THE FIEND'S DELIGHT. 

BY DOD GRILE. 

"Count that day lost whose low descending sunViews from thy hand no worthy action done. "

NEW YORK:

1873. 

TOTHE IMMUTABLE AND INFALLIBLE GODDESS, GOOD TASTE, IN GRATITUDE FOR HER CONDEMNATION OF ALL SUPERIOR AUTHORS, AND IN THE HOPE OF PROPITIATING HER CREATORSAND EXPOUNDERS, This Volume is reverentially DedicatedBY HER DEVOUT WORSHIPPER, THE AUTHOR. 

PREFACE. 

The atrocities constituting this "cold collation" of diabolisms aretaken mainly from various Californian journals. They are cast in theAmerican language, and liberally enriched with unintelligibility. Ifthey shall prove incomprehensible on this side of the Atlantic, thereader can pass to the other side at a moderately extortionatecharge. In the pursuit of my design I think I have killed a goodmany people in one way and another; but the reader will please toobserve that they were not people worth the trouble of leavingalive. Besides, I had the interests of my collaborator to consult. In writing, as in compiling, I have been ably assisted by myscholarly friend Mr. Satan; and to this worthy gentleman must beattributed most of the views herein set forth. While the plan of thework is partly my own, its spirit is wholly his; and thisillustrates the ascendancy of the creative over the merely imitativemind. Palmam qui meruit ferat-I shall be content with the profit. 

DOD GRILE. 

SOME FICTION. 

"One More Unfortunate. "

It was midnight-a black, wet, midnight-in a great city by the sea. The church clocks were booming the hour, in tones half-smothered bythe marching rain, when an officer of the watch saw a female figureglide past him like a ghost in the gloom, and make directly toward awharf. The officer felt that some dreadful tragedy was about to beenacted, and started in pursuit. Through the sleeping city spedthose two dark figures like shadows athwart a tomb. Out along thedeserted wharf to its farther end fled the mysterious fugitive, theguardian of the night vainly endeavouring to overtake, and callingto her to stay. Soon she stood upon the extreme end of the pier, inthe scourging rain which lashed her fragile figure and blinded hereyes with other tears than those of grief. The night wind tossed hertresses wildly in air, and beneath her bare feet the writhingbillows struggled blackly upward for their prey. At this fearfulmoment the panting officer stumbled and fell! He was badly bruised;he felt angry and misanthropic. Instead of rising to his feet, hesat doggedly up and began chafing his abraded shin. The desperatewoman raised her white arms heavenward for the final plunge, and thevoice of the gale seemed like the dread roaring of the waters in herears, as down, down, she went--in imagination--to a black death amongthe spectral piles. She backed a few paces to secure an impetus, cast a last look upon the stony officer, with a wild shriek sprangto the awful verge and came near losing her balance. Recoveringherself with an effort, she turned her face again to the officer, who was clawing about for his missing club. Having secured it, hestarted to leave. 

In a cosy, vine-embowered cottage near the sounding sea, lives andsuffers a blighted female. Nothing being known of her past history, she is treated by her neighbours with marked respect. She neverspeaks of the past, but it has been remarked that whenever thestalwart form of a certain policeman passes her door, her clean, delicate face assumes an expression which can only be described asfrozen profanity. The Strong Young Man of Colusa. 

Professor Cramer conducted a side-show in the wake of a horse-opera, and the same sojourned at Colusa. Enters unto the side show apowerful young man of the Colusa sort, and would see his money'sworth. Blandly and with conscious pride the Professor directs theyoung man's attention to his fine collection of living snakes. Lithely the blacksnake uncoils in his sight. Voluminously thebloated boa convolves before him. All horrent the cobra exalts hishooded head, and the spanning jaws fly open. Quivers and chittersthe tail of the cheerful rattlesnake; silently slips out the forkedtongue, and is as silently absorbed. The fangless adder warps up theleg of the Professor, lays clammy coils about his neck, and pokes aflattened head curiously into his open mouth. The young man ofColusa is interested; his feelings transcend expression. Not asyllable breathes he, but with a deep-drawn sigh he turns his broadback upon the astonishing display, and goes thoughtfully forth intohis native wild. Half an hour later might have been seen that brawnyColusan, emerging from an adjacent forest with a strong faggot. 

Then this Colusa young man unto the appalled Professor thus: "Therain't no good place yer in Kerloosy fur fittin' out serpence to besubtler than all the beasts o' the field. Ther's enmity atween ourseed and ther seed, an' it shell brooze ther head. " And with asingleness of purpose and a rapt attention to detail that would havedone credit to a lean porker garnering the strewn kernels behind adeaf old man who plants his field with corn, he started in upon thatreptilian host, and exterminated it with a careful thoroughness ofextermination. 

The Glad New Year. 

A poor brokendown drunkard returned to his dilapidated domicileearly on New Year's morn. The great bells of the churches werejarring the creamy moonlight which lay above the soggy undercrust ofmud and snow. As he heard their joyous peals, announcing the birthof a new year, his heart smote his old waistcoat like a remorsefulsledge-hammer. 

"Why, " soliloquized he, "should not those bells also proclaim theadvent of a new resolution? I have not made one for several weeks, and it's about time. I'll swear off. "

He did it, and at that moment a new light seemed to be shed upon hispathway; his wife came out of the house with a tin lantern. Herushed frantically to meet her. She saw the new and holy purpose inhis eye. She recognised it readily-she had seen it before. Theyembraced and wept. Then stretching the wreck of what had once been amanly form to its full length, he raised his eyes to heaven and onehand as near there as he could get it, and there in the palemoonlight, with only his wondering wife, and the angels, and a cowor two, for witnesses, he swore he would from that moment abstainfrom all intoxicating liquors until death should them part. Thenlooking down and tenderly smiling into the eyes of his wife, hesaid: "Is it not well, dear one?" With a face beaming all over witha new happiness, she replied:

"Indeed it is, John-let's take a drink. " And they took one, she withsugar and he plain. 

The spot is still pointed out to the traveller. The Late Dowling, Senior. 

My friend, Jacob Dowling, Esq. , had been spending the day veryagreeably in his counting-room with some companions, and at nightretired to the domestic circle to ravel out some intricate accounts. Seated at his parlour table he ordered his wife and children out ofthe room and addressed himself to business. While clambering wearilyup a column of figures he felt upon his cheek the touch of somethingthat seemed to cling clammily to the skin like the caress of a nakedoyster. Thoughtfully setting down the result of his addition so faras he had proceeded with it, he turned about and looked up. 

"I beg your pardon, sir, " said he, "but you have not the advantageof my acquaintance. "

"Why, Jake, " replied the apparition-whom I have thought it uselessto describe--"don't you know me?"

"I confess that your countenance is familiar, " returned my friend, "but I cannot at this moment recall your name. I never forget aface, but names I cannot remember. "

"Jake!" rumbled the spectre with sepulchral dignity, a look ofdispleasure crawling across his pallid features, "you're foolin'. "

"I give you my word I am quite serious. Oblige me with your name, and favour me with a statement of your business with me at thishour. "

The disembodied party sank uninvited into a chair, spread out hisknees and stared blankly at a Dutch clock with an air of wearinessand profound discouragement. Perceiving that his guest was makinghimself tolerably comfortable my friend turned again to his figures, and silence reigned supreme. The fire in the grate burnednoiselessly with a mysterious blue light, as if it could do more ifit wished; the Dutch clock looked wise, and swung its pendulum withstudied exactness, like one who is determined to do his precise dutyand shun responsibility; the cat assumed an attitude of intelligentneutrality. Finally the spectre trained his pale eyes upon his host, pulled in a long breath and remarked:

"Jake, I'm yur dead father. I come back to have a talk with ye 'boutthe way things is agoin' on. I want to know 'f you think it's rightnotter recognise yur dead parent?"

"It is a little rough on you, dear, " replied the son without lookingup, "but the fact is that [7 and 3 are 10, and 2 are 12, and 6 are18] it is so long since you have been about [and 3 off are 15] thatI had kind of forgotten, and [2 into 4 goes twice, and 7 into 6 youcan't] you know how it is yourself. May I be permitted to againinquire the precise nature of your present business?"

"Well, yes-if you wont talk anything but shop I s'pose I must cometo the p'int. Isay! you don't keep any thing to drink 'bout yer, doye-Jake?"

"14 from 23 are 9-I'll get you something when we get done. Pleaseexplain how we can serve one another. "

"Jake, I done everything for you, and you ain't done nothin' for mesince I died. I want a monument bigger'n Dave Broderick's, with aneppytaph in gilt letters, by Joaquin Miller. I can't git into anykind o' society till I have 'em. You've no idee how exclusive theyare where I am. "

This dutiful son laid down his pencil and effected a stifflyvertical attitude. He was all attention:

"Anything else to-day?" he asked-rather sneeringly, I grieve tostate. 

"No-o-o, I don't think of anything special, " drawled the ghostreflectively; "I'd like to have an iron fence around it to keep thecows off, but I s'pose that's included. "

"Of course! And a gravel walk, and a lot of abalone shells, andfresh posies daily; a marble angel or two for company, and anythingelse that will add to your comfort. Have you any other extremelyreasonable request to make of me?"

"Yes-since you mention it. I want you to contest my will. HoraceHawes is having his'n contested. "

"My fine friend, you did not make any will. "

"That ain't o' no consequence. You forge me a good 'un and contestthat. "

"With pleasure, sir; but that will be extra. Now indulge me in onequestion. You spoke of the society where you reside. Where do youreside?"

The Dutch clock pounded clamorously upon its brazen gong a countlessmultitude of hours; the glowing coals fell like an avalanche throughthe grate, spilling all over the cat, who exalted her voice in asquawk like the deathwail of a stuck pig, and dashed affrightedthrough the window. A smell of scorching fur pervaded the place, andunder cover of it the aged spectre walked into the mirror, vanishinglike a dream. "Love's Labour Lost. "

Joab was a beef, who was tired of being courted for his clean, smooth skin. So he backed through a narrow gateway six or eighttimes, which made his hair stand the wrong way. He then went andrubbed his fat sides against a charred log. This made him lookuntidy. You never looked worse in your life than Joab did. 

"Now, " said he, "I shall be loved for myself alone. I will change myname, and hie me to pastures new, and all the affection that is thenlavished upon me will be pure and disinterested. "

So he strayed off into the woods and came out at old Abner Davis'ranch. The two things Abner valued most were a windmill and ascratching-post for hogs. They were equally beautiful, and the fameof their comeliness had gone widely abroad. To them Joab naturallypaid his attention. The windmill, who was called Lucille AshtonburyClifford, received him with expressions of the liveliest disgust. His protestations of affection were met by creakings of contempt, and as he turned sadly away he was rewarded by a sound spank fromone of her fans. Like a gentlemanly beef he did not deign to avengethe insult by overturning Lucille Ashtonbury; and it is well for himthat he did not, for old Abner stood by with a pitchfork and atrinity of dogs. 

