, yet gentle as the dove--
(I'll tell you what, my love,
I cannot write, unless he's sent above.)

'TWAS EVER THUS.

BY HENRY S. LEIGH.

I never rear'd a young gazelle
(Because, you see, I never tried);
But, had it known and loved me well,
No doubt the creature would have died.
My rich and aged uncle JOHN
Has known me long and loves me well,
But still persists in living on--
I would he were a young gazelle!

I never loved a tree or flower;
But, if I _had_, I beg to say,
The blight, the wind, the sun, or shower,
Would soon have wither'd it away.
I've dearly loved my uncle JOHN
From childhood to the present hour,
And yet he _will_ go living on--
I would he were a tree or flower!

MISS MALONEY ON THE CHINESE QUESTION.

BY MARY MAPES DODGE.

Ovh! don't be talkin'. Is it howld on, ye say? An' didn't I howld on
till the heart of me was clane broke entirely, and me wastin' that
thin ye could clutch me wid yer two hands. To think o' me toilin'
like a nager for the six year I've been in Ameriky--bad luck to the
day I iver left the owld counthry!--to be bate by the likes o' them!
(faix, and I'll sit down when I'm ready, so I will, Ann Ryan; and
ye'd better be listenin' than drawin' yer remarks). An' is it meself,
with five good characters from respectable places, woud be herdin'
wid the haythens? The saints forgive me, but I'd be buried alive
sooner 'n put up wid it a day longer. Sure, an' I was the granehorn
not to be lavin' at once-t when the missus kim into me kitchen wid
her perlaver about the new waiter-man which was brought out from
Californy. "He'll be here the night," says she. "And, Kitty, it's
meself looks to you to be kind and patient wid him, for he's a
furriner," says she, a kind o' lookin' off. "Sure, an' it's little
I'll hinder nor interfare wid him, nor any other, mum," says I, a
kind o' stiff; for I minded me how them French waiters, wid their
paper collars and brass rings on their fingers, isn't company for
no gurril brought up dacent and honest. Och! sorra a bit I knew what
was comin' till the missus walked into me kitchen, smilin', and says,
kind o' schared, "Here's Fing Wing, Kitty; an' ye'll have too much
sinse to mind his bein' a little strange." Wid that she shoots the
doore; and I, misthrustin' if I was tidied up suf