in her pasage too and frow
had won by her sweet manners (many likings) ere she exhibited her skill.

The eventful hour of promis came and what a crowd was there. Rose came
fourth, asisted by Paul Paulo. His form was molded even as an Apolo, and
his eger eye was fixed on the bony girl. She ballanced her pole, saught
her equiliberum, and every heart was at her desposal, not accepting W.
Alexander. Seeing this, the dark pashonate eye of the Italian scowled.

So droped the curtain of the first performance. And W. Alexander stroled
on towards his home, heart and head full of the beautiful circus girl,
thoughts were very conflicting, love at first sight.

(We will skip, for want of space, the exquisite passages descriptive of
the mutual love of Rose and W. Alexander, and pass on to the finale.)

There was a paus, a sencation, and Rose came fourth to meander in
mid-air. Admeration was at its hight, as she swayed too and frow as it
were a winged egle from some etherial climb.

Low! a paus--the rope snaps--and Rose falls to erth a helpless mass of
youth and beauty. The venerable man of medicin closed her star-lit eyes
now forever dimed to this world. And all knew she had walked the last
rope that bound her to this erth.

What, who, was her murderer?

The rope seemed to be cut with some jaged instrument so that when her
tiny feat pressed its coils it became her destroyer.

Suspician pointed at the Italian.

W. Alexander's old Father of sympathy now the strongest, entreted our
Hero to sale for distent shores, there asisted by that balm time and
change, there assuage his grefe.

Well, came the last evening, and with the sadest of hearts and a bunch
of sweet violets W. Alexander went to bid a long fare well.

But as he neared the sacred spot his heart seemed deadened. Prone on her
grave changing the snowy whiteness of the flowers with its crimson die
was the body of Paul Paulo. Who by his own hand caused his life blood to
floe as an attonement.

UP AND DOWN OLD BRANDYWINE

BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY

Up and down old Brandywine,
In the days 'at's past and gone--
With a dad-burn hook-and-line
And a saplin'-pole--i swawn!
I've had more fun, to the square
Inch, than ever _any_where!
Heaven to come can't discount mine
Up and down old Brandywine!

Haint no sense in _wishin'_--yit
Wisht to goodness I _could_ jes
"Gee" the blame world round and git