Disgusted with the selfish heartlessness of society, Joab shambledoff and was passing the scratching-post without noticing her. (Hername was Arabella Cliftonbury Howard. ) Suddenly she kicked away amultitude of pigs who were at her feet, and called to the rollingbeef of uncanny exterior:

"Comeer!"

Joab paused, looked at her with his ox-eyes, and gravely marchingup, commenced a vigorous scratching against her. 

"Arabella, " said he, "do you think you could love a shaggy-hidedbeef with black hair? Could you love him for himself alone?"

Arabella had observed that the black rubbed off, and the hair laysleek when stroked the right way. 

"Yes, I think so; could you?"

This was a poser: Joab had expected her to talk business. He did notreply. It was only her arch way; she thought, naturally, that thebest way to win any body's love was to be a fool. She saw hermistake. She had associated with hogs all her life, and this fellowwas a beef! Mistakes must be rectified very speedily in thesematters. 

"Sir, I have for you a peculiar feeling; I may say a tenderness. Hereafter you, and you only, shall scratch against ArabellaCliftonbury Howard!"

Joab was delighted; he stayed and scratched all day. He was lovedfor himself alone, and he did not care for anything but that. Thenhe went home, made an elaborate toilet, and returned to astonishher. Alas! old Abner had been about, and seeing how Joab had wornher smooth and useless, had cut her down for firewood. Joab gave oneglance, then walked solemnly away into a "clearing, " and gettingcomfortably astride a blazing heap of logs, made a barbacue ofhimself!

After all, Lucille Ashtonbury Clifford, the light-headed windmill, seems to have got the best of all this. I have observed that thelight-headed commonly get the best of everything in this world;which the wooden-headed and the beef-headed regard as an outrage. Iam not prepared to say if it is or not. A Comforter. 

William Bunker had paid a fine of two hundred dollars for beatinghis wife. After getting his receipt he went moodily home and seatedhimself at the domestic hearth. Observing his abstracted andmelancholy demeanour, the good wife approached and tenderly inquiredthe cause. "It's a delicate subject, dear, " said he, with love-light in his eyes; "let's talk about something good to eat. "

Then, with true wifely instinct she sought to cheer him up withpleasing prattle of a new bonnet he had promised her. "Ah! darling, "he sighed, absently picking up the fire-poker and turning it in hishands, "let us change the subject. "

Then his soul's idol chirped an inspiring ballad, kissed him on thetop of his head, and sweetly mentioned that the dressmaker had sentin her bill. "Let us talk only of love, " returned he, thoughtfullyrolling up his dexter sleeve. 

And so she spoke of the vine-enfolded cottage in which she fondlyhoped they might soon sip together the conjugal sweets. Williambecame rigidly erect, a look not of earth was in his face, hisbreast heaved, and the fire-poker quivered with emotion. Williamfelt deeply. "Mine own, " said the good woman, now busily irrigatinga mass of snowy dough for the evening meal, "do you know that thereis not a bite of meat in the house?"

It is a cold, unlovely truth-a sad, heart-sickening fact-but itmust be told by the conscientious novelist. William repaid all thisaffectionate solicitude-all this womanly devotion, all this trust, confidence, and abnegation in a manner that needs not beparticularly specified. 

A short, sharp curve in the middle of that iron fire-poker iseloquent of a wrong redressed. Little Isaac. 

Mr. Gobwottle came home from a meeting of the Temperance Legionextremely drunk. He went to the bed, piled himself loosely atop ofit and forgot his identity. About the middle of the night, his wife, who was sitting up darning stockings, heard a voice from theprofoundest depths of the bolster: "Say, Jane?"

Jane gave a vicious stab with the needle, impaling one of herfingers, and continued her work. There was a long silence, faintlypunctuated by the bark of a distant dog. Again thatvoice--"Say-Jane!"

The lady laid aside her work and wearily, replied: "Isaac, do go tosleep; they are off. "

Another and longer pause, during which the ticking of the clockbecame painful in the intensity of the silence it seemed to bemeasuring. "Jane, what's off!" "Why, your boots, to be sure, "replied the petulant woman, losing patience; "I pulled them off whenyou first lay down. "

Again the prostrate gentleman was still. Then when the candle of thewaking housewife had burned low down to the socket, and the wastedflame on the hearth was expiring bluely in convulsive leaps, thehead of the family resumed: "Jane, who said anything about boots?"

There was no reply. Apparently none was expected, for the manimmediately rose, lengthened himself out like a telescope, andcontinued: "Jane, I must have smothered that brat, and I'm 'fernalsorry!"

"What brat?" asked the wife, becoming interested. 

"Why, ours-our little Isaac. I saw you put 'im in bed last week, andI've been layin' right onto 'im!"

"What under the sun do you mean?" asked the good wife; "we haven'tany brat, and never had, and his name should not be Isaac if we had. I believe you are crazy. "

The man balanced his bulk rather unsteadily, looked hard into theeyes of his companion, and triumphantly emitted the followingconundrum: "Jane, look-a-here! If we haven't any brat, what'nthunder's the use o' bein' married!"

Pending the solution of the momentous problem, its author went outand searched the night for a whisky-skin. 

The Heels of Her. 

Passing down Commercial-street one fine day, I observed a ladystanding alone in the middle of the sidewalk, with no obviousbusiness there, but with apparently no intention of going on. Shewas outwardly very calm, and seemed at first glance to be lost insome serene philosophical meditation. A closer examination, however, revealed a peculiar restlessness of attitude, and a barelynoticeable uneasiness of expression. The conviction came upon methat the lady was in distress, and as delicately as possible Iinquired of her if such were not the case, intimating at the sametime that I should esteem it a great favour to be permitted to dosomething. The lady smiled blandly and replied that she was merelywaiting for a gentleman. It was tolerably evident that I was notrequired, and with a stammered apology I hastened away, passed cleararound the block, came up behind her, and took up a position on adry-goods box; it lacked an hour to dinner time, and I had leisure. The lady maintained her attitude, but with momently increasingimpatience, which found expression in singular wave-like undulationsof her lithe figure, and an occasional unmistakeable contortion. Several gentlemen approached, but were successively and politelydismissed. Suddenly she experienced a quick convulsion, strodesharply forward one step, stopped short, had another convulsion, andwalked rapidly away. Approaching the spot I found a small irongrating in the sidewalk, and between the bars two little boot heels, riven from their kindred soles, and unsightly with snaggy nails. 

Heaven only knows why that entrapped female had declined theproffered assistance of her species-why she had elected to ruin herboots in preference to having them removed from her feet. Upon thatday when the grave shall give up its dead, and the secrets of allhearts shall be revealed, I shall know all about it; but I want toknow now. A Tale of Two Feet. 

My friend Zacharias was accustomed to sleep with a heated stone athis feet; for the feet of Mr. Zacharias were as the feet of thedead. One night he retired as usual, and it chanced that he awokesome hours afterwards with a well-defined smell of burning leather, making it pleasant for his nostrils. 

"Mrs. Zacharias, " said he, nudging his snoring spouse, "I wish youwould get up and look about. I think one of the children must havefallen into the fire. "

The lady, who from habit had her own feet stowed comfortably awayagainst the warm stomach of her lord and master, declined to makethe investigation demanded, and resumed the nocturnal melody. Mr. Zacharias was angered; for the first time since she had sworn tolove, honour, and obey, this female was in open rebellion. Hedecided upon prompt and vigorous action. He quietly moved over tothe back side of the bed and braced his shoulders against the wall. Drawing up his sinewy knees to a level with his breast, he placedthe soles of his feet broadly against the back of the insurgent, with the design of propelling her against the opposite wall. Therewas a strangled snort, then a shriek of female agony, and theneighbours came in. 

Mutual explanations followed, and Mr. Zacharias walked the streetsof Grass Valley next day as if he were treading upon eggs worth adollar a dozen. The Scolliver Pig. 

One of Thomas Jefferson's maxims is as follows: "When angry, countten before you speak; if very angry, count a hundred. " I once knew aman to square his conduct by this rule, with a most gratifyingresult. Jacob Scolliver, a man prone to bad temper, one day startedacross the fields to visit his father, whom he generously permittedto till a small corner of the old homestead. He found the oldgentleman behind the barn, bending over a barrel that was cantedover at an angle of seventy degrees, and from which issued a cloudof steam. Scolliver pŠre was evidently scalding one end of a deadpig-an operation essential to the loosening of the hair, that thecorpse may be plucked and shaven. 

"Good morning, father, " said Mr. Scolliver, approaching, anddisplaying a long, cheerful smile. "Got a nice roaster there?" Theelder gentleman's head turned slowly and steadily, as upon a swivel, until his eyes pointed backward; then he drew his arms out of thebarrel, and finally, revolving his body till it matched his head, hedeliberately mounted upon the supporting block and sat down upon thesharp edge of the barrel in the hot steam. Then he replied, "Goodmornin' Jacob. Fine mornin'. "

"A little warm in spots, I should imagine, " returned the son. "Doyou find that a comfortable seat?" "Why-yes-it's good enough for anold man, " he answered, in a slightly husky voice, and with an uneasygesture of the legs; "don't make much difference in this life wherewe set, if we're good-does it? This world ain't heaven, anyhow, Is'spose. "

"There I do not entirely agree with you, " rejoined the young man, composing his body upon a stump for a philosophical argument. "Idon't neither, " added the old one, absently, screwing about on theedge of the barrel and constructing a painful grimace. There was noargument, but a silence instead. Suddenly the aged party sprang offthat barrel with exceeding great haste, as of one who has made uphis mind to do a thing and is impatient of delay. The seat of histrousers was steaming grandly, the barrel upset, and there was agreat wash of hot water, leaving a deposit of spotted pig. In lifethat pig had belonged to Mr. Scolliver the younger! Mr. Scolliverthe younger was angry, but remembering Jefferson's maxim, he rattledoff the number ten, finishing up with "You--thief!" Thenperceiving himself very angry, he began all over again and ran up toone hundred, as a monkey scampers up a ladder. As the last syllableshot from his lips he planted a dreadful blow between the old man'seyes, with a shriek that sounded like--"You son of a sea-cook!"

Mr. Scolliver the elder went down like a stricken beef, and his sonoften afterward explained that if he had not counted a hundred, andso given himself time to get thoroughly mad, he did not believe hecould ever have licked the old man. Mr. Hunker's Mourner. 

