."

Upon that identical winter's day, in a back alley of New York, a small
crowd of idlers had gathered to witness the performance of the "Man
Monkey." A little creature, dressed in tinsel, leaped and capered,
keeping time to the grinding of an organ. When the spectators were
silent, he would glance timidly at his ill-favored keeper, but when
they cheered, the poor little figure would strive to outdo itself, in
spite of laboring breath and trembling limbs. Then a rope was
stretched, and "The Man Monkey," seizing an end, swung himself up,
and, amid the acclamations of the admiring mob, began a new act of his
performance. The day was cold, and at that dizzy height the wind
struck bitterly through the starved little overtaxed body; he lost
his footing, caught wildly at the rope, missed it, and--fell.

In that brief second did he see the old mill and the little cabin
standing in the sunshine? Did he hear his mother's voice? God knows.
When a pitying hand gently turned the little heap of quivering
humanity, a happy smile lit up the pinched face, and the dying lips
murmured, "Daddy."

FOOTNOTE:

[1] Little Jack is now a grave and reverend bishop, but I doubt if he
has altogether forgotten the deliciousness of the flabby pie, eaten
with such content at the close that day.

THE HOG-FEEDER'S DAY

I

The cold gray light of early dawn had given place to saffron, and the
first drowsy challenge from the henroost had been shrilly answered
from far and near, when old man Jerry awoke from his nap in the
chimney corner, and, finding himself chilled through all his old,
rheumatic bones, bent over the dying embers, pushed together the
blackened and half-burned "chunks," and blew them until they glowed.
Then, hitching his stool close into the ashes, he spread his horny
palms to the blaze, and basked in its genial warmth as it crackled up
the wide chimney. Reaching his pipe from its nook, he filled it,
dipped it skillfully in the coals so as to ignite without wasting the
precious weed, and drew a long whiff by way of a start; then, bending
still closer to the blaze, he pulled away, now and then rubbing his
shins in slow content, as though to emphasize his comfort.

All things, though, must come to an end. The "chunks" became a heap of
white ashes, the pipe was finished, and broad shafts of light stealing
down the chimney and under the door told "Ung Jerry" that it was time
to be stirring.

He had, according to his usu