with a sad and troubled countenance. Alas!
something lacks. Nothing is wanted but this, and taking up his palette,
he broke it and the brushes, and then with his pencil sketched the
remains. "Finis, 'tis done!" he cried. It is said that he never took up
the palette again, and a month later died.

PRISCILLA.

Miles Standish was a fellow
Who understood quite well, oh,
In fighting with the redskins how to plan, plan, plan.
But I think him very silly
When he wished to woo Priscilla
To send another man, man, man.

For she said unto this other,
Whom she loved more than a brother,
"Why don't you speak, John Alden, for yourself, self, self?"
So of course John Alden tarried,
And the fair Priscilla married,
And they laid poor Captain Standish on the shelf, shelf, shelf.

CORPORAL FRED.

A Story of the Riots.

BY CAPTAIN CHARLES KING, U.S.A.

CHAPTER II.

When morning came, old Wallace's face had grown a year older. Up to
midnight he had hoped that better counsels might prevail, and that the
meetings called by the leaders of kindred associations, such as the
Trainmen's Union, would result in refusal to sustain the striking
switchmen; but when midnight came, and no Jim, things looked ominous. A
sturdy, honest, hard-working fellow was Jim, devoted to his mother and
sisters, and proud of the little home built and paid for by their united
efforts. Content, happy, and hopeful, too, he seemed to be for several
years; but of late he had spent much time attending the meetings at
Harmonie Hall and listening to the addresses of certain semi-citizens,
whose names and accent alike declared their foreign descent, and whose
mission was the preaching of a gospel of discord. Their grievance was
not that their hearers were hungry or in rags, down-trodden or
oppressed, but that the higher officials of the road owned handsome
homes and equipages, and lived in a style and luxury beyond the means of
the honest toilers in the lower ranks. Jim used to come home with a
smile of content as he looked upon the happy healthful faces of his
mother and sisters, but for months past his talk had been of the way the
Williams people lived, how they rode in their parlor car and went to the
sea-shore every summer and to the theatre or opera every night, drove to
the Park in carriages, and hobnobbed with the swells in town. "Why, I
knew Joe Williams w