Strolling through Lone Mountain cemetery one day my attention wasarrested by the inconsolable grief of a granite angel bewailing theloss of "Jacob Hunker, aged 67. " The attitude of utter dejection, the look of matchless misery upon that angel's face sank into myheart like water into a sponge. I was about to offer some words ofcondolence when another man, similarly affected, got in before me, and laying a rather unsteady hand upon the celestial shoulder tippedback a very senile hat, and pointing to the name on the stoneremarked with the most exact care and scrupulous accent: "Friend ofyours, perhaps; been dead long?"

There was no reply; he continued: "Very worthy man, that Jake; knewhim up in Tuolumne. Good feller-Jake. " No response: the gentlemansettled his hat still farther back, and continued with a trifle lessexactness of speech: "I say, young wom'n, Jake was my pard in themines. Goo' fell'r I 'bserved!"

The last sentence was shot straight into the celestial ear at shortrange. It produced no effect. The gentleman's patience andrhetorical vigilance were now completely exhausted. He walked round, and planting himself defiantly in front of the vicarious mourner, hestuck his hands doggedly into his pockets and delivered thefollowing rebuke, like the desultory explosions of a bunch ofdamaged fire-crackers: "It wont do, old girl; ef Jake knowed howyou's treatin' his old pard he'd jest git up and snatch you baldheaded-he would! You ain't no friend o' his'n and you ain't yur furno good-you bet! Now you jest 'sling your swag an' bolt back toheaven, or I'm hanged ef I don't have suthin' worse'n horse-stealin'to answer fur, this time. "

And he took a step forward. At this point I interfered. A Bit ofChivalry. 

At Woodward's Garden, in the city of San Francisco, is a ratherbadly chiselled statue of Pandora pulling open her casket of ills. Pandora's raiment, I grieve to state, has slipped down about herwaist in a manner exceedingly reprehensible. One evening abouttwilight, I was passing that way, and saw a long gaunt miner, evidently just down from the mountains, and whom I had seen before, standing rather unsteadily in front of Pandora, admiring her shapelyfigure, but seemingly afraid to approach her. Seeing me advance, heturned to me with a queer, puzzled expression in his funny eyes, andsaid with an earnestness that came near defeating its purpose, "Goodev'n'n t'ye, stranger. " "Good evening, sir, " I replied, after havinganalyzed his salutation and extracted the sense of it. Lowering hisvoice to what was intended for a whisper, the miner, with a jerk ofhis thumb Pandoraward, continued: "Stranger, d'ye hap'n t'know 'er?""Certainly; that is Bridget Pandora, a Greek maiden, in the pay ofthe Board of Supervisors. "

He straightened himself up with a jerk that threatened the integrityof his neck and made his teeth snap, lurched heavily to the otherside, oscillated critically for a few moments, and muttered:"Brdgtpnd--. " It was too much for him; he went down into hispocket, fumbled feebly round, and finally drawing out a paper ofpurely hypothetical tobacco, conveyed it to his mouth and bit offabout two-thirds of it, which he masticated with much apparentbenefit to his understanding, offering what was left to me. He thenresumed the conversation with the easy familiarity of one who hasestablished a claim to respectful attention:

"Pardner, couldn't ye interdooce a fel'r's wants tknow'er?""Impossible; I have not the honour of her acquaintance. " A look ofdistrust crept into his face, and finally settled into a savagescowl about his eyes. "Sed ye knew 'er!" he faltered, menacingly. "So I do, but I am not upon speaking terms with her, and-in fact shedeclines to recognise me. " The soul of the honest miner flamed out;he laid his hand threateningly upon his pistol, jerked himselfstiff, glared a moment at me with the look of a tiger, and hurledthis question at my head as if it had been an iron interrogationpoint: "W'at a' yer ben adoin' to that gurl?"

I fled, and the last I saw of the chivalrous gold-hunter, he had hisarm about Pandora's stony waist and was endeavouring to soothe hersupposed agitation by stroking her granite head. The Head of theFamily. 

Our story begins with the death of our hero. The manner of it wasdecapitation, the instrument a mowing machine. A young son of thedeceased, dumb with horror, seized the paternal head and ran with itto the house. 

"There!" ejaculated the young man, bowling the gory pate across thethreshold at his mother's feet, "look at that, will you?"

The old lady adjusted her spectacles, lifted the dripping head intoher lap, wiped the face of it with her apron, and gazed into itsfishy eyes with tender curiosity. "John, " said she, thoughtfully, "is this yours?"

"No, ma, it ain't none o' mine. "

"John, " continued she, with a cold, unimpassioned earnestness, "where did you get this thing?"

"Why, ma, " returned the hopeful, "that's Pap's. "

"John"--and there was just a touch of severity in her voice--"whenyour mother asks you a question you should answer that particularquestion. Where did you get this?"

"Out in the medder, then, if you're so derned pertikeller, " retortedthe youngster, somewhat piqued; "the mowin' machine lopped it off. "

The old lady rose and restored the head into the hands of the youngman. Then, straightening with some difficulty her aged back, andassuming a matronly dignity of bearing and feature, she emitted therebuke following:

"My son, the gentleman whom you hold in your hand-any more pointedallusion to whom would be painful to both of us-has punished you ahundred times for meddling with things lying about the farm. Takethat head back and put it down where you found it, or you will makeyour mother very angry. " Deathbed Repentance. 

An old man of seventy-five years lay dying. For a lifetime he hadturned a deaf ear to religion, and steeped his soul in every currentcrime. He had robbed the orphan and plundered the widow; he hadwrested from the hard hands of honest toil the rewards of labour;had lost at the gaming-table the wealth with which he should haveendowed churches and Sunday schools; had wasted in riotous livingthe substance of his patrimony, and left his wife and childrenwithout bread. The intoxicating bowl had been his god-his belly hadabsorbed his entire attention. In carnal pleasures passed his daysand nights, and to the maddening desires of his heart he hadministered without shame and without remorse. He was a bad, bad egg!And now this hardened iniquitor was to meet his Maker! Feebly andhesitatingly his breath fluttered upon his pallid lips. Weaklytrembled the pulse in his flattened veins! Wife, children, mother-in-law, friends, who should have hovered lovingly about hiscouch, cheering his last moments and giving him medicine, he hadkilled with grief, or driven widely away; and he was now dying aloneby the inadequate light of a tallow candle, deserted by heaven andby earth. No, not by heaven. Suddenly the door was pushed softlyopen, and there entered the good minister, whose pious counsel thesuffering wretch had in health so often derided. Solemnly the man ofGod advanced, Bible in hand. Long and silently he stood uncovered inthe presence of death. Then with cold and impressive dignity heremarked, "Miserable old sinner!"

Old Jonas Lashworthy looked up. He sat up. The voice of that holyman put strength into his aged limbs, and he stood up. He wasreserved for a better fate than to die like a neglected dog: Mr. Lashworthy was hanged for braining a minister of the Gospel with aboot-jack. This touching tale has a moral. 

MORAL OF THIS TOUCHING TALE. --In snatching a brand from the eternalburning, make sure of its condition, and be careful how you lay holdof it. The New Church that was not Built. 

I have a friend who was never a church member, but was, and is, amillionaire-a generous benevolent millionaire-who once went aboutdoing good by stealth, but with a natural preference for doing it athis office. One day he took it into his thoughtful noddle that hewould like to assist in the erection of a new church edifice, toreplace the inadequate and shabby structure in which a certain smallcongregation in his town then worshipped. So he drew up asubscription paper, modestly headed the list with "Christian, 2000dollars, " and started one of the Deacons about with it. In a fewdays the Deacon came back to him, like the dove to the ark, sayinghe had succeeded in procuring a few names, but the press of hisprivate business was such that he had felt compelled to intrust thepaper to Deacon Smith. 

Next day the document was presented to my friend, as nearly blank aswhen it left his hands. Brother Smith explained that he (Smith) hadstarted this thing, and a brother calling himself "Christian, " whosename he was not at liberty to disclose, had put down 2000 dollars. Would our friend aid them with an equal amount? Our friend took thepaper and wrote "Philanthropist, 1000 dollars, " and Brother Smithwent away. 

In about a week Brother Jones put in an appearance with thesubscription paper. By extraordinary exertions BrotherJones-thinking a handsome new church would be an ornament to thetown and increase the value of real estate-had got two brethren, whodesired to remain incog. , to subscribe: "Christian" 2000 dollars, and "Philanthropist" 1000 dollars. Would my friend kindly help alonga struggling congregation? My friend would. He wrote "Citizen, 500dollars, " pledging Brother Jones, as he had pledged the others, notto reveal his name until it was time to pay. 

Some weeks afterward, a clergyman stepped into my friend'scounting-room, and after smilingly introducing himself, producedthat identical subscription list. 

"Mr. K. , " said he, "I hope you will pardon the liberty, but I haveset on foot a little scheme to erect a new church for ourcongregation, and three of the brethren have subscribed handsomely. Would you mind doing something to help along the good work?"

My friend glanced over his spectacles at the proffered paper. Herose in his wrath! He towered! Seizing a loaded pen he dashed atthat fair sheet and scrabbled thereon in raging characters, "Impenitent Sinner--Not one cent, by G--!"

After a brief explanatory conference, the minister thoughtfully wenthis way. That struggling congregation still worships devoutly in itsoriginal, unpretending temple. A Tale of the Great Quake. 

One glorious morning, after the great earthquake of October 21, 1868, had with some difficulty shaken me into my trousers and boots, I left the house. I may as well state that I left it immediately, and by an aperture constructed for another purpose. Arrived in thestreet, I at once betook myself to saving people. This I did byremarking closely the occurrence of other shocks, giving the alarmand setting an example fit to be followed. The example was followed, but owing to the vigour with which it was set was seldom overtaken. In passing down Clay-street I observed an old rickety brickboarding-house, which seemed to be just on the point of honouringthe demands of the earthquake upon its resources. The last shock hadsubsided, but the building was slowly and composedly settling intothe ground. As the third story came down to my level, I observed inone of the front rooms a young and lovely female in white, standingat a door trying to get out. She couldn't, for the door was locked-Isaw her through the key-hole. With a single blow of my heel I openedthat door, and opened my arms at the same time. 

"Thank God, " cried I, "I have arrived in time. Come to these arms. "

The lady in white stopped, drew out an eye-glass, placed itcarefully upon her nose, and taking an inventory of me from head tofoot, replied:

"No thank you; I prefer to come to grief in the regular way. "

While the pleasing tones of her voice were still ringing in my earsI noticed a puff of smoke rising from near my left toe. It came fromthe chimney of that house. Johnny. 

