He looked upon her!

He gazed for a moment, with glowing, passionate eyes, upon that matchless form—­upon that angelic face, and then—­he clasped his brows in hopeless agony.  Stepping back, he gave the maiden one glance of wildest love, followed by another of bitterest despair; and sank helpless into his chair.

[Illustration.]

The maiden leaned, pale and trembling, against a pillar; but hearing the approach of intruders, she recovered herself with an effort.

“Farewell,” she whispered.  “I know!  I know!  There is a Mrs. P.!”—­and she was gone.

Mr. P. arose and slipped out into the night, shaken by a secret struggle.  He laid upon the sand and kicked up his heels.

There isn’t any Mrs. P.!

Mr. P. does not wish to sweep his hand rudely o’er the tender chords of any heart, but he wants it known that he is neither to be snapped up by sharks in the sea, or by young women at watering places.

* * * * *

A DOG’S TALE.

Dogmatic.

I am only a dog, I admit; but do you suppose dogs have no feeling?  I guess if you were kicked out of every door-way you ran into, and driven away from every meat stand or grocery you happened to smell around, you would think you had feelings.

When I see some dogs riding in carriages, looking so grandly out of the windows, or others walking along proudly by the side of their owners, I have a feeling of dislike for the very thought of liberty!

I sometimes go with the crowd to a lecture-room, and listen to the speeches about freedom and liberty, the hatred of bondage, and all that sort of thing.  I get my tail up, and wish I could tell them what liberty really is.  There is nothing worse in the world than this running around loose, with no one to look after you, and no one for you to look after; no one to notice you when you wag your tail, and to have no occasion for so doing.  You go out and you come in, and nobody cares.  If you never come back, no one troubles himself about you.

Every day I hear men reading in the papers about some lucky dogs having strayed, or having been stolen, a large reward being offered for their recovery:  and I envy each lost dog!  I wonder who would advertise for me if I got lost!  Alas! no one.  They would not give me a bone to bring me back, or to keep me from drowning myself.  But every boy in the street thinks he has a right to throw stones at me; and tie tin-kettles to my tail; and chase me when I have had the good luck to find a bone; and to set big dogs upon me to worry me when I am faint from hunger and haven’t much pluck; and worse than all, chase me and cry “Ki-yi,” when I am almost dying of thirst!

If you only knew how hard it is for a poor dog to make his way in the world, with no one to help him to a mouthful of food, you would feel sorry for us.

But I think we might get along better if it wasn’t for the scarcity of water.  I hardly know a spot in the city where I can get a drink; and many a time I have gone all day without a drop.