FROM THE NEW MOTHER GOOSE.
I had a little husband
No bigger than my thumb;
I put him in a pint pot,
And then I bade him drum.
And he, poor little hubby,
Kept it up so night and day
Our next-door neighbors pounced on him
And took his drum away.
One day during the hot spell in New York, in the early part of August, a bent figure industriously handled a little combination hammer and pick as he scraped some sand together with the pick, and placed his stone in position, tapping it with the hammer end. He was paving a portion of the street, and was alone on the job. Strangely, he worked fast and hard, and this excited the curiosity of the passers-by, and occasionally they stopped and watched him, sometimes speaking to him. The worker kept hard at it, however, and vouchsafed no reply to these people. Quite a group gathered after a while, and finally a rollicking son of the sod happening along, and knowing the industrious workman, addressed him:
"Hullo Tim! Faith yer workin' hard!"
"Shure oi have to, Jim," replied the worker.
"'Pon me soul, Tim, yez must be tryin' to pave the entire street before night."
"No, that's not it; oime tryin' to finish the job before the stones give out, that's all."