AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.
JIMMY'S CRUISE IN THE PINAFORE.
HOW HE SHIPPED.
A BOY sat on a door-step in a despondent attitude, with his eyes fixed on a pair of very-shabby shoes, and his elbows resting on his knees, as if to hide the big patches there. But it was not the fact that his toes were nearly out and his clothes dilapidated which brought the wrinkles to his forehead and the tears to his eyes, for he was used to that state of things, and, bore it without complaint. The prospect was a dull one for a lively lad full of the spring longings which sunny April weather always brings. But it was not the narrow back-street where noisy children played and two or three dusty trees tried to bud without sunshine, that made him look so dismal. Nor was it the