ullets like raindrops fell,

Down through the brush, and onward still
Till they came to the foot of San Juan hill--

Then up they went, with never a fear,
And the heights were won with a mad, wild cheer!

And where was "the mascot Finkey" then?
In the surging ranks of the fighting men!

Wherever a trooper was seen to fall,
In the open field or the chaparral;

Wherever was found a wounded man;
"Apples" was there with his water and can.

About him the shrapnel burst in vain--
He was up and on with his work again.

The sharpshooters rattled a sharp tattoo,
The singing mausers around him flew.

But "Apples" was busy--too busy to care
For the instant death and the danger there.

Many a parched throat burning hot,
Many a victim of Spanish shot,

Was blessed that day; ere the fight was won
Under the tropical, deadly sun,

By the cool drops poured from the water-can
Of the dusky lad who was all a man.

In the forward trenches, at close of day,
Burning with fever, "Finkey" lay.

He seemed to think through the long, wet night,
He still was out in the raging fight,

For once he spoke in his troubled sleep;
"I'se comin', Cap., ef my legs'll keep!"

Next day--and the next--and the next--he stayed
In the trenches dug by the Spaniard's spade,

For the sick and wounded could not get back
Over the mountainous, muddy track.

But the troopers gave what they had to give
That the little mascot might stick and live.

Over him many a dark face bent,
And through it all he was well content--

Well content as a soldier should
Who had fought his fight and the foe withstood.

Slowly these stern beleaguered men
Nursed him back to his strength again,

Till one fair day his glad eyes saw
A sight that filled him with pride and awe,

For there, as he looked on the stronghold down,
The flag was hoisted over the town,

And none in that host felt a sweeter joy
Than "Apples Finkey," the water-boy.
--JOHN JEROME ROONEY, in New York Sun.

Down at the pond in zero weather,
To have a fine skate
the girls and boys gather.
Even the Baby thinks it a treat,
But somehow cannot stay upon his feet.

Tom, Tom, the piper's son,
Stole a pig and away he run!
The pig was eat,
And Tom was beat,
And Tom went roaring down the street.

THE SOLDIER'S REPRIEVE.

"I thought, Mr. Allen, when I gave my