s to
convince you that they are rapidly becoming a civilized nation. The
assistance you are about to give will only be required for a short time.
They will soon become self-supporting, and relieve the Government of a
heavy tax. They thank you for the kindness you have shown, and for the
generous collection which will now be taken up.

"Will some friend close the doors while we give every one an opportunity
to contribute to this good cause? Remember that he who shutteth up his
ears to the cry of the poor, he shall also cry himself and shall not be
heard. Those who prefer can leave a check with Deacon Meekham at the
door, or with me at the hotel. These substantial tokens of your regard
will cause the wilderness to blossom as the rose.

"In the name of our red brethren, let me again thank you."

* * * * *

If one inclines to Irish fun, try this burlesque from Mrs. Lippincott.

MISTRESS O'RAFFERTY ON THE WOMAN QUESTION.

BY GRACE GREENWOOD.

No! I wouldn't demane myself, Bridget,
Like you, in disputin' with men--
Would I fly in the face of the blissed
Apostles, an' Father Maginn?

It isn't the talent I'm wantin'--
Sure my father, ould Michael McCrary,
Made a beautiful last spache and confession
When they hanged him in ould Tipperary.

So, Bridget Muldoon, howld yer talkin'
About Womins' Rights, and all that!
Sure all the rights I want is the one right,
To be a good helpmate to Pat;

For he's a good husband--and niver
Lays on me the weight of his hand
Except when he's far gone in liquor,
And I nag him, you'll plase understand.

Thrue for ye, I've one eye in mournin',
That's becaze I disputed his right,
To tak' and spind all my week's earnin's
At Tim Mulligan's wake, Sunday night.

But it's sildom when I've done a washin',
He'll ask for more'n half of the pay;
An' he'll toss me my share, wid a smile, dear,
That's like a swate mornin' in May!

Now where, if I rin to convintions,
Will be Patrick's home-comforts and joys?
Who'll clane up his broghans for Sunday,
Or patch up his ould corduroys.

If we tak' to the polls, night and mornin',
Our dilicate charms will all flee--
The dew will be brushed from the rose, dear,
The down from the pache--don't you see?

We'll soon tak' to shillalahs and shindies
Wh