Johnny is a little four-year-old, of bright, pleasant manners, andremarkable for intelligence. The other evening his mother took himupon her lap, and after stroking his curly head awhile, asked him ifhe knew who made him. I grieve to state that instead of answering"Dod, " as might have been expected, Johnny commenced cramming hisface full of ginger-bread, and finally took a fit of coughing thatthreatened the dissolution of his frame. Having unloaded his throatand whacked him on the back, his mother propounded the followingsupplementary conundrum:

"Johnny, are you not aware that at your age every little boy isexpected to say something brilliant in reply to my former question?How can you so dishonour your parents as to neglect this goldenopportunity? Think again. "

The little urchin cast his eyes upon the floor and meditated a longtime. Suddenly he raised his face and began to move his lips. Thereis no knowing what he might have said, but at that moment his mothernoted the pressing necessity of wringing and mopping his nose, whichshe performed with such painful and conscientious singleness ofpurpose that Johnny set up a war-whoop like that of anight-blooming tomcat. 

It may be objected that this little tale is neither instructive noramusing. I have never seen any stories of bright children that were. The Child's Provider. 

Mr. Goboffle had a small child, no wife, a large dog, and a house. As he was unable to afford the expense of a nurse, he was accustomedto leave the child in the care of the dog, who was much attached toit, while absent at a distant restaurant for his meals, taking theprecaution to lock them up together to prevent kidnapping. One day, while at his dinner, he crowded a large, hard-boiled potato downhis neck, and it conducted him into eternity. His clay was taken tothe Coroner's, and the great world went on, marrying and giving inmarriage, lying, cheating, and praying, as if he had never existed. 

Meantime the dog had, after several days of neglect, forced anegress through a window, and a neighbouring baker received a callfrom him daily. Walking gravely in, he would deposit a piece ofsilver, and receiving a roll and his change would march offhomeward. As this was a rather unusual proceeding in a cur of hisspecies, the baker one day followed him, and as the dog leapedjoyously into the window of the deserted house, the man of doughapproached and looked in. What was his surprise to see the dogdeposit his bread calmly upon the floor and fall to tenderly lickingthe face of a beautiful child!

It is but fair to explain that there was nothing but the faceremaining. But this dog did so love the child! Boys who Began Wrong. 

Two little California boys were arrested at Reno for horse thieving. They had started from Surprise Valley with a cavalcade of thirtyanimals, and disposed of them leisurely along their line of march, until they were picked up at Reno, as above explained. I don't feelquite easy about those youths-away out there in Nevada without theirTestaments! Where there are no Sunday School books boys are so aptto swear and chew tobacco and rob sluice-boxes; and once a boybegins to do that last he might as well sell out; he's bound to endby doing something bad! I knew a boy once who began by robbingsluice-boxes, and he went right on from bad to worse, until the lastI heard of him he was in the State Legislature, elected byDemocratic votes. You never saw anybody take on as his poor oldmother did when she heard about it. 

"Hank, " said she to the boy's father, who was forging a bank note inthe chimney corner, "this all comes o' not edgercatin' 'im when hewas a baby. Ef he'd larnt spellin' and ciferin' he never could a-benelected. "

It pains me to state that old Hank didn't seem to get any thinnerunder the family disgrace, and his appetite never left him for aminute. The fact is, the old gentleman wanted to go to the UnitedStates Senate. A Kansas Incident. 

An invalid wife in Leavenworth heard her husband make proposals ofmarriage to the nurse. The dying woman arose in bed, fixed her largeblack eyes for a moment upon the face of her heartless spouse with areproachful intensity that must haunt him through life, and thenfell back a corpse. The remorse of that widower, as he led theblushing nurse to the altar the next week, can be more easilyimagined than described. Such reparation as was in his power hemade. He buried the first wife decently and very deep down, laying ahandsome and exceedingly heavy stone upon the sepulchre. Hechiselled upon the stone the following simple and touching line:"She can't get back. " Mr. Grile's Girl. 

In a lecture about girls, Cady Stanton contrasted the buoyant spiritof young males with the dejected sickliness of immature women. This, she says, is because the latter are keenly sensitive to the factthat they have no aim in life. This is a sad, sad truth! No longerago than last year the writer's youngest girl-Gloriana, a skin-milkblonde concern of fourteen-came pensively up to her father with bigtears in her little eyes, and a forgotten morsel of buttered breadlying unchewed in her mouth. 

"Papa, " murmured the poor thing, "I'm gettin' awful pokey, and myclothes don't seem to set well in the back. My days are full ofungratified longin's, and my nights don't get any better. Papa, Ithink society needs turnin' inside out and scrapin'. I haven't gotnothin' to aspire to-no aim; nor anything!"

The desolate creature spilled herself loosely into a cane-bottomchair, and her sorrow broke "like a great dyke broken. "

The writer lifted her tenderly upon his knee and bit her softly onthe neck. 

"Gloriana, " said he, "have you chewed up all that toffy in twodays?"

A smothered sob was her frank confession. 

"Now, see here, Glo, " continued the parent, rather sternly, "don'tlet me hear any more about 'aspirations'-which are alwaysadulterated with terra alba-nor 'aims'-which will give you thegripes like anything. You just take this two shilling-piece andinvest every penny of it in lollipops!"

You should have seen the fair, bright smile crawl from one of thatinnocent's ears to the other-you should have marked that facesprinkle, all over with dimples-you ought to have beheld the tearsof joy jump glittering into her eyes and spill all over her father'sclean shirt that he hadn't had on more than fifteen minutes! CadyStanton is impotent of evil in the Grile family so long as the priceof sweets remains unchanged. His Railway. 

The writer remembers, as if it were but yesterday, when he editedthe Hang Tree Herald. For six months he devoted his best talent toadvocating the construction of a railway between that place andJayhawk, thirty miles distant. The route presented every inducement. There would be no grading required, and not a single curve would benecessary. As it lay through an uninhabited alkali flat, the rightof way could be easily obtained. As neither terminus had other thanpack-mule communication with civilization, the rolling stock andother material must necessarily be constructed at Hang Tree, becausethe people at the other end didn't know enough to do it, and hadn'tany blacksmith. The benefit to our place was indisputable; itconstituted the most seductive charm of the scheme. After six monthsof conscientious lying, the company was incorporated, and the firstshovelful of alkali turned up and preserved in a museum, whensuddenly the devil put it into the head of one of the Directors toinquire publicly what the road was designed to carry. It is needlessto say the question was never satisfactorily answered, and the mostdaring enterprise of the age was knocked perfectly cold. That verynight a deputation of stockholders waited upon the editor of theHerald and prescribed a change of climate. They afterward said thechange did them good. Mr. Gish Makes a Present. 

In the season for making presents my friend Stockdoddle Gish, Esq. , thought he would so far waive his superiority to the insignificantportion of mankind outside his own waistcoat as to follow one of itscustoms. Mr. Gish has a friend-a delicate female of the shrinkingsort-whom he favours with his esteem as a sort of equivalent for therespect she accords him when he browbeats her. Our hero numbersamong the blessings which his merit has extorted from niggardlyNature a gaunt meathound, between whose head and body there existsabout the same proportion as between those of a catfish, which healso resembles in the matter of mouth. As to sides, this preciouspup is not dissimilar to a crockery crate loosely covered with a wetsheet. In appetite he is liberal and cosmopolitan, loving a driedsheepskin as well in proportion to its weight as a kettle of soap. The village which Mr. Gish honours by his residence has for someyears been kept upon the dizzy verge of financial ruin by themaintenance of this animal. 

The reader will have already surmised that it was this beast whichour hero selected to testify his toleration of his lady friend. There never was a greater mistake. Mr. Gish merely presented her asheaf of assorted angle-worms, neatly bound with a pink ribbon tiedinto a simple knot. The dog is an heirloom and will descend to theGishes of the next generation, in the direct line of inheritance. ACow-County Pleasantry. 

About the most ludicrous incident that I remember occurred one dayin an ordinarily solemn village in the cow-counties. A worthymatron, who had been absent looking after a vagrom cow, returnedhome, and pushing against the door found it obstructed by some heavysubstance, which, upon examination, proved to be her husband. He hadbeen slaughtered by some roving joker, who had wrought upon him witha pick-handle. To one of his ears was pinned a scrap of greasypaper, upon which were scrambled the following sentiments in pencil-tracks:

"The inqulosed boddy is that uv old Burker. Step litely, stranger, fer yer lize the mortil part uv wat you mus be sum da. Thers arrestfor the weery! If Burker heddenta wurkt agin me fer Corner Iwuddenta bed to sit on him. Ov setch is the kingum of hevvun! Youdon't want to moov this boddy til ime summuns to hold a ninquest. Orl flesh are gras!"

The ridiculous part of the story is that the lady did not wait tosummon the Coroner, but took charge of the remains herself; and indragging them toward the bed she exploded into her face a shotgun, which had been cunningly contrived to discharge by a stringconnected with the body. Thus was she punished for an infraction ofthe law. The next day the particulars were told me by the facetiousCoroner himself, whose jury had just rendered a verdict ofaccidental drowning in both cases. I don't know when I have enjoyeda heartier laugh. The Optimist, and What He Died Of. 

One summer evening, while strolling with considerable difficultyover Russian Hill, San Francisco, Mr. Grile espied a man standingupon the extreme summit, with a pensive brow and a suit of clotheswhich seemed to have been handed down through a long line ofancestors from a remote Jew peddler. Mr. Grile respectfully saluted;a man who has any clothes at all is to him an object of veneration. The stranger opened the conversation:

"My son, " said he, in a tone suggestive of strangulation by theSheriff, "do you behold this wonderful city, its wharves crowdedwith the shipping of all nations?"

Mr. Grile beheld with amazement. 

"Twenty-one years ago-alas! it used to be but twenty, " and he wipedaway a tear--"you might have bought the whole dern thing for aMexican ounce. "

Mr. Grile hastened to proffer a paper of tobacco, which disappearedlike a wisp of oats drawn into a threshing machine. 

"I was one among the first who--"

Mr. Grile hit him on the head with a paving-stone by way of changingthe topic. 

"Young man, " continued he, "do you feel this bommy breeze? Thereisn't a climit in the world--"

This melancholy relic broke down in a fit of coughing. No sooner hadhe recovered than he leaped into the air, making a frantic clutch atsomething, but apparently without success. 

"Dern it, " hissed he, "there goes my teeth; blowed out again, byhokey!"

A passing cloud of dust hid him for a moment from view, and when hereappeared he was an altered man; a paroxysm of asthma had doubledhim up like a nut-cracker. 

"Excuse me, " he wheezed, "I'm subject to this; caught it crossin'the Isthmus in '49. As I was a-sayin', there's no country in theworld that offers such inducements to the immygrunt as Californy. With her fertile soil, her unrivalled climit, her magnificent bay, and the rest of it, there is enough for all. "

This venerable pioneer picked a fragmentary biscuit from the streetand devoured it. Mr. Grile thought this had gone on about longenough. He twisted the head off that hopeful old party, surrenderedhimself to the authorities, and was at once discharged. The Root ofEducation. 

