Our Boys and Girls.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 998, 17 April 1891, Page 6

Our Boys and Girls.

BEDTIME. * ’Tis bedtime ; say your hymn and bid ‘ Goodnight ; God bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all ’’ ; Your half shut eves beneath your eyelids fall, Another minute you will shut them quite. Yes, I will carry you, pub out the light, And tuck you up, although you are so tall? What will you give mo sleepy one, and call My wages if I settle you all right ?’ I laid her golden curls upon my arm, T drew her little feet within my hand, Her rosy palms were joined in trußtful bliss, Her heart next mine beat gently, soft and warm She nestled to me, and by love’s command, Paid me my precious wages —* Baby’s kiss.’ —The late Lord Roslyn. . « ‘PAPA, MAMMA IS DEAD.’ A party of men wore sitting in the back room of a West End saloon playing poker a few nights ago. There were five in the game, and the limit was 50 cents, made small because the players wore workingmen who had dropped in to pass the evening over beer and cards. Things went on slowly for the first hour, when the beer commenced to get its work in, the winners shoving their chips out more boldly, which made tbo loser play more desperately. So far the biggest loser was a burly, redfaced sort of man, known as Jim Robertson, who lives with his family not a great distance from the stockyards. He is a heavy drinker, and the more beer he drank the more reckless he played and the deeper he got into the hole. At the loss of every pot he swore and cursed his luck and the good luck of others. The clock struck 10 when a thin-faced boy of ten or twelve years approached the table, and stepping up to Robertson, said : ‘ Pa, ma wants you.’ .‘All right; I’ll be thero soon,’ was the gruff answer, and with that the boy left and the game went on, the players hardly noticing the interruption. Quick and often went the drinks, and livelier than ever went the chips. An hour later two of the players were in the hole to the extent of §8 to $9 each, while Jim was in deeper than any of them. The winners were quite merry over their luck, and rushed the jack-pots with considerable vigour. Then, as hands of the clock were edging towards the midnight hour, one of the players said : * Let’s play ten 50-cent jack-pots and quit.’ * That’s me,’ said Jim ; * I think I can wm out if you do.’ ‘ It’s a go,’ echoed the others. Two red chips each 50 cents, §2 50 in the pot, and only 50 cents to draw. What a temptation to the loser seeking to get even. And the loser was in every pot before the draw, after the draw in everything save raking down the chips—that pleasure was left to the winner only. Five miuutes to 12 o’clock, and now comes the last pot. * Let’s make this §1 each 2’ * A dollar it is, and $1 to open it.’ ‘ It’s a go,’ with a hurrah. And Jim opens the pot. He is raised. Perhaps it’s only a blind to keep the others out. If so, it doesn’t work, as the pot is too big, and the others drop in with $2 eaeh. Then Jim scans his hand like a true sport, looks at his chips, and, seeing that he has only two reds and a few whites left, goes into his pocket and brings out a V, the remainder of a twenty that he had brought in early in the evening, his whole week’s earnings, and with the grace of an old-time winner, says : ‘ Play for three.’ * Play for four,’ says the next, the man who who made the original raise. The others concluded it best to drop out. They were not in it. Shook hands. Had no business there. * Play for five,’ says Jim. ‘ Six,’ says the other. ‘Play for the balance in the bill,’ says Jim, calling sight. ‘ Yes.’ ‘ Well, cards ?’ ‘Don't want any,’ says Jack. * Nor I. What have you got 2’ ‘ King high straight.’ * No good ; ace high flush here.’ ‘ H and d -!’ Just then a boy stepped up to the table. It was the same lad who had called before, but his face was ghastly white and his eyes were wet with tears. As he came up he touched Robertson on the shoulder, and in a low voice, but heard by every one present, said : ‘ Papa, mamma is dead l 1 Cincinnati Enquirer. QUEER SAYINGS. A Boston child, becoming impatient at its mother’s delay in hearing its evening prayers, exclaimed : ‘ Come, mamma, Dod’s a* waitin’.’ Papa: ‘ There, boys, that’s the ocean.’ Willie: ‘There’s lots of water there, isn’t there 2’ Johnny : ' How many pails of water are there in the ocean, papa ?’ ‘ Why did General Longstreet burn his bridges behind him ?’ asked a history teacher in the High School. ‘To keep his men warm,’ was the quick response. , ‘ Mamma,’ exclaimed a little boy indignantly, after the visitor had gone, * when I get to be a man, I’m going to get up a society for preventing ugly old women from kissing nice little boys.’ Little Mabel described graphically her sensations on striking a dimpled elbow on the bed carving. ‘O,my V she sighed, ‘mamma, I’ve struck my arm just where it makes stars in my fingers 1’ Little Flora, three years old, lives in the country where pigs are numerous and are in the habit of rubbing of scratching themselves against the fence, or anything convenient. Flora saw one indulging in this one day, when she said, ‘ Oh, mamma, there is another pig sharpening himself 1’