ntruder, seeing it
wasn't the doctor. "We's got der small-pox, and am a-killing de
gemmens--"

"Pen!" cried a man's voice through the smoke--a deep, melodious voice.

"What!" exclaimed Aunt Pen, starting up, and then pausing as if she
fancied the horrid fumes might have befogged her brain.

"Pen!" the voice cried again.

"Chauncey! Chauncey Read!" she shrieked. "Where do you come from? Am I
dreaming?"

"From the North Pacific," answered the voice; and we dimly discerned its
owner groping his way forward. "From the five years' whaling voyage into
which I was gagged and dragged--shanghaied, they call it. O, Pen, I
didn't dare to hope I should find--"

"Oh, Chauncey, is it you?" she cried, and fell fainting at his feet.

The draught from the open door after him was blowing away the smoke,
and we saw what a great, sunburned, handsome fellow it was that had
caught her in his arms, and was bearing her out to the back balcony and
the fresh air there, used in the course of his whaling voyage, perhaps,
to odors no more belonging to Araby the Blest than those of burning
brimstone do; and, seeing the movement, we divined that he knew as much
about the resources of the house as we did, and so we discreetly
withdrew, Israel's head being twisted behind him as he went to such
extent that you might have supposed he had had his neck wrung.

Well, we put the white silk and the tulle on Aunt Pen after all; yellow
as it was, she would have no other--only fresh, natural orange blossoms
in place of the false wreath. And if we had not so often had her word
for it in past times, we never should have taken her for any thing but
the gayest bride, the most alive and happy woman in the world. They
returned to the old house from their wedding journey, and we all live
together in great peace and pleasantness. But though three years are
passed and gone since Chauncey Read came home and brought a new
atmosphere with him into our lives, Aunt Pen has never had a sick day
yet; and we find that any allusion to her funeral gives her such a
superstitious trembling that we are pleased to believe it indefinitely
postponed, and by tacit and mutual consent we never say any thing about
it.--_Harper's Magazine_, June, 1872.

SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS.

("MARK TWAIN.")

(BORN, 1835.)

* * * * *

THE CELEBRATED JUMPING FROG OF CALAVERAS COUNTY.

In compliance with the request of a friend of mine, who wrote me