runned away with a balloon. Please take us down."

Dimly comprehending the situation, the
farmer getting hold of a dangling rope,
succeeded in pulling down the balloon.

He first lifted out little Johnnie, who ran
rapidly a few yards toward the house, then
turned round, and stood for a few moments,
curiously surveying the balloon. The faithful little
sister was so chilled and exhausted that she had
to be carried into the house, where, trembling
and sobbing, she told her wonderful story.

Before sunrise a mounted messenger was
dispatched to the Harwood home, with glad
tidings of great joy. He reached it in the afternoon,
and a few hours later the children themselves arrived,
in state, with banners and music,
and conveyed in a covered hay-waggon and
four.

Joy-bells were rung in the neighbouring town,
and in the farmer's brown house, the happiest
family on the Continent thanked God that
night.

It would seem that this comet had some
occult maddening influence on balloons, for
during its appearance there occurred in another
western state, an involuntary ascension, similar
to the one I have related; but more tragical in
its termination.

An aëronaut while, if I remember rightly,
repairing the net-work of his balloon, was seated
on a slight wooden cross-piece, suspended
under it; the car having been removed, and
the balloon being held in its position, a few
feet from the ground, by merely a rope in the
hand of an assistant. From a too careless
grasp, this rope escaped, and in an instant the
gigantic bubble shot upward, carrying the
aëronaut on his frail support; a rider more
helpless than Mazeppa bound to his Ukraine
steed; a voyager more hopeless than a
shipwrecked sailor afloat on a spar in mid-ocean.

The balloon rose rapidly, but unsteadily,
swaying and pitching in the evening wind.
As long as it remained in sight, the form of
the aëronaut could be distinguished, swinging
beneath it. And, as he was known to be a
man of uncommon nerve and presence of mind,
it was hoped that even from his dizzy perch
he might manage to operate on the valve, or at
least to puncture a small hole in the balloon,
and thus effect a descent. But such efforts, if
he made any, were vain, as, for many days and
nights, there was anxious inquiry and patient
search over a wide extent of country, with no
result. We gave him up. Only wifely love
hoped on, and looked and waited. At last, in
a wild spot, the wreck of the balloon was found,
and that was all. Still, wifely love hoped on,
until, a month or two later, some children
nutting in a wood, many miles away from where
the balloon was found, discovered, half buried
in the ground, a strange dark mass, that looked
like a heap of old clothes, but that there was a
something, shapeless and fearful, holding it
together.

It was thought that the aëronaut parted company
from his balloon by loosening his hold on the
cords above him, in desperate efforts to open
the valve; but he may, after whirling in swift
vortices, or plunging and mounting through
cloudy abysses of air, have become unnerved
by the awful silence of the upper night, by the
comet's fearful companionship, by whelming
immensity and infinity, and wearily let go his
hold, to drop earthward.

MEPHISTOPHELES, GENERAL DEALER.

WHO'LL buy tresses, bonnie brown tresses?
Maids and matrons, come and buy!
Here is one that was cut from a beggar
Crouching low down in a ditch to die!
Look at it, countess! envy it, duchess!
'Tis long and fine, and will suit you well;
Hers by nature, yours by purchase,
Beauty was only made to sell.

Who'll buy hair of lustrous yellow?
Maids and matrons, 'tis bright as gold,
'Twas shorn from the head of a wretched pauper
Starving with hunger and bitter cold.
It brought her a supper, a bed, and a breakfast;
Buy it, fair ladies, whose locks are thin,
'Twill help to cheat the silly lovers
Who care not for heads that have brains within.

Who'll buy tresses, jet-black tresses?
Maids and matrons, lose no time!
These raven locks, so sleek and glossy,
Belonged to a murderess red with crime.
The hangman's perquisite; worth a guinea!
Wear them, and flaunt them, good ma dame;
They'll make you look a little younger;
She was reality, you are a sham!

Who'll buy tresses, snow-white tresses?
Widows and matrons whose blood is cold,
Buy them and wear them, and show the scorners
You're not ashamed of growing old.
The face and the wig should pull together,
We all decay, but we need not dye;
But age as well as youth needs helping,
Snow-white tresses come and buy!

Who'll buy hair of all shades and colours,
For masquerade and false pretence?
Padding, and make-believe, and swindle
That never deceive a man of sense!
Chignons! chignons! lovely chignons!
'Tis art, not nature, wins the day
False hair, false hips, false hearts, false faces!
Marry them, boobies, for you may!

FAR-WESTERN NEWSPAPERS.

THERE is not a town anywhere in the West
of sufficient importance to be " reckoned a right
smart chance of a city" without a local weekly,
bi-weekly, or even daily newspaper. As it is
impossible for the whole community to be of
one mind in matters political, we generally find
one devoted to the interests of the democratic
party, and a second to the well cherished
opinions of the republicans—these two parties
dividing social affairs and public and private
life in "the Far West."