... domestic value of newspapers. After reading them, and putting ourselves, through their agency, in mental correspondence with the world, they are thrown aside and forgotten. But to suppose their usefulness bounded by their news columns and the waste-bag is a ...

... jewels, and in some way woke her up. She struggled with you—wait a minute, can't you I—tore off the crape, pulled a handful from your whiskers—beautiful whiskers, Mr. Fanshawe—l wonder at you for shavinem off. You broke away, got out, and made straight ...

... fellow, smiling in spite of himself at the turn the conversation LEIG'HLIN TOWN. [The following poem is reprinted from an old scrap-book. We do not know the author's name.] But fate has said that I must roam 'mong strangers cold for ever- more, Ynloved ...

... once. If so, I shan't mind the walk. Will promised to fix my scrap-book for me and to clip the tail of one of my goldfinches. What a strange mixture of a child and a little woman of the world 800 Is, her father said, as Bee Pheasant ran upstairs to take ...

... anything from Mr. Howson yet T' Not a word, answered the mother, while Susan averted her face in silence. Strange where he can be! commented the hypocrite. Things begin to look as if he had fallen into bad hands! He shaded his features from the chandelier ...