Little women. Louisa May Alcott

reverence we greet,

      As, spectacles on nose, he reads

      Our well-filled weekly sheet.

      Although he suffers from a cold,

      We joy to hear him speak,

      For words of wisdom from him fall,

      In spite of croak or squeak.

      Old six-foot Snodgrass looms on high,

      With elephantine grace,

      And beams upon the company,

      With brown and jovial face.

      Poetic fire lights up his eye,

      He struggles 'gainst his lot.

      Behold ambition on his brow,

      And on his nose, a blot.

      Next our peaceful Tupman comes,

      So rosy, plump, and sweet,

      Who chokes with laughter at the puns,

      And tumbles off his seat.

      Prim little Winkle too is here,

      With every hair in place,

      A model of propriety,

      Though he hates to wash his face.

      The year is gone, we still unite

      To joke and laugh and read,

      And tread the path of literature

      That doth to glory lead.

      Long may our paper prosper well,

      Our club unbroken be,

      And coming years their blessings pour

      On the useful, gay 'P. C.'.

      A. SNODGRASS

      ________

      THE MASKED MARRIAGE

      (A Tale Of Venice)

      Gondola after gondola swept up to the marble

      steps, and left its lovely load to swell the

      brilliant throng that filled the stately halls of Count

      Adelon. Knights and ladies, elves and pages, monks

      and flower girls, all mingled gaily in the dance.

      Sweet voices and rich melody filled the air, and so

      with mirth and music the masquerade went on.

      "Has your Highness seen the Lady Viola tonight?"

      asked a gallant troubadour of the fairy queen who

      floated down the hall upon his arm.

      "Yes, is she not lovely, though so sad! Her

      dress is well chosen, too, for in a week she weds

      Count Antonio, whom she passionately hates."

      "By my faith, I envy him. Yonder he comes,

      arrayed like a bridegroom, except the black mask.

      When that is off we shall see how he regards the

      fair maid whose heart he cannot win, though her

      stern father bestows her hand," returned the troubadour.

      "Tis whispered that she loves the young English

      artist who haunts her steps, and is spurned by the

      old Count," said the lady, as they joined the dance.

      The revel was at its height when a priest

      appeared, and withdrawing the young pair to an alcove,

      hung with purple velvet, he motioned them to kneel.

      Instant silence fell on the gay throng, and not a

      sound, but the dash of fountains or the rustle of

      orange groves sleeping in the moonlight, broke the

      hush, as Count de Adelon spoke thus:

      "My lords and ladies, pardon the ruse by which

      I have gathered you here to witness the marriage of

      my daughter. Father, we wait your services."

      All eyes turned toward the bridal party, and a

      murmur of amazement went through the throng, for

      neither bride nor groom removed their masks. Curiosity

      and wonder possessed all hearts, but respect restrained

      all tongues till the holy rite was over. Then the

      eager spectators gathered round the count, demanding

      an explanation.

      "Gladly would I give it if I could, but I only

      know that it was the whim of my timid Viola, and I

      yielded to it. Now, my children, let the play end.

      Unmask and receive my blessing."

      But neither bent the knee, for the young bridegroom

      replied in a tone that startled all listeners

      as the mask fell, disclosing the noble face of Ferdinand

      Devereux, the artist lover, and leaning on the

      breast where now flashed the star of an English earl

      was the lovely Viola, radiant with joy and beauty.

      "My lord, you scornfully bade me claim your

      daughter when I could boast as high a name and vast a

      fortune as the Count Antonio. I can do more, for even

      your ambitious soul cannot refuse the Earl of Devereux

      and De Vere, when he gives his ancient name and boundless

      wealth in return for the beloved hand of this fair lady,

      now my wife."

      The count stood like one changed to stone, and

      turning to the bewildered crowd, Ferdinand added, with

      a gay smile of triumph, "To you, my gallant friends, I

      can only wish that your wooing may prosper as mine has

      done, and that you may all win as fair a bride as I have

      by this masked marriage."

      S. PICKWICK

      Why is the P. C. like the Tower of Babel?

      It is full of unruly members.

      ________

      THE HISTORY OF A SQUASH

      Once upon a time a farmer planted a little seed

      in his garden, and after a while it sprouted and became

      a vine and bore many squashes. One day in October,

      when they were ripe, he picked one and took it

      to market. A gorcerman bought and put it in his shop.

      That same morning, a little girl in a brown hat

      and blue dress, with a round face and snub nose, went

      and bought it for her mother. She lugged it home, cut

      it up, and boiled it in the big pot, mashed some of it

      with salt and butter, for dinner. And to the rest she added

      a pint of milk, two eggs, four spoons of sugar, nutmeg,

      and some crackers, put it in a deep dish, and baked it

      till it was brown and nice, and next day it was eaten

      by a family named March.

      T. TUPMAN

      ________

      Mr. Pickwick, Sir:—

      I address you upon the subject of sin the sinner

      I mean is a man named Winkle