'Now Fraeulein Baumann was a good-hearted blonde, very well calculated to make a good wife to somebody, and her mother, the widow Baumann, determined that this calculation should become a mathematical certainty the first time there was any opportunity of its becoming a fixed fact. She had for some time regarded our student as the coming man. When he flung ashes at her daughter's head, the mother said to her daughter: ''Angelika, thou must find time to make a potato-salad, and see that the smoked goose is well cooked on thy wedding-day.' ''Ma, when am I going to be married, and who to?' ''_Stille!_ here comes thy husband.' 'With great trembling the student summoned up force enough to descend the stairs, in order to make a humble apology to the Fraeulein for the ashes accident. He knocked at the Frau Baumann's door, and asked to see the Fraeulein; but lo! her mother stood before him with a very affable air. ''_Mad-dad-ame_, I have called in--in, in relation to your d--d-daughter. I----' ''Are you not the theological student, Herr Mueller, who lives overhead?' asked Frau Baumann. ''I am, Mad-dame. I----' ''Be seated, I pray you, and _O mein Herr_! I am so glad to learn from your own lips the declaration of your love for my dearest, best, kindest daughter, Angelika. She will make you the best of wives; a nurse in affliction, a companion in distress, a soother in sorrow, a housekeeper in tribulation, a--but here she is! Angelika, my daughter, behold the Herr Mueller, who has sought thy hand; give him the betrothal kiss.' Here Frau Baumann bursting into tears, left the room and the young people together. 'I draw a curtain over the thunderstruck theological student. He went in about ashes and was coming out with hymeneal torches! Before he knew where he was, he had given the betrothal kiss, and one year afterward married the blonde Angelika. If you ever meet an old lady who says smoking is beneficial, you may be sure her name is Frau Baumann, mother-in-law of our theological student.' * * * * * Shoddy is not so much heard of now. But he still lives--especially in memory and in poetry--_videlicet_. 'SHODDY.' BY J. IVES PEASE. Old Shoddy sits in his easy-chair, And cracks his jokes and drinks his ale, Dumb to the shivering soldier's prayer, Deaf to the widows' and orphans' wail. _His_ coat is warm as the fleece unshorn; Of a 'golden fleece' he is dreaming still: And the music that lulls him, night and morn, Is the hum-hum-hum of the shoddy-mill. Clashing cylinders, whizzing wheels, Rend and ravel and tear and pick; What can resist these hooks of steel, Sharp as the claws of the ancient Nick? Cast-off mantle of millionaire, Pestilent vagrant's vesture chill, Rags of miser or beggar bare, _All_ are 'grist' for the shoddy-mill.