JUPITER AND TEN. MRS. CHUB was rich and portly, Mrs. Chub was very grand, Mrs. Chub was always reckoned A lady in the land. You shall see her marble mansion Mrs. Chub was so sagacious, And she gave such foreign orders, Mrs. Chub was always talking, "Such a treasure," she insisted, "One might never see again!" "What's the subject ?" we inquired, "It is Jupiter and Ten !" "Ten what?" we blandly asked her, For the knowledge we did lack. "Ah! that I cannot tell you, But the name is on the back. "There it stands in printed letters. When Mrs. Chub departed,- For the name was on the back. So we begged a great Professor And we pondered well the subject, To discover what the Ten were; But we could not, though we burned! But when we saw the picture,— Oh, Mrs. Chub! oh, fie! oh! We perused the printed label, And 'twas Jupiter and Io! JAMES T. FIELDS. THE TWENTY-SECOND OF FEBRUARY. LE is the February sky, PALE And brief the mid-day's sunny hours; The wind-swept forest seems to sigh For the sweet time of leaves and flowers. Yet has no month a prouder day, Not even when the summer broods For this chill season now again Brings, in its annual round, the morn The wildest storm that sweeps through space, Or slacken his majestic course. Thus, 'mid the wreck of thrones, shall live BRYANT. THE WIDOW CUMMISKEY. widow Cummiskey was standing at the door of THErittle filmmerset w, a venue D, the other event ing, as Mr. Costello came along. Mr. Costello stopped. "Good evening to you, ma'am," said he. "Good evening to you," answered the widow. "It's fine weather we're havin', ma'am," continued Mr. Costello. "It is that," replied Mrs. Cummiskey, "but the winter's comin' at last, and it comes to all, both great and small." "Ah!" said Mr. Costello, "but for all that it doesn't come to us all alike. Now, here you are, ma'am, fat, rosy, an' good-lookin', equally swate as a summer greening, a fall pippin, or a winter russet—” "Arrah, hould yer whist, now," interrupted the fair widow, laughing. "Much an old bachelor like you knows about apples or women. But come in, Mr. Costello, and take a cup of tay with me, for I was only standin' be the doore lookin' at the people passin' for company sake, like, and I'm sure the kettle must have sung itself hoarse." Mr. Costello needed no second invitation, and he fol lowed his hostess into her snug back room. There was a bright fire burning in the little Franklin stove, the teakettle was sending forth a cloud of steam that took a ruddy glow from the fire-light, the shaded light on the table gave a mellow and subdued light to the room, and it was all very suggestive of comfort. "It's very cosey ye are here, Mrs. Cummiskey," said Mr. Costello. 66 "Yes," replied the widow, as she laid the supper, "it is that whin I do have company." "Ah," said Mr. Costello," it must be lonesome for you with only the cat and yer cup o' tay." "Sure it is," answered the widow. "But take a sate and set down, Mr. Costello. Help yourself to the fish, an' don't forgit the purtaties. Look at thim; they're splittin' their sides with laughin'." Mr. Costello helped himself and paused. He looked at the plump widow, with her arms in that graceful posi tion assumed in the pouring out of tea, and remarked, "I'm sinsible of the comforts of a home, Mrs. Cummiskey, although I've none mesilf. Mind, now, the difference between the taste o' the tay made and served thata-way and the tay they gives you in an 'ating-house." "Sure," said the widow, "there's nothin' like a home of your own. I wonder ye never got marrit, Mr. Costello.” "I was about to make the same remark in riference to yerself, ma'am." "Mr. Costello, aren't I a widder woman this seven year?" "Ah, but it's thinkin' I was why ye didn't get marrit again." "Well, it's sure I am," said the widow, thoughtfully, setting down her tea-cup and raising her hand by way of emphasis, "there never was a better husband to any woman than him that's dead and gone. He was that aisy, a child could do anythin' with him, and he was as humorsome as a monkey. You favor him very much, Mr. Costello; he was about your height, an' dark-complected like you!" "Ah!" exclaimed Mr. Costello. "He often used to say to me in his bantherin' way, 'Sure, Nora, what's the worruld to a man whin his wife is a widder?' mauin', you know, that all timptations in luxuries of this life can never folly a man beyant the grave. 'Sure, Nora,' says he, 'what's this worruld to a man whin his wife is a widder?' Ah, poor John!" "It was a sensible sayin', that," remarked Mr. Costello, helping himself to more fish. "I mind the day John died," continued the widow. "He knew everything to the last, and about four in the afternoon-it was seventeen minutes past five exactly, |