pretty and kissable as you are; but if you had done your share of work during the last ten years, the contrast would not be so marked.

Her face has more wrinkles than yours, and yet if you were sick, that face would appear far more beautiful than an angel's as it hovered over you, watching every opportunity to

minister to your comfort, and every one of those wrinkles would seem to be bright wavelets of sunshine chasing each other over the dear face.

"She will leave you one of these days. These burdens, if not lifted from her shoulders, will break her down. Those rough, hard hands that have done so many necessary things for you, will be crossed upon her lifeless breast.

"Those neglected lips, that gave you your first baby kiss, will be forever closed, and those sad, tired eyes will have opened in eternity, and then you will appreciate your mother; but it will be too late."

Searching for Papa

A lady in the street met a little girl between two and three years old, evidently lost, and crying bitterly. The lady took the baby's hand and asked where she was going.

"Down to find my papa," was the sobbing reply.

"What is your papa's name?" asked the lady. "His name is papa."

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But what is his other name? What does you mamma call him?"

"She calls him papa," persisted the little creature.

The lady tried to lead her along, "You had better come with me. I guess you came this way!"

"Yes, but I don't want to go back. I want to find my papa," replied the little girl, crying afresh, as if her heart would break.

"What do you want of your papa?" asked the lady.

"I want to kiss him.

Just at this time a sister of the child who had been searching for her, came along and took possession of the little runaway. From inquiry it appeared that the little one's papa, whom she was so earnestly seeking, had recently died, and she, tired of waiting for him to come home, had gone out to find