"An' sure 'tis mesilf is the fortunate b'y
As Christmas is comin' for you an' for me;
It's thruly a big share o' blessin's have I
At this blessed season," said Mickey McGee.
"My shtockin' I hung on the floor when 'twas night,
An' thin was ashlape like a log, in a minute.
An' whin I awoke wid the morn all alight,
What would ye be guessin' was soon found widin it?
"The liveliest feet for a shkip or a run
To carry a heart that's as light as a feather,
Along wid an eye for the beam o' the sun,
A share in the light an' the wind an' the weather.
"A share in the gladness that comes wid the day,
The peace an' good-will that's for you and for me.
So over the land an' far over the say
To all merry Christmas," said Mickey McGee.
Sydney Dayre.

Prince Bismarck, one of the greatest of men, grinding a hand-organ. This sounds a little absurd, and yet he did grind an organ, and in the royal palace at Berlin.

It seems one day considerable noise issued from an apartment used by the young princes. Bismarck, who was passing by, put his head within the door and found the young princes dancing and shouting to the tunes of a barrel-organ played by the Crown Prince. The moment they saw him they invited him to have some fun too. Bismarck declined, but agreed to play the organ if the Crown Prince would dance with the rest. The Crown Prince readily gave up the organ and joined the dancers.

Right merrily went the fun, and right lively Bismarck ground away, when into the midst of the shouting, laughing, dancing group stalked the Kaiser. A smile crept over his face when he saw that great statesman, Bismarck, a man of iron, grinding away on a barrel-organ, and after greeting his sons, he turned to him in mock displeasure, and remarked:

"You are beginning in good time to make the heir apparent dance to your music. It seems that this is about the fourth generation that has done so."

THE SEA-SHELL.

I brought a shell back from the sea;
I keep it in my room with me,
And when the waves I wish to hear
I hold the sea-shell to my ear.

While poring over a receipt-book the other day, my attention was attracted by a receipt which ended something like this: "Then sit on the front of the stove, and stir constantly."

Imagine sitting on a stove without stirring constantly.

Make a coat in a day: from shearing the wool from a sheep's back to putting the finished garment on one's own back. Nonsense! it could not be done. This would probably be the reply to any one claiming such a thing, or, if not, at least one would receive a reply expressing a strong doubt of the possibility of doing so, notwithstanding the vast improvements in machinery within the past fifty years. The feat, however, was accomplished even as far back as 1811, by Mr. John Coveter, of Greenham Mills, near Newbury, England.

At five o'clock in the morning Mr. Coveter was presented with two Southdown Wedder sheep. At first the sheep were shorn, the wool spun, the yarn spooled, warped, loomed, and wove. After that the cloth was burred, milled, rowed, dyed, pressed, and late in the afternoon put in the hands of the tailors. By half past six the coat was finished, and Mr. Coveter presented it to one of the gentlemen of the town amid the thundering applause of five thousand spectators.

TOWSER'S TRICK.

Towser was growling at something, much to Jack's amusement.

"You funny old dog, you," said Jack, patting him on the head, "trying to make us think you're a cat, purring away like that. You can't fool me."

COULDN'T COUNT.

"How many pieces of candy have you had, Wallie?"

"I don't know, mammy. I tan't tount over sebben."

A FLOWER CLOCK.

An English journal contains the following ingenious hint to the little gardeners. We have not tested the scheme ourselves, but it reads plausibly as follows:

It is quite possible to so arrange flowers in a garden that all the purposes of a clock will be answered. In the time of Pliny forty-six flowers were known to open and shut at certain hours of the day, and this number has since been largely increased. For instance, a bed of common dandelions would show when it was 5.30 in the morning and 8.30 at night respectively, for those flowers open and shut at the times named, frequently to the minute. The common hawk-weed opens at 8 in the morning, and may be depended upon to close within a few minutes of 2 in the afternoon. The yellow goat's-beard shuts at 12 o'clock noon absolutely to the minute, sidereal time—that is, when the sun attains its highest altitude. Our clocks do not follow the sun, but are generally a few minutes fast or slow, according to the longitude of the place where they are. The goat's-beard, however, is true time all the world over. The sowthistle opens at 5 a.m. and closes at 11-12 a.m. The white-lily opens at 7 a.m. and closes at 5 p.m.: the pink opens at 8 a.m. and closes at 6.30 p.m. In the towns few people know about such details as these; nor are the flower clocks often seen anywhere, though they have been constructed occasionally. Even in these days, however, farm servants often take their dinner-hour from the sun, or, failing that, from the yellow goat's-beard, which is never mistaken, whether it can see the sun or not. Should any of the readers of the Round Table test the accuracy of this singular time-keeping garden it is to be hoped they will communicate the result of their experiment to the world.