A pedagogue in Indiana, who was "had up" for unmercifully waling theback of a little girl, justified his action by explaining that "shepersisted in flinging paper pellets at him when his back wasturned. " That is no excuse. Mr. Grile once taught school up in themountains, and about every half hour had to remove his coat andscrape off the dried paper wads adhering to the nap. He neverpermitted a trifle like this to unsettle his patience; he just kepton wearing that gaberdine until it had no nap and the wads wouldn'tstick. But when they took to dipping them in mucilage he made acomplaint to the Board of Directors. 

"Young man, " said the Chairman, "ef you don't like our ways, you'dbetter sling your blankets and git. Prentice Mulford tort skule yerfor more'n six months, and he never said a word agin the wads. "

Mr. Grile briefly explained that Mr. Mulford might have been broughtup to paper wads, and didn't mind them. 

"It ain't no use, " said another Director, "the children hev got tobe amused. "

Mr. Grile protested that there were other amusements quite asdiverting; but the third Director here rose and remarked:

"I perfeckly agree with the Cheer; this youngster better travel. Iconsider as paper wads lies at the root uv popillar edyercation;ther a necessary adjunck uv the skool systim. Mr. Cheerman, I moveand second that this yer skoolmarster be shot. "

Mr. Grile did not remain to observe the result of the voting. Retribution. 

A citizen of Pittsburg, aged sixty, had, by tireless industry andthe exercise of rigid economy, accumulated a hoard of frugaldollars, the sight and feel whereof were to his soul a pure delight. Imagine his sorrow and the heaviness of his aged heart when helearned that the good wife had bestowed thereof upon her brotherbountiful largess exceeding his merit. Sadly and prayerfully whileshe slept lifted he the retributive mallet and beat in her brittlepate. Then with the quiet dignity of one who has redressed agrievous wrong, surrendered himself unto the law this worthy oldman. Let him who has never known the great grief of slaughtering awife judge him harshly. He that is without sin among you, let himcast the first stone-and let it be a large heavy stone that shallgrind that wicked old man into a powder of exceeding impalpability. The Faithful Wife. 

"A man was sentenced to twenty years' confinement for a deed ofviolence. In the excitement of the moment his wife sought andobtained a divorce. Thirteen years afterward he was pardoned. Thewife brought the pardon to the gate; the couple left the spot arm inarm; and in less than an hour they were again united in the bonds ofwedlock. "

Such is the touching tale narrated by a newspaper correspondent. Itis in every respect true; I knew the parties well, and during thatlong bitter period of thirteen years it was commonly askedconcerning the woman: "Hasn't that hag trapped anybody yet? She'llhave to take back old Jabe when he gets out. " And she did. Fornearly thirteen weary years she struggled nobly against fate: shewent after every unmarried man in her part of the country; but "No, "said they, "we cannot-indeed we cannot-marry you, after the way youwent back on Jabe. It is likely that under the same circumstancesyou would play us the same scurvy trick. G'way, woman!" And so thepoor old heartbroken creature had to go to the Governor and get theold man pardoned out. Bless her for her steadfast fidelity! Margaretthe Childless. 

This, therefore, is the story of her:--Some four years ago herhusband brought home a baby, which he said he found lying in thestreet, and which they concluded to adopt. About a year after thishe brought home another, and the good woman thought she could standthat one too. A similar period passed away, when one evening heopened the door and fell headlong into the room, swearing withstudied correctness at a dog which had tripped him up, but whichupon inspection turned out to be another baby. Margaret's sus-picion was aroused, but to allay his she hastened to implore him toadopt that darling also, to which, after some slight hesitation, heconsented. Another twelvemonth rolled into eternity, when oneevening the lady heard a noise in the back yard, and going out shesaw her husband labouring at the windlass of the well with unwontedindustry. As the bucket neared the top he reached down and extractedanother infant, exactly like the former ones, and holding it up, explained to the astonished matron: "Look at this, now; did you eversee such a sweet young one go a-campaignin' about the countrywithout a lantern and a-tumblin' into wells? There, take the poorlittle thing in to the fire, and get off its wet clothes. " Itsuddenly flashed across his mind that he had neglected an obviousprecaution-the clothes were not wet-and he hastily added: "There'sno tellin' what would have become of it, a-climbin' down that rope, if I hadn't seen it afore it got down to the water. "

Silently the good wife took that infant into the house and disrobedit; sorrowfully she laid it alongside its little brothers andsister; long and bitterly she wept over the quartette; and then withone tender look at her lord and master, smoking in solemn silence bythe fire, and resembling them with all his might, she gathered hershawl about her bowed shoulders and went away into the night. TheDiscomfited Demon. 

I never clearly knew why I visited the old cemetery that night. Perhaps it was to see how the work of removing the bodies wasgetting on, for they were all being taken up and carted away to amore comfortable place where land was less valuable. It was wellenough; nobody had buried himself there for years, and the skeletonsthat were now exposed were old mouldy affairs for which it wasdifficult to feel any respect. However, I put a few bones in mypocket as souvenirs. The night was one of those black, gusty ones inMarch, with great inky clouds driving rapidly across the sky, spilling down sudden showers of rain which as suddenly would cease. I could barely see my way between the empty graves, and inblundering about among the coffins I tripped and fell headlong. Apeculiar laugh at my side caused me to turn my head, and I saw asingular old gentleman whom I had often noticed hanging about theCoroner's office, sitting cross-legged upon a prostrate tombstone. 

"How are you, sir?" said I, rising awkwardly to my feet; "nicenight. "

"Get off my tail, " answered the elderly party, without moving amuscle. 

"My eccentric friend, " rejoined I, mockingly, "may I be permitted toinquire your street and number?"

"Certainly, " he replied, "No. 1, Marle Place, Asphalt Avenue, Hades. "

"The devil!" sneered I. 

"Exactly, " said he; "oblige me by getting off my tail. "

I was a little staggered, and by way of rallying my somewhat dazedfaculties, offered a cigar: "Smoke?"

"Thank you, " said the singular old gentleman, putting it under hiscoat; "after dinner. Drink?"

I was not exactly prepared for this, but did not know if it would besafe to decline, and so putting the proffered flask to my lipspretended to swig elaborately, keeping my mouth tightly closed thewhile. "Good article, " said I, returning it. He simply remarked, "You're a fool, " and emptied the bottle at a gulp. 

"And now, " resumed he, "you will confer a favour I shall highlyappreciate by removing your feet from my tail. "

There was a slight shock of earthquake, and all the skeletons insight arose to their feet, stretched themselves and yawned audibly. Without moving from his seat, the old gentleman rapped the nearestone across the skull with his gold-headed cane, and they all curledaway to sleep again. 

"Sire, " I resumed, "indulge me in the impertinence of inquiring yourbusiness here at this hour. "

"My business is none of yours, " retorted he, calmly; "what are youup to yourself?"

"I have been picking up some bones, " I replied, carelessly. 

"Then you are--"

I am--"

"A Ghoul!"

"My good friend, you do me injustice. You have doubtless read veryfrequently in the newspapers of the Fiend in Human Shape whoseactions and way of life are so generally denounced. Sire, you seebefore you that maligned party!"

There was a quick jerk under the soles of my feet, which pitched meprone upon the ground. Scrambling up, I saw the old gentlemanvanishing behind an adjacent sandhill as if the devil were afterhim. The Mistake of a Life. 

The hotel was in flames. Mr. Pokeweed was promptly on hand, and toremadly into the burning pile, whence he soon emerged with a nudefemale. Depositing her tenderly upon a pile of hot bricks, he moppedhis steaming front with his warm coat-tail. 

"Now, Mrs. Pokeweed, " said he, "where will I be most likely to findthe children? They will naturally wish to get out. "

The lady assumed a stiffly vertical attitude, and with freezingdignity replied in the words following:

"Sir, you have saved my life; I presume you are entitled to mythanks. If you are likewise solicitous regarding the fate of theperson you have mentioned, you had better go back and prospect roundtill you find her; she would probably be delighted to see you. Butwhile I have a character to maintain unsullied, you shall not standthere and call me Mrs. Pokeweed!"

Just then the front wall toppled outward, and Pokeweed cleared thestreet at a single bound. He never learned what became of thestrange lady, and to the day of his death he professed anindifference that was simply brutal. L. S. 

Early one evening in the autumn of '64, a pale girl stood singingMethodist hymns at the summit of Bush Street hill. She was attired, Spanish fashion, in a loose overcoat and slippers. Suddenly shebroke off her song, a dark-browed young soldier from the Presidiocautiously approached, and seizing her fondly in his arms, snatchedaway the overcoat, retreating with it to an auction-house on PacificStreet, where it may still be seen by the benighted traveller, justa-going for two-and-half-and never gone!

The poor maiden after this misfortune felt a bitter resentmentswelling in her heart, and scorning to remain among her kind in thatcostume, took her way to the Cliff House, where she arrived, wornand weary, about breakfast-time. 

The landlord received her kindly, and offered her a pair of his besttrousers; but she was of noble blood, and having been reared inluxury, respectfully declined to receive charity from a low-bornstranger. All efforts to induce her to eat were equally unavailing. She would stand for hours on the rocks where the road descends tothe beach, and gaze at the playful seals in the surf below, whoseemed rather flattered by her attention, and would swim about, singing their sweetest songs to her alone. Passers-by were equallycurious as to her, but a broken lyre gives forth no music, and herheart responded not with any more long metre hymns. 

After a few weeks of this solitary life she was suddenly missed. Atthe same time a strange seal was noted among the rest. She wasremarkable for being always clad in an overcoat, which she haddoubtless fished up from the wreck of the French galleonBrignardello, which went ashore there some years afterward. 

One tempestuous night, an old hag who had long done business as ahermitess on Helmet Rock came into the bar-room at the Cliff House, and there, amidst the crushing thunders and lightnings spilling allover the horizon, she related that she had seen a young seal in acomfortable overcoat, sitting pensively upon the pinnacle of SealRock, and had distinctly heard the familiar words of a Methodisthymn. Upon inquiry the tale was discovered to be founded upon fact. The identity of this seal could no longer be denied withoutdownright blasphemy, and in all the old chronicles of that periodnot a doubt is even implied. 

One day a handsome, dark, young lieutenant of infantry, Don Edmundoby name, came out to the Cliff House to celebrate his recentpromotion. While standing upon the verge of the cliff, with hisfriends all about him, Lady Celia, as visitors had christened her, came swimming below him, and taking off her overcoat, laid it upon arock. She then turned up her eyes and sang a Methodist hymn. 

No sooner did the brave Don Edmundo hear it than he tore off hisgorgeous clothes, and cast himself headlong in the billows. LadyCelia caught him dexterously by the waist in her mouth, and, swimming to the outer rock, sat up and softly bit him in halves. Shethen laid the pieces tenderly in a conspicuous place, put on herovercoat, and plunging into the waters was never seen more. 

