n Kendall's a little midget of a man, but he stood
there on the step kind o' smilin' and genteel, lickin' his lips and
lookin' _so_ agreeable! Wal, the front door kind o' stuck--front doors
generally do, ye know, 'cause they ain't opened very often--and Miss
Sphyxy she had to pull and haul and put to all her strength, and finally
it come open with a bang, and she 'peared to the parson, pitchfork and
all, sort o' frownin' like.

"'What do you want?' says she; for, you see, Miss Sphyxy ain't no ways
tender to the men.

"'I want to see Miss Asphyxia Smith,' says he, very civil, thinking she
war the hired gal.

"'I'm Miss Asphyxia Smith,' says she. 'What do you want o' me?'

"Parson Kendall he jest took one good look on her, from top to toe.
'NOTHIN',' says he, and turned right round and went down the steps like
lightnin'."

* * * * *

Years ago Mrs. Stowe published some capital stories of New England life,
which were collected in a little volume called "The Mayflower," a book
which is now seldom seen, and almost unknown to the present generation.
From this I take her "Night in a Canal-Boat." Extremely effective when
read with enthusiasm and proper variety of tone. I quote it as a boon
for the boys and girls who are often looking for something "funny" to
read aloud.

THE CANAL-BOAT.

BY HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.

Of all the ways of travelling which obtain among our locomotive nation,
this said vehicle, the canal-boat, is the most absolutely prosaic and
inglorious. There is something picturesque, nay, almost sublime, in the
lordly march of your well-built, high-bred steamboat. Go take your stand
on some overhanging bluff, where the blue Ohio winds its thread of
silver, or the sturdy Mississippi tears its path through unbroken
forests, and it will do your heart good to see the gallant boat walking
the waters with unbroken and powerful tread, and, like some fabled
monster of the wave, breathing fire and making the shores resound with
its deep respirations. Then there is something mysterious--even
awful--in the power of steam. See it curling up against a blue sky some
rosy morning, graceful, floating, intangible, and to all appearance the
softest and gentlest of all spiritual things, and then think that it is
this fairy spirit that keeps all the world alive and hot with motion;
think how excellent a servant it is, doing all sorts of gigantic works,
like the genii of old; and yet, if you