How's this for a hullabaloo?
Ri too! ri loo! loo! loo! loo!
How's this for a hullabaloo?
"Let the dishes and pans
Be the womans and mans;
Everybody keep still in their pew!
Mammy's gown I'll get next,
And preach you a text.

Dick! hush with your hullabaloo!
Ri too! ri loo! loo! loo! loo!
Dicky! hush with your hullabaloo !"
As the preacher in gown
Climbed up and looked down

His queer congregation to view,
Said Dicky to Sammy,

"Oh, dere comes our mammy!

She'll pank for dis hullabawoo!
Ri too! ri loo! woo! woo! woo!
She'll pank for dis hullabawoo!"
"O mammy! O mammy!"
Cried Dicky and Sammy,

"We'll never again, certain true!"
But with firm step she trod
To take down the rod-

Oh, then came a hullabaloo!

Bohoo! bohoo! woo! woo! woo!
Oh, then came a hullabaloo!

-From Our Young Folks.

SHADOWS.

Yes; I own I start at shadows;

Listen-I will tell you why

(Life itself is but a taper,

Casting shadows till we die).

Once in Italy, at Florence,

I a radiant girl adored;

When she came, she saw, she conquered;
And by Cupid I was floored.

"Mia cara Mandolina!

Are we not indeed," I cried,
"All the world to one another?"
Mandolina smiled and sighed.
Earth was Eden--she an angel--
I a Jupiter enshrined:

Till one night I saw a fatal
Double shadow on the blind.

Fire and fury! Double shadows
On their window curtains ne'er
To my knowledge have been cast by
Ladies virtuous as fair.

False and fickle Mandolina!

Fare thee well forevermore.

"Vengeance," shrieked I, “vengeance, vengeance!" And I thundered at the door.

This event occurred next morning:

Mandolina staring sat,

Stark-amazed, as out I stumbled,
Raving mad, without a hat.

Six weeks after I'd a letter,
On its road six weeks delayed,
With a dozen re-directions,

From the lost one. And it said,

"Foolish, wicked, cruel Albert!
Base, suspicious doubt resign.
Double lights throw double shadows.
Mandolina, ever thine."

" 'Heavens, what an ass!" I muttered,
"Not before to think of that."

And again I rushed excited

To the rail without my hat.

'Mandolina! Mandolina!"
Rushing to her house, I cried.
'Pardon, dearest A.," she answered,
I'm the Russian Consul's bride."

KARL THE MARTYR.

It was the closing of a summer's day,
And trellised branches from encircling trees
Threw silver shadows o'er the golden space
Where groups of merry-hearted sons of toil
Were met to celebrate a village feast,
Casting away, in frolic sport, the cares

That ever press and crowd and leave their mark
Upon the brows of all whose bread is earned
By daily labor. 'Twas, perchance, the feast
Of fav'rite saint, or anniversary

Of one of bounteous Nature's season gifts
To grateful husbandry-no matter what
The cause of their uniting. Joy beamed forth
On ev'ry face, and the sweet echoes rang
With sounds of honest mirth, too rarely heard
In the vast workshop man has made his world,
Where months of toil must pay one day of song.
Somewhat apart from the assembled throng
There sat a swarthy giant, with a face

So nobly grand, that though (unlike the rest)
He wore nor festal garb nor laughing mien,
Yet was he study for the painter's art.
He joined not in their sports, but rather seemed
To please his eye with sight of others' joy.
There was a cast of sorrow on his brow,
As though it had been early there. He sat
In listless attitude, yet not devoid

Of gentlest grace, as down his stalwart form
He bent, to catch the playful whisperings
And note the movements of a bright-haired child
Who danced before him in the evening sun,
Holding a tiny brother by the hand.

He was the village smith (the rolled-up sleeves

And the well-charred leathern apron showed his craft), Karl was his name, a man beloved by all.

He was not of the district. He had come

Amongst them ere his forehead bore one trace

Of age or suffering. A wife and child

He had brought with him; but the wife was dead.
Not so the child, who danced before him now
And held a tiny brother by the hand-
Their mother's last and priceless legacy!
So Karl was happy still that these two lived,
And laughed and danced before him in the sun.