Many are the wild fabrications of the poets about her subsequentcareer, but to this day nothing authentic has turned up. For somemonths strenuous efforts were made to recover the wickedLieutenant's body. Every appliance which genius could invent andskill could wield was put in requisition; until one night thelandlord, fearing these constant efforts might frighten away theseals, had the remains quietly removed and secretly interred. TheBaffled Asian. 

One day in '49 an honest miner up in Calaveras county, California, bit himself with a small snake of the garter variety, and either asa possible antidote, or with a determination to enjoy the briefremnant of a wasted life, applied a brimming jug of whisky to hislips, and kept it there until, like a repleted leech, it fell off. 

The man fell off likewise. 

The next day, while the body lay in state upon a pine slab, and thebereaved partner of the deceased was unbending in a game of seven-upwith a friendly Chinaman, the game was interrupted by a familiarvoice which seemed to proceed from the jaws of the corpse: "I say-Jim!"

Bereaved partner played the king of spades, claimed "high, " andthen, looking over his shoulder at the melancholy remains, replied, "Well, what is it, Dave? I'm busy. "

"I say-Jim!" repeated the corpse in the same measured tone. 

With a look of intense annoyance, and muttering something about"people that could never stop dead more'n a minute, " the bereavedpartner rose and stood over the body with his cards in his hand. 

"Jim, " continued the mighty dead, "how fur's this thing gone?"

"I've paid the Chinaman two-and-a-half to dig the grave, " respondedthe bereaved. 

"Did he strike anything?"

The Chinaman looked up: "Me strikee pay dirt; me no bury dead'Melican in 'em grave. Me keep 'em claim. "

The corpse sat up erect: "Jim, git my revolver and chase thatpig-tail off. Jump his dam sepulchre, and tax his camp five dollarseach fer prospectin' on the public domain. These Mungolyun hordeshez got to be got under. And-I say-Jim! 'f any more serpents comefoolin' round here drive 'em off. 'T'aint right to be bitin' afeller when whisky's two dollars a gallon. Dern all foreigners, anyhow!"

And the mortal part pulled on its boots. TALL TALK. A Call toDinner. 

When the starving peasantry of France were bearing with inimitablefortitude their great bereavement in the death of Louis le Grand, how cheerfully must they have bowed their necks to the easy yoke ofPhilip of Orleans, who set them an example in eating which he hadnot the slightest objection to their following. A monarch skilled inthe mysteries of the cuisine must wield the sceptre all the moregently from his schooling in handling the ladle. In royalty, thedelicate manipulation of an omelette souffl‚ is at once an evidenceof genius, and an assurance of a tender forbearance in state policy. All good rulers have been good livers, and if all bad ones have beenthe same this merely proves that even the worst of men have stillsomething divine in them. 

There is more in a good dinner than is disclosed by the removal ofthe covers. Where the eye of hunger perceives but a juicy roast, theeye of faith detects a smoking God. A well-cooked joint is redolentof religion, and a delicate pasty is crisp with charity. The man whocan light his after-dinner Havana without feeling full to the neckwith all the cardinal virtues is either steeped in iniquity or hasdined badly. In either case he is no true man. We stoutly contendthat that worthy personage Epicurus has been shamefullymisrepresented by abstemious, and hence envious and mendacious, historians. Either his philosophy was the most gentle, genial, andreverential of antique systems, or he was not an Epicurean, and tocall him so is a deceitful flattery. We hold that it is morallyimpossible for a man to dine daily upon the fat of the land incourses, and yet deny a future state of existence, beatific withbeef, and ecstatic with all edibles. Another falsity of history isthat of Heliogabalus-was it not?-dining off nightingales' tongues. No true gourmet would ever send this warbler to the shambles so longas scarcer birds might be obtained. 

It is a fine natural instinct that teaches the hungry and cadaverousto avoid the temples of religion, and a short-sighted andmisdirected zeal that would gather them into the sanctuary. Religionis for the oleaginous, the fat-bellied, chylesaturated devotees ofthe table. Unless the stomach be lined with good things, the parsonmay say as many as he likes and his truths shall not be swallowednor his wisdom inly digested. Probably the highest, ripest, and mostacceptable form of worship is that performed with a knife and fork;and whosoever on the resurrection morning can produce from amongstthe lumber of his cast-off flesh a thin-coated and elastic stomach, showing evidences of daily stretchings done in the body, will findit his readiest passport and best credential. We believe that Godwill not hold him guiltless who eats with his knife, but if thedeadly steel be always well laden with toothsome morsels, divinejustice will be tempered with mercy to that man's soul. When theauthor of the "Lost Tales" represented Sisyphus as capturing hisguest, the King of Terrors, and stuffing the old glutton with meatand drink until he became "a jolly, rubicund, tun-bellied Death, " hegave us a tale which needs no h‘c fabula docet to point out themoral. 

We verily believe that Shakspeare writ down Fat Jack at his lastgasp, as babbling, not o' green fields, but o' green turtle, andthat that starvling Colley Cibber altered the text from sheer envyat a good man's death. To die well we must live well, is a familiarplatitude. Morality is, of course, best promoted by the good qualityof our fare, but quantitative excellence is by no means to bedespised. C‘teris paribus, the man who eats much is a betterChristian than the man who eats little, and he who eats little willpursue a more uninterrupted course of benevolence than he who eatsnothing. On Death and Immortality. 

Did it ever strike you, dear reader, that it must be a particularlypleasant thing to be dead? To say nothing hackneyed about theblessed freedom from the cares and vexations of life--which we clingto with such tenacity while we can, and which, when we have nolonger the power to hold, we let go all at once, with probably afeeling of exquisite relief-and to take no account of this latterprobable but totally undemonstrable felicity, it must be what boyscall awfully jolly to be dead. 

Here you are, lying comfortably upon your back-what is left of it-inthe cool dark, and with the smell of the fresh earth all about you. Your soul goes knocking about amongst an infinity of shadowy things, Lord knows where, making all sorts of silent discoveries in thegloom of what was yesterday an unknown and mysterious future, andwhich, after centuries of exploration, must still be strangelyunfamiliar. The nomadic thing doubtless comes back occasionally tothe old grave-if the body is so fortunate as to possess one-andlooks down upon it with big round eyes and a lingering tenderness. 

It is hard to conceive a soul entirely cut loose from the old bones, and roving rudderless about eternity. It was probably this inabilityto mentally divorce soul from substance that gave us that absurdlysatisfactory belief in the resurrection of the flesh. There is saidto be a race of people somewhere in Africa who believe in theimmortality of the body, but deny the resurrection of the soul. Thedead will rise refreshed after their long sleep, and in theiranxiety to test their rejuvenated powers, will skip bodily away andforget their souls. Upon returning to look for them, they will findnothing but little blue flames, which can never be extinguished, butmay be carried about and used for cooking purposes. This beliefprobably originates in some dim perception of the law ofcompensation. In this life the body is the drudge of the spirit; inthe next the situation is reversed. 

The heaven of the Mussulman is not incompatible with this kind ofimmortality. Its delights, being merely carnal ones, could be aswell or better enjoyed without a soul, and the latter might bebooked for the Christian heaven, with only just enough of the bodyto attach a pair of wings to. Mr. Solyman Muley Abdul Ben Gazelcould thus enjoy a dual immortality and secure a double portion ofeternal felicity at no expense to anybody. 

In fact, there can be no doubt whatever that this theory of a doubleheaven is the true one, and needs but to be fairly stated to beuniversally received, inasmuch as it supposes the maximum offelicity for terrestrial good behaviour. It is therefore a sensibletheory, resting upon quite as solid a foundation of fact as anyother theory, and must commend itself at once to the proverbial goodsense of Christians everywhere. The trouble is that somearchitectural scoundrel of a priest is likely to build a religionupon it; and what the world needs is theory-good, solid, nourishingtheory. Music-Muscular and Mechanical. 

One cheerful evidence of the decivilization of the Anglo-Saxon raceis the late tendency to return to first principles in art, asmanifested in substituting noise for music. Herein we detectsymptoms of a rapid relapse into original barbarism. The savage whobeats his gong or kettledrum until his face is of a delicate blue, and his eyes assert themselves like those of an unterrified snail, believes that musical skill is a mere question of brawn-a matter ofmuscle. If not wholly ignorant of technical gymnastics, he has atheory that a deftness at dumb-bells is a prime requisite in afinished artist. The advance-in a circle-of civilization has onlypartially unsettled this belief in the human mind, and we areconstantly though unconsciously reverting to it. 

It is true the modern demand for a great deal of music hasoutstripped the supply of muscle for its production; but theingenuity of man has partially made up for his lack of physicalstrength, and the sublimer harmonies may still be rendered withtolerable effectiveness, and with little actual fatigue to theartist. As we retrograde towards the condition of Primeval Man-theman with the gong and kettledrum-the blacksmith slowly reasserts hisplace as the interpreter of the maestro. 

But there is a limit beyond which muscle, whether that of the arm orcheek, can no further go, without too great an expenditure of forcein proportion to the volume of noise attainable. And right here thesplendid triumphs of modern invention and discovery are mademanifest; electricity and gunpowder come to the relief of punymuscle, simple appliance, and orchestras limited by sparsepopulation. Batteries of artillery thunder exultingly our victoryover Primeval Man, beaten at his own game-signally routed and put toshame, pounding his impotent gong and punishing his ridiculouskettledrum in frantic silence, amidst the clash and clang and roarof modern art. The Good Young Man. 

Why is he? Why defaces he the fair page of creation, and why is heto be continued? This has never been explained; it is one of thosedispensations of Providence the design whereof is wrapped inprofoundest obscurity. The good young man is perhaps not withoutexcuse for his existence, but society is without excuse forpermitting it. At his time of life to be "good" is to insulthumanity. Goodness is proper to the aged; it is their sole glory;why should this milky stripling bring it into disrepute? Why shouldhe be permitted to defile with the fat of his sleek locks a crownintended to adorn the grizzled pow of his elders?

A young man may be manly, gentle, honourable, noble, tender andtrue, and nobody will ever think of calling him a good young man. Your good young man is commonly a sneak, and is very nearly alliedto that other social pest, the "nice young lady. " As applied to theimmature male of our kind, the adjective "good" seems to have beenperverted from its original and ordinary signification, and to haveacquired a dyslogistic one. It is a term of reproach, and means, asnearly as may be, "characterless. " That any one should submit tohave it applied to him is proof of the essential cowardice ofVirtue. 

We believe the direst ill afflicting civilization is the good youngman. The next direst is his natural and appointed mate, the niceyoung lady. If the two might be tied neck and heels together andflung into the sea, the land would be the fatter for it. The AverageParson. 

