I have killed me, ay, many-in my day Shot my own comrade when condemned to die. I hacked the hands off English boarders. Ten My axe lopped off. I dream not of those men. At Plymouth, in a prison hulk, I slew Two English jailers, stabbed them through and through. The death of Black, although so long ago, Upsets me. I'll not sleep to-night. It brings Here, boy! Another glass! We'll talk of other things! -Harper's Magazine. RUDDER GRANGE. FRANK R. STOCKTON. ONE afternoon as I was hurrying down Broadway to catch the five o'clock train, I met Waterford. He is an old friend of mine, and I used to like him pretty well. "Hello!" said he, "where are you going?" "Home," I answered. "Is that so?" said he. "I didn't know you had one." I was a little nettled at this, and so I said, somewhat brusquely perhaps: "But you must have known I lived somewhere.” "Oh, yes, but I thought you boarded. I had no idea you had a home." "But I have one and a very pleasant home, too. You must excuse me for not stopping longer, as I must catch my train." "Oh, I'll walk along with you," said Waterford, and so we went down the street together. "Where is your little house?" he asked. "I don't live in a house at all." "Why, where do you live?" he exclaimed stopping short. "I live in a boat," said I. "A boat! A sort of Rob Roy' arrangement, I suppose. Well, I would not have thought that of you. And your wife, I suppose, has gone home to her people?" "She has done nothing of the kind," I answered. lives with me and she likes it very much. "She We are extremely comfortable, and our boat is not a canoe or any such nonsensical affair. It is a large, commodious canal-boat." Waterford turned around and looked at me. "Are you a deck-hand?" he asked. "Deck-fiddlesticks!" I exclaimed. "Well, you needn't get mad about it," he said. didn't mean to hurt your feelings; but I couldn't see what else you could be on a canal-boat. I don't suppose, for instance, that you're Captain." "But I am," said I. "Look here,” said Waterford, "this is coming it rather strong, isn't it?" As I saw he was getting angry, I told him all about ittold him how we had hired a stranded canal-boat and had fitted it up as a house, and how cosily we lived in it, and how we had taken a boarder. "Well," said he, "that is certainly surprising. I'm coming out to see you some day. It will be better than going to Barnum's." I told him it is the way of society-that we would be glad to see him, and we parted. Waterford never did come to see us, and I merely mention this incident to show how some of our friends talked about "Rudder Grange" when they first heard that we lived there. Although we lived in a canal-boat we kept a girl. Her name was Pomona. Whether or not her parents gave her this name is doubtful. At any rate she did not seem quite decided about it herself, for she had not been with us more than two weeks before she expressed a desire to be called Clare. This longing of her heart was denied her. My wife, who was always correct, called her Pomona. I did the same whenever I could think not to say Bolognawhich seemed to come very pat, for some reason or other. As for our boarder, he generally called her Altoona, connecting her in some way with the process of stopping for refreshments, in which she was an adept. She was an earnest, hearty girl. She was always in good humor, and when I asked her to do anything, she assented in a bright, cheerful way and in a loud tone full of goodfellowship, as though she would say: "Certainly, my high old boy! To be sure I will! Don't worry about it. Give your mind no more uneasiness on that subject. Of course I'll bring the hot water." She did not know very much, but she delighted to learn and she was very strong. Whatever my wife told her to do, she did instantly--with a bang. The one thing about her that troubled me more than anything else was her taste for literature. It was not literature to which I objected, but her peculiar taste. She read in the kitchen every night after she had washed the dishes, but if she had not read aloud it would not have made so much difference to me. But I do not like the company of people who, like our girl, cannot read without pronouncing in a measured and distinct voice every word of what they are reading. And when the matter thus read appeals to one's every sentiment of aver sion, and there is no way of escaping it, the case is hard indeed. From the first I felt inclined to order Pomona, if she could not attain the power of silent perusal, to cease from reading altogether; but Euphemia would not hear to this. "Poor thing!" said she, "it would be cruel to take from her her only recreation. And she says she can't read in any You needn't listen if you don't want to." other way. That was all very well in an abstract point of view; but the fact was that in practice, the more I didn't want to listen the more I heard. And when I was trying to read or reflect it was by no means exhilarating to my mind to hear from the next room that, "The la dy ce sel i a now si zed the weep on and all though the boor ly vil ly an re tain ed his vig gor ous hold she drew the blade through his fin gers and hoorl ed it far be hind her drip ping with jore." This sort of thing, kept up for an hour or so at a time, used to drive me nearly wild. On one particular night I was very tired and sleepy, and soon after I got into bed I dropped into a delightful slumber. But before long I was awakened by the fact that: "Sarah did not flinch but grasp ed the heat ed i ron in her in ju red hand and when the ra bid an i mal ap proach ed she thrust the lu rid po ker in his—" "My conscience!" said I to Euphemia, "can't that girl be stopped?" "You wouldn't have her sit there and do nothing, would you?" said she. "No, but she needn't read that way." "She can't read any other way," said Euphemia drowsily. "Yell after yell re soun ded as he wild ly sp rang to wards her and "I can't stand that and I won't," said I. "Why don't she go into the kitchen? The dining-room's no place for her." "She must not sit there," said Euphemia. "There's a window-pane out. Can't you cover up your head?” "I shall not be able to breathe if I do, but I suppose that's no matter," I replied. The reading continued. "Ha, ha! Lord Mar mont thun der ed thou too shalt suf fer for all that this poor —” I sprang out of bed. Euphemia thought I was going for my pistol, and she gave one bound and stuck her head out of the door. "Pomona, fly!" she cried. "Yes, ma'am," said Pomona; and she got up and flew, though not very fast, I imagine. Where she flew to I don't know, but she took the lamp with her, and I could hear distinct syllables of agony and blood until she went to bed. A ROYAL PRINCESS. CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI. I, A princess, king-descended, decked with jewels, gilded, drest, Two and two my guards behind; two and two before; All my fountains cast up perfumes, all my gardens grow |