THE FRECKLED-FACED GIRL.

HOW SHE ENTERTAINED A VISITOR WHILE HER MA WAS DRESSING.

"Ma's up-stairs changing her dress," said the freckled-faced little girl, tying her doll's bonnet-strings and casting her eye about for a tidy large enough to serve as a shawl for that double-jointed young person.

"Oh! your mother needn't dress up for me," replied the female agent of the missionary society, taking a self-satisfied view of herself in the mirror. "Run up and tell her to come down just as she is in her everyday clothes, and not stand on ceremony."

"Oh! but she hasn't got on her everyday clothes. Ma was all dressed up in her new brown silk, 'cause she expected Miss Dimmond to-day. Miss Dimmond always comes over here to show off her nice things, and ma don't mean to get left. When ma saw you coming, she said, 'The Dickens!' and I guess she was mad about something. Ma said if you saw her new dress she'd have to hear all about the poor heathen, who don't have silk, and you'd ask her for more money to buy hymn-books to send 'em. Say, do the nigger ladies use hymn-book leaves to do their hair up and make it frizzy? Ma says she guesses that's all the good the books do 'em, if they ever get any books. I wish my doll was a heathen!

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Why, you wicked little girl, what do you want of a heathen doll?" inquired the missionary lady, taking a mental inventory of the new things in the parlor to get material for a homily on worldly extravagance.

"So folks would send her lots of nice things to wear, and feel sorry to have her going about naked. I aint a wicked girl, either, 'cause Uncle Dick-you know Uncle Dick, he's been out West, and he says I'm a holy terror, and he hopes I'll be an angel pretty soon. Ma'll be down in a minute, so you needn't take eloak off. She said she'd box my ears if I asked you

your

to. Ma's putting on that old dress she had last year, 'cause she said she didn't want you to think she was able to give much this time, and she needed a new muff worse than the queen of the cannon ball islands needed religion. Uncle Dick says you ought to go to the islands, 'cause you'd be safe there, and the natifs'd be sorry they was such sinners anybody would send you to 'em. He says he never seen a heathen hungry enough to eat you, 'less 'twas a blind one, and you'd set a blind pagan's teeth on edge so he'd never hanker after any more missionary. Uncle Dick's awful funny, and makes pa and ma die laughing sometimes."

"Your Uncle Richard is a bad, depraved man, and ought to have remained out West, where his style is appreciated. He sets a bad example for little girls like you."

"Oh! I think he's nice. He showed me how to slide down the banisters, and he's teaching me to whistle when ma aint round. That's a pretty cloak you've got, aint it? Do you buy all your good clothes with missionary money? Ma says you do."

Just then the freckled-faced little girl's ma came into the parlor and kissed the missionary lady on the cheek, and said she was delighted to see her, and they proceeded to have a real sociable chat. The little girl's ma can't understand why a person who professes to be so charitable as the missionary agent does, should go right over to Miss Dimmond's and say such ill-natured things as she did, and she thinks the missionary is a double-faced gossip. -Boston Globe.

COURTSHIP UNDER DIFFICULTIES.

SNOBBLETON solus.

Snobbleton.-Yes, there is that fellow Jones again. I declare, the man is ubiquitous. Wherever I go with my cousin Prudence we stumble across him, or he fol

lows her like her shadow. Do we take a boating, so does Jones. Do we wander on the beach, so does Jones. Go where we will, that fellow follows or moves before. Now that was a cruel practical joke which Jones once played upon me at college. I have never forgiven him. But I would gladly make a pretense of doing so if I could have my revenge. Let me see. Can't I manage it? He is head over ears in love with Prudence, but too bashful to speak. I half believe she is not indifferent to him, though altogether unacquainted. It may prove a match if I can not spoil it. Let me think. Ha! I have it. A brilliant idea! Jones, beware! But here he comes.

Enter Jones.

Jones. (Not seeing Snobbleton, and delightedly contemplating a flower which he holds in his hand.) Oh, rapture! what a prize! It was in her hair; I saw it fall from her queenly head. (Kisses it every now and then.) How warm are its tender leaves from having touched her neck! How doubly sweet is its perfumefresh from the fragrance of her glorious locks! How beautiful! how- Bless me, here is Snobbleton, and we are enemies!

Snob.-Good morning, Jones-that is, if you will shake hands.

Jones.-What! you-you forgive? You reallySnob.-Yes, yes, old fellow! All is forgotten. You played me a rough trick; but let bygones be bygones. Will you not bury the hatchet?

Jones. With all my heart, my dear fellow!

Snob. What is the matter with you, Jones? You look quite grumpy-not by any means the same cheerful, dashing, rollicking fellow you were.

Jones.-Bless me, you don't say so! (Aside.) Confound the man! Here have I been endeavoring to appear romantic for the last month-and now to be called grumpy-it is unbearable!

Snob. But never mind. Cheer up, old fellow! I see it all. I know what it is to be inJones.-Ah! you can then sympathize with me. You know what it is to be in

Snob.-Of course I do! Heaven preserve me from the toils! And then the letters-the interminable letlers!

Jones--Oh, yes, the letters! the billet-doux!

Snob. And the bills-the endless bills!
Jones.--The bills!

Snob.-Yes; and the bailiffs, the lawyers, the judge, and the jury.

Jones.-Why, man, what are you talking about? I thought you said you knew what it was to be in— Snob. In debt. To be sure I did.

Jones. Bless me! I'm not in debt-never borrowed a dollar in my life. Ah me! it's worse than that.

Snob.-Worse than that! Come, now, Jones, there is only one thing worse. You're surely not in love? Jones.-Yes I am. Oh, Snobby, help me, help me! Let me confide in you.

Snob.-Confide in me! Certainly, my dear fellow. See! I do not shrink—I stand firm.

Jones.-Snobby, I-I love her.
Snob.-Whom?

Jones. Your cousin Prudence.

Snob.-Ha! Prudence Angelina Winter? Jones.-Now don't be angry, Snobby; I don't mean any harm, you know. I-I-you know how it is. Snob.-Harm! my dear fellow. Not a bit of it. Angry! Not at all. You have my consent, old fellow. Take her. She is yours. Heaven bless you both.

Jones. You are very kind, Snobby, but I haven't got her consent yet.

But

Snob. Well, that is something, to be sure. leave it all to me. She may be a little coy, you know;