Our objection to him is not that he is senseless; this-as itconcerns us not-we can patiently endure. Nor that he is bigoted;this we expect, and have become accustomed to. Nor that he issmall-souled, narrow, and hypocritical; all these qualities becomehim well, sitting easily and gracefully upon him. We protest againsthim because he is always "carrying on. "

To carry on, in one way or another, seems to be the function of hisexistence, and essential to his health. When he is not doing it inthe pulpit he is at it in the newspapers; when both fail him heresorts to the social circle, the church meeting, the Sunday-school, or even the street corner. We have known him to disport for half aday upon the kerb-stone, carrying on with all his might towhomsoever would endure it. 

No sooner does a young sick-faced theologue get safely through hisordination, as a baby finishes teething, than straightway he castsabout him for an opportunity to carry on. A pretext is soon found, and he goes at it hammer and tongs; and forty years after you shallfind him at the same trick with as simple a faith, as exalted anexpectation, as vigorous an impotence, as the day he began. 

His carryings-on are as diverse in kind, as comprehensive in scope, as those of the most versatile negro minstrel. He cuts as manycapers in a lifetime as there are stars in heaven or grains of sandin a barrel of sugar. Everything is fish that comes to his net. If adiscovery in science is announced, he will execute you an antic uponit before it gets fairly cold. Is a new theory advanced-ten to onewhile you are trying to get it through your head he will stand onhis own and make mouths at it. A great invention provokes him into awhirlwind of flip-flaps absolutely bewildering to the secular eye;while at any exceptional phenomenon of nature, such as anearthquake, he will project himself frog-like into an infinity oflofty gymnastic absurdities. 

In short, the slightest agitation of the intellectual atmospheresets your average parson into a tempest of pumping like the jointedligneous youth attached to the eccentric of a boy's whirligig. Hisphilosophy of life may be boiled down into a single sentence: Carryon and you will be happy. Did We Eat One Another?

There is no doubt of it. The unwelcome truth has long beensuppressed by interested parties who find their account in playingsycophant to that self-satisfied tyrant Modern Man; but to theimpartial philosopher it is as plain as the nose upon an elephant'sface that our ancestors ate one another. The custom of the FijiIslanders, which is their only stock-in-trade, their only claim tonotoriety, is a relic of barbarism; but it is a, relic of ourbarbarism. 

Man is naturally a carnivorous animal. This none but greengrocerswill dispute. That he was formerly less vegetarian in his diet thanat present, is clear from the fact that market-gardening increasesin the ratio of civilization. So we may safely assume that at someremote period Man subsisted upon an exclusively flesh diet. Ouruniform vanity has given us the human mind as the ne plus ultra ofintelligence, the human face and figure as the standard of beauty. Of course we cannot deny to human fat and lean an equal superiorityover beef, mutton, and pork. It is plain that our meat-eatingancestors would think in this way, and, being unrestrained by themawkish sentiment attendant upon high civilization, would acthabitually upon the obvious suggestion. A priori, therefore, it isclear that we ate ourselves. 

Philology is about the only thread which connects us with theprehistoric past. By picking up and piecing out the scatteredremnants of language, we form a patchwork of wondrous design. Obligeus by considering the derivation of the word "sarcophagus, " and seeif it be not suggestive of potted meats. Observe the significance ofthe phrase "sweet sixteen. " What a world of meaning lurks in theexpression "she is sweet as a peach, " and how suggestive of luncheonare the words "tender youth. " A kiss itself is but a modified bite, and when a young girl insists upon making a "strawberry mark" uponthe back of your hand, she only gives way to an instinct she has notyet learned to control. The fond mother, when she says her babe isalmost "good enough to eat, " merely shows that she herself is only atrifle too good to eat it. 

These evidences might be multiplied ad infinitum; but if enough hasbeen said to induce one human being to revert to the diet of hisancestors, the object of this essay is accomplished. Your Friend'sFriend. 

If there is any individual who combines within himself the vices ofan entire species it is he. A mother-in-law has usually been thoughta rather satisfactory specimen of total depravity; it has beencustomary to regard your sweetheart's brother as tolerably viciousfor a young man; there is excellent authority for looking upon yourbusiness partner as not wholly without merit as a nuisance-but yourfriend's friend is as far ahead of these in all that constitutes ahealthy disagreeableness as they themselves are in advance of theaverage reptile or the conventional pestilence. 

We do not propose to illustrate the great truth we have in hand byinstances; the experience of the reader will furnish ample evidencein support of our proposition, and any narration of pertinent factscould only quicken into life the dead ghosts of a thousand sheetedannoyances to squeak and gibber through a memory studded thick withthe tombstones of happy hours murdered by your friend's friend. 

Also, the animal is too well known to need a description. Imagine athing in all essential particulars the exact reverse of a desirableacquaintance, and you have his mental photograph. How your friendcould ever admire so hopeless and unendurable a bore is a problemyou are ever seeking to solve. Perhaps you may be assisted in it bya previous solution of the kindred problem-how he could ever feelaffection for yourself? Perhaps your friend's friend is equallyexercised over that question. Perhaps from his point of view you areyour friend's friend. Le Diable est aux Vaches. 

If it be that ridicule is the test of truth, as Shaftesbury isreported to have said and didn't, the doctrine of Woman Suffrage isthe truest of all faiths. The amount of really good ridicule thathas been expended upon this thing is appalling, and yet we arecompelled to confess that to all appearance "the cause" has beenthereby shorn of no material strength, nor bled of its vitality. Andshall it be admitted that this potent argument of little minds is aspowerless as the dullards of all ages have steadfastly maintained?Forbid it, Heaven! the gimlet is as proper a gimlet as any in allChristendom, but the timber is too hard to pierce! Grant ye that"the movement" is waxing more wondrous with each springing sun, whoshall say what it might not have been but for the sharp hatchetingof us wits among its boughs? If the doctor have not cured hispatient by to-morrow he may at least claim that without the physicthe man would have died to-day. 

And pray who shall search the vitals of a whale with a bodkin-whomay reach his jackknife through the superposed bubber? Pachyderm, thy name is Woman! All the king's horses and all the king's menshall not bend the bow that can despatch a clothyard shaft throughthy pearly hide. The male and female women who nightly howl theirsocial and political grievances into the wide ear of the universeare as insensible to the prickings of ridicule as they areunconscious of logic. An intellectual Goliah of Gath might spearthem with an epigram like unto a weaver's beam, and the stingthereof would be as but the nipping of a red ant. Apollo might speedamong them his silver arrows, which erst heaped the Phrygian shoreswith hecatombs of Argive slain, and they would but complain of themosquito's beak. Your female reformer goes smashing through societylike a tipsy rhinoceros among the tulip beds, and all the torrent ofbrickbats rained upon her skin is shed, as globules of mercury mightbe supposed to run off the back of a dry drake. 

One of the rarest amusements in life is to go about with an iciclesuspended by a string, letting it down the necks of the unwary. Thesudden shrug, the quick frightened shudder, the yelp of apprehensionare sources of a pure, because diabolical, delight. But thesewomen-you may practise your chilling joke upon one of them, and shewill calmly wonder where you got your ice, and will pen withdeliberate fingers an ungrammatical resolution denouncingcongelation as tyrannical and obsolete. 

We despair of ever dispelling these creatures by pungentpleasantries-of routing them by sharp censure. They are, apparently, to go on practically unmolested to the end. Meantime we are castdown with a mighty proneness along the dust; our shapely anatomy isclothed in a jaunty suit of sackcloth liberally embellished with thefrippery of ashes; our days are vocal with wailing, our nightsmelodious with snuffle!

Brethren, let us pray that the political sceptre may not pass fromus into the jewelled hands which were intended by nature for theclouting of babes and sucklings. Angels and Angles. 

When abandoned to her own devices, the average female has a tendencyto "put on her things, " and to contrive the same, in a manner thatis not conducive to patience in the male beholder. Her besettinginiquity in this particular is a fondness for angles, and she isunwavering in her determination to achieve them at whatever cost. 

Now we vehemently affirm that in woman's apparel an angle is anoffence to the male eye, and therefore a crime of no smallmagnitude. In the masculine garb angles are tolerable-angles ofwhatever acuteness. The masculine character and life are rigid andangular, and the apparel should, or at least may, proclaim the man. But with the soft, rounded nature of woman, her bending flexibilityof temper, angles are absolutely incompatible. In her outwardseeming all should be easy and flowing-every fold a nest of graces, and every line a curve. 

By close attention to this great truth, and a conscientious strivingafter its advantages, woman may hope to become rather comely ofexterior, and to find considerable favour in the eyes of man. It isnot impossible that, without any abatement of her presentusefulness, she may come to be regarded as actually ornamental, andeven attractive. If with her angles she will also renounce somehundreds of other equally harassing absurdities of attire, she mayconsider her position assured, and her claim to masculine tolerationreasonably well grounded. A Wingless Insect. 

It would be profitable in the end if man would take a hint from hislack of wings, and settle down comfortably into the assurance thatmidair is not his appointed element. The confession is a humiliatingone, but there is a temperate balm in the consciousness that hisinability to "shave with level wing" the blue empyrean cannot justlybe charged upon himself. He has done his endeavour, and done itnobly; but he'll break his precious neck. 

In Goldsmith's veracious "History of Animated Nature" is a sprightlyaccount of one Nicolas, who was called, if our memory be not atfault, the man-fish, and who was endowed by his Creator-the late Mr. Goldsmith aforesaid-with the power of conducting an active existenceunder the sea. That equally veracious and instructive work "TheArabian Nights' Entertainments, " peoples the bottom of old oceanwith powerful nations of similarly gifted persons; while in our ownday "the Man-Frog" has taught us what may be done in this line whenone has once got the knack of it. 

Some years since (we do not know if he has yet suffered martyrdom atthe hand of the fiendish White) there lived a noted Indian chieftainwhose name, being translated, signifies "The-Man-Who-Walks-Under-the-Ground, " probably a lineal descendant of thegnomes. We have ourselves walked under the ground in wine cellars. 

With these notable examples in mind, we are not prepared to assertthat, though man has as a rule neither the gills of a fish nor thenose of a mole, he may not enjoy a drive at the bottom of the sea, or a morning ramble under the subsoil. But with the exception ofPeter Wilkins' Flying Islanders-whose existence we vehementlydispute-and some similar creatures whom it suits our purpose toignore, there is no record of any person to whom the name ofThe-Man-Who-Flies-Over-the-Hills may be justly applied. We make noaccount of the shallow device of Mongolfier, nor the dubiouscontrivance of Marriott. A gentleman of proper aspirations wouldscorn to employ either, as the Man-Frog would reject a diving-bell, or the subterranean chieftain would sneer at the Mont Cenis tunnel. These "weak inventions" only emphasize our impotence to strive withthe subtle element about and above. They prove nothing soconclusively as that we can't fly-a fact still more strikinglyproven by the constant thud of people tumbling out of them. To aTitan of comprehensive ear, who could catch the noises of a worldupon his single tympanum as Hector caught Argive javelins upon hisshield, the patter of dropping a‰ronauts would sound like the gentlepelting of hailstones upon a dusty highway-so thick and fast theyfall. 

