"I want to speak to y-o-u," said I, standing on tip-toe and yelling so that the false bang on my fore head actually rose up.

"I owe you," said he. "It's a lie, I don't owe a sixpence."

"Let me come in and I'll explain," for just then I saw that Rimes boy coming up the road, and I knew he would listen, so I pushed right past the Major, he moving slowly with that wooden leg of his. "Major," says I, filling myself full of wind, "have you ever thought of marrying again?"

"Hey?" says he, pointing his trumpet at me. "Do you want a wife?" says I.

"Where's my wife?" says he; "why, Mary Anne, you know there all dead long ago.'

"Do you want another?" says I, feeling as if I'd give five cents if some one 'd take a pair of bellows and blow some breath in me.

"Want a mother," says he, " what do I want with a mother? I'm old enough to take care of myself I reckon."

"Land of compassion," says I," who said anything about you wanting a mother? Would you like to change your condition ?" and this time I screeched so loud that the plates rattled and my ears rung for a week. I had never before realized what a serious thing it was to court a deaf man. Just then the door opened and in walked that housekeeper of hisn, looking as mad as a hornet.

I suppose she had got wind of me being at the Major's, and come to see what I was about.

"Good gracious, Mary Anne, who'd ever thought of seeing you?" and she was as sweet as new milk though she hates me like all get out.

"I'm glad you have come, I can't make the Major understand nothing; I just come over to see if I could get some eggs." I hope the Lord as knows how lonely it is to be an old maid will forgive me for that fib.

"We have none," says she, and after a few more civil remarks I left.

Well I cut across lots to Abner Golding's. Abner has five small children; and the minute I went in they all rushed on me and daubed me with molasses and orange-juice, and wiped their fingers on my shawl and spoilt my fixes generally. Abner was all doubled up with rheumatics and walked with a cane, and the house smelled of arnica enough to choke you, and I made up my mind if ever I did come there to live I'd fumigate that house and see if I could improve it. Well, I stated my business to Abner and he smiled and says, kinder sly: "I'm sorry, but the widow Pendergast was here last week, and the first come first served, you know."

It didn't take me long to get out of there, I can tell you, and I made a bee line for Simon Snazer's. When I got in sight of the house I saw that the window blinds were all shut up. Could it be that Simon was dead or moved away and I not heard of it? I rattled at the gate but couldn't move a peg, and I had to climb over the picket-fence; and I tore the trimming off the skirt of my dress. I rapped at the front door,

ditto at the other, and I rattled at the latch, and I went to the barn and I yelled "Mr. Snazer;" only echo replied. I came back to the house and tried to shove up the windows; I dragged an old hen-coop from the back of the house, and I think I could have managed to histe the kitchen window, but just then I heard a voice, and looking up, I spied Simon, peeping through the attic window.

"You can go home," says he. "I sha'n't come down, I won't. You are the fifth woman here this week, and every one wanting to get married. I can cook my own victuals, mend my own clothes, and I dont want a wife. I am as happy as a clam. Go home; if I was going to get married I wouldn't marry an old maid that was bald-headed and lank as a fence rail."

And he slammed down the window. Well now I tell you, I was mad clean through, and I was still madder when his dog rushed out barking like all possessed, and followed me clean past where the sewing society was meeting, and all those women rushed out and saw me with Simon Snazer's dog following after me. Some of them had been there themselves, and they know what it meant. Now they are telling it all around that I have been trying to pop to Simon, but it ain't so, I never said a word to him, and I want the whole of them to understand it.

SITTING

THE TEACHER'S DIADEM.

ITTING 'mid the gathering shadows, weary with the Sabbath's care;

Weary with the Sabbath's burdens, that she dearly loves to bear;

For, she sees a shining pathway, and she gladly presses on;

'Tis the first Great Teacher's footprints-it will lead where He has gone;

With a hand that's never faltered, with a love that's ne'er grown dim,

Long and faithfully she's labored, to His fold the lambs to bring.

But to-night her soul grows heavy; through the closed lids fall the tears,

As the children pass before her, that she's taught these many years;

And she cries in bitter anguish: "Shall not one to me be given,

To shine upon my coronet amid the hosts of heaven? Hear my prayer to-night, my Saviour, in Thy glorious home above;

Give to me some little token-some approval of Thy love."

Ere the words were scarcely uttered, banishing the evening gloom,

Came a soft and shining radiance, bright'ning all within the room;

And an angel in white raiment, brighter than the morning sun,

Stood before her, pointing upward, while he softly whispered, "Come."

As he paused, she heard the rustle of his starry pinions bright,

And she quickly rose and followed, out into the stilly night;

Up above the dim blue ether; up above the silver

stars;

On, beyond the golden portals; through the open pearly doors;

Far across the sea of crystal, to the shining sapphire

Throne,

Where she heard amid the chorus, "Welcome, child; thy work's well done."

Surely 'tis her Saviour speaking; 'tis His hands, aye, 'tis His feet;

And she cries: "Enough! I've seen Him; all my joys are now complete."

All forgot earth's care and sorrow; all forgot the starry crown;

'Twas enough e'en to be near Him; to behold Him on His Throne.

"Not enough," the Saviour answered; "thou wouldst know through all these years,

If in vain has been thy teaching, all thy labor and thy prayers;