Deborah was waiting up to hear Milly's account of the party, and was wrathful at the girl's running quickly up stairs, not knowing what she had to conceal. Once in her own room, Milly looked eagerly at the stained silk. It was hopelessly ruined! Chocolate she knew never would submit to any cleansing, and so she put it away with a sigh, feeling she had paid dearly for one evening's finery. For the first time since her bargain, the thought of the thirty dollars weighed like a guilty secret on her heart. She could not sleep, but after going to bed lay thinking of the weekly visit she must receive from that bold, hard-featured woman.
[to be continued.]
THAT SMALL PIECEE BOY FROM CHINA.
BY MRS. LIZZIE W. CHAMPNEY.
'Twas a little Asiatic
Sitting sadly on the deck,
Who with wailings loud, emphatic,
Watched his home fade to a speck,
While his saffron-hued complexion
Altered to deep olive green,
And the tears of retrospection
In his almond eyes were seen.
Still he scanned the far horizon,
Touching neither bread nor meat;
And we feared that he would die soon,
For we could not make him eat.
Sympathy, and e'en religion,
Had for him no hope or cheer.
"Speakee you too much fool pigeon,
Better China home than here.
Me no likee English junkee,
English chowchow too no nice.
Why no can some roasted monkey?
What for not some piecee mice?
Number one no washee dishee,
Catchee chopsticks scouree bright;
Too much workee, this boy wishee
Top-side makee, flyee kite."
"Make a kite, you foolish fellow,"
Kindly then the Captain said.
With delight his cheeks so yellow
Flushed almost to rosy red.
As he worked, an inspiration
In his eager fingers burned.
Each on board made his donation,
Every scrap to use was turned.
To begin, the galley scullion
Gave a worn-out cracked guitar,
Which would utter shrieks æolian
As the breeze bore it afar;
Slats there were from blinds Venetian,
And a tattered parasol.
Wondered we at such provision,
Sure it could not carry all.
Two old bonnets, an air cushion,
With a bandbox painted green,
Rockets two, to set it rushing,
And an ancient crinoline,
Wings from a torn old umbrella,
While a tail of many rags
Showed in its red, white, and yellow
He had stol'n the signal flags.
Vain our taunts, our sneers invidious,
For each day the structure grew
Stronger, vaster, and more hideous,
Yet more awful to the view.
Cloven tongue all barbed and hissing,
And a snaky horned wig,
Goggle eyes revolving, whizzing
In a fiery whirligig;
Till with joy Kong's face resembled
A great orange sent from Seville.
All who saw the kite now trembled,
'Twas so very like a devil.
And Kong scanned the far horizon,
Till from out the western main
Rose a black and threatening typhoon,
And it blew a hurricane.
On the poop Kong danced ecstatic,
And he gave his demon string.
As it tugged with curve erratic
Loud and clear we heard him sing:
"No more chowchow mutton hashee,
Soon me suck fat shark tail fin,
Soon one pigtail full of cashee
Me give cumshaw Joss, Pekin;
Soon me sing my China sing-song,
Chowchow nice bird-nest pudding.
Ha quai, fly, go top-side Chin chong
Choy, old English junk. Chin chin."
