burglar. No doubt she'll let him take the impression of the door-key in
wax, and then he'll get in and murder you all. There was a family at
Bobble Hill all killed last week for fifty dollars. Now, don't fidget
so; it will be bad for the baby.

Poor, little dear! How singular it is, to be sure, that you can't tell
whether a child is blind, or deaf and dumb, or a cripple at that age. It
might be _all_, and you'd never know it.

Most of them that have their senses make bad use of them though; _that_
ought to be your comfort, if it does turn out to have anything dreadful
the matter with it. And more don't live a year. I saw a baby's funeral
down the street as I came along.

How is Mr. Kobble? Well, but finds it warm in town, eh? Well, I should
think he would. They are dropping down by hundreds there with
sun-stroke. You must prepare your mind to have him brought home any day.
Anyhow, a trip on these railroad trains is just risking your life every
time you take one. Back and forth every day as he is, it's just trifling
with danger.

Dear! dear! now to think what dreadful things hang over us all the time!
Dear! dear!

Scarlet fever has broken out in the village, Cornelia. Little Isaac
Potter has it, and I saw your Jimmy playing with him last Saturday.

Well, I must be going now. I've got another sick friend, and I sha'n't
think my duty done unless I cheer her up a little before I sleep.
Good-by. How pale you look, Cornelia! I don't believe you have a good
doctor. Do send him away and try some one else. You don't look so well
as you did when I came in. But if anything happens, send for me at once.
If I can't do anything else, I can cheer you up a little.

* * * * *

Mrs. Dallas, who lives in New York City, is a regular correspondent of
the New York _Ledger_, having taken Fanny Fern's place on that widely
circulated paper, is a prominent member of "Sorosis," and her Tuesday
evening receptions draw about her some of the brightest society of that
cosmopolitan centre.

All these selections are prizes for the long-suffering elocutionist who
is expected to entertain his friends with something new,
laughter-provoking, and fully up to the mark.

* * * * *

Mrs. Ames, of Brooklyn, known to the public as "Eleanor Kirk," has
revealed in her "Thanksgiving Growl" a bit of honest experience,
refreshing with its plain Saxon and homely realism, which, when recited