The frolics pause: now Casper's laughing head
Rests wearily against his father's knee

In trusting lovingness: while Trudchen runs
To snatch a hasty kiss (the little man,

It may be, wonders if the tiny hand

With which he strives to reach his father's neck
Will ever grow so big and brown as that

He sees imbedded in his sister's curls) ;

When quick as lightning's flash up starts the smith,
Huddles the frightened children in his arms,
Thrusts them far back, extends his giant frame,
And covers them as with Goliath's shield.

Now hark! a rushing, yelping, parting sound,
So terrible that all stood chilled with fear;

And in the midst of that late joyous throng
Leapt an infuriate hound, with flaming eyes,
Half-open mouth, and fiercely bristling hair,
Proving that madness drove the brute to death.
One spring from Karl, and the wild thing was seized
Fast prisoned in the stalwart Vulcan's gripe.
A sharp, shrill cry of agony from Karl

Was mingled with the hound's low fevered growl;

And all, with horror, saw the creature's teeth

Fixed in the blacksmith's shoulder. None had power To rescue him; for scarcely could you count

A moment's space ere both had disappeared

The man and dog. The smith had leapt a fence,
And gained the forest with a frantic rush,
Bearing the hideous mischief in his arms.

A long receding cry came on the ear,
Showing how swift their flight, and fainter
The sound. Ere well a man had time to think

grew

What might be done for help, the sound was hushedLost in the very distance; women crouched

And huddled up their children in their arms,

Men flew to seek their weapons-'twas a change
So swift and fearful none could realize

Its actual horrors for a time: but now,
The panic past, to rescue and pursuit!
Crash through the brake into the forest track;
But pitchy darkness, caused by closing night
And foliage dense, impedes the avengers' way,
When lo! they trip o'er something in their path—
It was the bleeding body of the hound,

Warm, but quite dead. No other trace of Karl
Was near at hand; they called his name in vain,
They sought him in the forest all night through—
Living or dead he was not to be found.

At break of day they left the fruitless search.
Next morning as an anxious village group
Stood meditating plans what best to do,
Came little Trudchen, who, in simple tones,
Said, “ Father's at the forge, I heard him there
Working long hours ago, but he is angry;

I raised the latch, he bade me to begone.

What have I done to make him chide me so?"

And then her bright blue eyes ran o'er with tears.

The child's been dreaming through this troubled night,"

Said a kind dame, and drew the child towards her;

But the sad answers of the girl were such

As led them all to seek her father's forge.
It lay beyond the village some short span;

They forced the door, and there beheld the smith.

His sinewy frame was drawn to its full height,
And round his loins a double chain of iron,
Wrought with true workman skill, was riveted
Fast to an anvil of enormous weight.

He stood as pale and statue-like as death.
Now let his own words close the hapless tale.

"I killed the hound, you know, but not until
His maddening venom through my veins had passed;
I know full well the death in store for me,

And would not answer when you called my name,
But crouched among the brushwood while I thought
Over some plan. I know my giant strength,
And dare not trust it after reason's loss;
Why, I might turn and rend whom most I love.
I've made all fast now. 'Tis a hideous death.
I thought to plunge me into the deep, still pool
That skirts the forest, to avoid it; but

I thought that for the suicide's poor shift

I would not throw away my chance of heaven,
And meeting one who made earth heaven to me.
So I came home and forged these chains about me-
Full well I know no human hand can rend them-
And now am safe from harming those I love.
Keep off, good friends! Should God prolong my life,
Throw me such food as nature may require;
Look to my babes: this you are bound to do;
For by my deadly grasp on that poor hound
How many of you have I saved from death
Such as I now await? But hence, away!
The poison works!
My brain's on fire!

These chains must try their strength;
With me 'twill soon be night."

Too true his words: the brave, great-hearted Karl--
A raving maniac-battled with his chains

For three fierce days. The fourth day saw him free-
For Death's strong hand had loosed the martyr's bonds.

PRAYER.-ALFRED TENNYSON.

More things are wrought by prayer

Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice
Rise like a fountain for me night and day.
For what are men better than sheep or goats,

That nourish a blind life within the brain,

If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer,

Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so, the whole round earth is every way

Bound by gold chains about the feet of God.