ngs; but, alas!
people are so fond of hearing "something new," that they can't make up
their minds to turn their backs upon him; so they sit, and smile, and
listen, till he has nothing more to tell, and then they draw down their
faces, and tell him he "_ought not to talk so_!"--just as if Mr. "They
Say" didn't see that they were perfectly delighted with him? Certainly,
he goes off laughing in his sleeve to think they suppose him such a
fool.

Mr. "They Say" is a very great traveler. It is astonishing how much
ground he can get over without the help of steamboats, cars, stages, or
telegraph wires. He may be found in a thousand places at once--in every
little village in the United States--in every house and shop and hotel
and office. _Editors_ are very fond of Mr. "They Say." They always give
him the best chair in the office, for he is an amazing help to them. In
fact, it is Aunt Fanny's opinion, that their newspapers would die a
natural death without him. To be sure, he sometimes gets them into
shocking scrapes with his big fibs; but they know how to twist and turn
out of it.

Yes, Mr. "They Say" is a cowardly liar! He couldn't look an honest man
straight in the eye, any more than he could face a cannon ball. He
would turn as pale as a snow-wreath, and melt into nothing just about
as quick.

Oh! Aunt Fanny knows all about him. So when he comes on _her_ track,
she looks straight at her inkstand, and minds her own business. She
knows that nothing plagues the old fellow like being treated with
perfect indifference. _That's_ the way to kill him off!

THE LITTLE MARTYR.

How brightly the silver moon shines in that little bow window! Let us
peep in. What do you see? A little girl lies there sleeping. She is
very fair--tears are upon her cheeks--she sighs heavily, and clasps a
letter tightly to her little bosom.

She is young to know sorrow. Life's morning should be all
sunshine;--clouds come at its noon and eve.

* * *

Listen! some one glides gently into Nettie's room. It is a very old
lady, but her form is drawn up as straight as your own, though her face
is seamed with wrinkles and her hand trembles with age. She is stern
and hard-featured. Should you meet her anywhere you would feel a chill
come over you, as if the bright sun were clouded. You never would dare
to lay your head upon her lap, and you would not think of kissing her,
any more than you would a stone