It is probable that man is no more eager to float free into spacethan the earth-if it be sentient-is to shake him off; but it wouldappear that he and it must, like the Siamese twins, consent toendure the disadvantages of a mutually disagreeable intimacy. Wesubmit that it is hardly worth his while to continue "larding thelean earth" with his carcase in the vain endeavour to emulateangels, whom in no respect he at all resembles. Pork on the Hoof. 

The motto aut C‘sar aut nullus is principally nonsense, we take it. If one may not be a man, one may, in most cases, be a hog with equalsatisfaction to his mind and heart. 

There is Thompson Washington Smith, for example (his name is notThompson, nor Washington, nor yet Smith; we call him so to concealhis real name, which is perhaps Smythe). Now Thompson, there isreason to believe, tried earnestly for some years to be a man. Alas!he began while he was a boy, and got exhausted before he arrived atmaturity. He could make no further effort, and manhood is notacquired without a mighty struggle, nor maintained without untiringindustry. So having fatigued himself before reaching thestarting-point, Thompson Washington did not re-enter the race formanhood, but contented his simple soul with achieving a modestswinehood. He became a hog of considerable talent and promise. 

Let it not be supposed that Thompson has anything in common withthe typical, ideal hog-him who encrusts his hide with clay, andinhumes his muzzle in garbage. Far from it; he is a cleanly-almost agodly-hog, preternaturally fair of exterior, and eke fastidious ofappetite. He is glossy of coat, stainless of shirt, immaculate oftrousers. He is shiny of beaver and refulgent of boot. With all, aHog. Watch him ten minutes under any circumstances and his faceshall seem to lengthen and sharpen away, split at the point, anddevelop an unmistakeable snout. A ridge of bristles will strugglefor sunlight under the gloss of his coat. This is your imagination, and that is about as far as it will take you. So long as ThompsonWashington, actual, maintains a vertical attitude, ThompsonWashington, unreal, will not assume an horizontal one. Your fancycannot "go the whole hog. "

It only remains to state explicitly to whom we are alluding. Well, there is a stye in the soul of every one of us, in which abides aporker more or less objectionable. We don't all let him range atlarge, like Smith, but he will occasionally exalt his visage abovethe rails of even the most cleverly constructed pen. The best of usare they who spend most time repressing the beast by rapping himupon the nose. The Young Person. 

We are prepared, not perhaps to prove, but to maintain, thatcivilization would be materially aided and abetted by the offer of aliberal reward for the scalps of Young Persons with the earsattached. Your regular Young Person is a living nuisance, whoseevery act is a provocation to exterminate her. We say "her, " notbecause, physically considered, the Y. P. Is necesarily of the shesex; more commonly is it an irreclaimable male; but morally andintellectually it is an unmixed female. Her virtues are merelymilk-and-morality-her intelligence is pure spiritual whey. Herconversation (to which not even her own virtues and intelligence arein any way related) is three parts rain-water that has stood toolong and one part cider that has not stood long enough-a sickening, sweetish compound, one dose of which induces in the mental stomach acolicky qualm, followed, if no correctives be taken, by violentretching, coma, and death. 

The Young Person vegetates best in the atmosphere of parlours andball-rooms; if she infested the fields and roadsides like thesquirrels, lizards, and mud-hens, she would be as ruthlesslyexterminated as they. Every passing sportsman would fill her withduck-shot, and every strolling gentleman would step out of his wayto smite off her head with his cane, as one decapitates a thistle. But in the drawing-room one lays off his destructiveness with hishat and gloves, and the Young Person enjoys the same immunity that asleepy mastiff grants to the worthless kitten campaigning againsthis nose. 

But there is no good reason why the Spider should be destroyed andthe Young Person tolerated. A Certain Popular Fallacy. 

The world makes few graver mistakes than in supposing a man mustnecessarily possess all the cardinal virtues because he has a bigdog and some dirty children. 

We know a butcher whose children are not merely dirty-they arefearfully and wonderfully besmirched by the hand of an artist. Hehas, in addition, a big dog with a tendency to dropsy, who flies atyou across the street with such celerity that he outruns his bark bya full second, and you are warned of your danger only after histeeth are buried in your leg. And yet the owner of these childrenand father of this dog is no whit better, to all appearance, than abaker who has clean brats and a mild poodle. He is not even a goodbutcher; he hacks a rib and lacerates a sirloin. He talks throughhis nose, which turns up to such an extent that the voice passesright over your head, and you have to get on a table to tell whetherhe is slandering his dead wife or swearing at yourself. 

If that man possessed a thousand young ones, exaltedly nasty, anddogs enough to make a sub-Atlantic cable of German sausage, youwould find it difficult to make us believe in him. In fact, we lookupon the big dog test of morality as a venerable mistake-natural buterroneous; and we regard dirty children as indispensable in no othersense than that they are inevitable. Pastoral Journalism. 

There shall be joy in the household of the country editor what timethe rural mind shall no longer crave the unhealthy stimuli affordedby fascinating accounts of corpulent beets, bloated pumpkins, dropsical melons, aspiring maize, and precocious cabbages. Then thebucolic journalist shall have surcease of toil, and may go out uponthe meads to frisk with kindred lambs, frolic familiarly withloose-jointed colts, and exchange grave gambollings with solemncows. Then shall the voice of the press, no longer attuned to thepraises of the vegetable kingdom, find a more humble, but not lessuseful, employment in calling the animal kingdom to the evening mealbeneath the sanctum window. 

To the over-worked editor life will have a fresh zest and a newsignificance. The hills shall hump more greenly upward to a bluersky, the fields blush with a more tender sunshine. He will go forthat dawn with countless flipflaps of gymnastic joy; and when thewhite sun shall redden with the blood of dying day, and the hogsshall set up a fine evening hymn of supplication to the Giver ofSwill, he will stand upon the editorial head, blissfully consciousthat his intellect is a-ripening for the morrow's work. 

The rural newspaper! We sit with it in hand, running our fingersover the big staring letters, as over the black and white keys of apiano, drumming out of them a mild melody of perfect repose. Withwhat delight do we disport us in the illimitable void of itsnothingness, as who should swim in air! Here is nothing tostartle-nothing to wound. The very atmosphere is saturated with "thespirit of the rural press;" and even our dog stands by, with pendanttail, slowly dropping the lids over his great eyes; and then, jerking them suddenly up again, tries to look as if he were notsleepy in the least. A pleasant smell of ploughed ground comesstrong upon us. The tinkle of ghostly cow-bells falls drowsily uponthe ear. Airy figures of phenomenal esculents float dreamily beforeour half-shut eyes, and vanish ere perfect vision can catch them. About and above are the drone of bees, and the muffled thunder ofmilk streams shooting into the foaming pail. The gabble of distantgeese is faintly marked off by the bark of a distant dog. The citywith its noises sinks away from our feet as from one in a balloon, and our senses are steeped in country languor. We slumber. 

God bless the man who first invented the country newspaper!-thoughSancho Panza blessed him once before. Mendicity's Mistake. 

Your famishing beggar is a fish of as sorry aspect as may readily bescared up. Generally speaking, he is repulsive as to hat, abhorrentas to vesture, squalid of boot, and in tout ensemble unseemly andatrocious. His appeal for alms falls not more vexingly upon the earthan his offensive personality smites hard upon the eye. Thetouching effectiveness of his tale is ever neutralized by theuncomeliness of his raiment and the inartistic besmirchedness of hiscountenance. His pleading is like the pathos of some moving balladfrom the lips of a negro minstrel; shut your eyes and it shall makeyou fumble in your pocket for your handkerchief; open them, and youwould fain draw out a pistol instead. 

It is to be wished that Poverty would garb his body in a clean skin, that Adversity would cultivate a taste for spotless linen, and thatBeggary would address himself unto your pocket from beneath a downyhat. However, we cannot hope to immediately impress these worthymendicants with the advantage of devoting a portion of their gainsto the purchase of purple and fine linen, instead of expending theirall upon the pleasures of the table and riotous living; but our dutyunto them remains. 

The very least that one can do for the offensive needy is to directthem to the nearest clothier. That, therefore, is the proper course. Insects. 

Every one has observed, a solitary ant breasting a current of hisfellows as he retraces his steps to pack off something he hasforgotten. At each meeting with a neighbour there is a mutual pause, and the two confront each other for a moment, reaching out theirdelicate antenn‘, and making a critical examination of one another'sperson. This the little creature repeats with tireless persistenceto the end of his journey. 

As with the ant, so with the other insect-the sprightly "female ofour species. " It is really delightful to watch the fine frenzy ofher lovely eye as she notes the approach of a woman more gorgeouslyarrayed than herself, or the triumphant contempt that settles abouther lips at the advance of a poorly clad sister. How contemplativelyshe lingers upon each detail of attire-with what keen penetrationshe takes in the general effect at a sweep!

And this suggests the fearful thought-what would the darlings do ifthey wore no clothes? One-half their pleasure in walking on thestreet would vanish like a dream, and an equal proportion of thephilosopher's happiness in watching them would perish in the barrenprospect of an inartistic nudity. Picnicking considered as aMistake. 

Why do people attend public picnics? We do not wish to be iterative, but why do they? Heaven help them! it is because they know nobetter, and no one has had the leisure to enlighten them. 

Now your picnic-goer is a muff-an egregious, gregarious muff, and aglutton. Moreover, a nobody who, if he be male wears, in nine casesin ten, a red necktie and a linen duster to his heel; if she befemale hath soiled hose to her calf, and in her face a premonitionof colic to come. 

We hold it morally impossible to attend a picnic and come home purein heart and undefiled of cuticle. For the dust will get in yournose, clog your ears, make clay in your mouth and mortar in youreyes, and so stop up all the natural passages to the soul; wherebythe wickedness which that subtle organ doth constantly excrete isbalked of its issue, tainting the entire system with a grievoustaint. 

At picnics, moreover, is engendered an unpleasant perspiration, which the patient must perforce endure until he shall bathe him in abath. It is not sweet to reek, and your picnicker must reek. Shouldhe chance to break a leg, or she a limb, the inevitable exposure ofthe pedal condition is alarming and eke humiliating. ThanksgivingDay. 

There be those of us whose memories, though vexed with anoyster-rake would not yield matter for gratitude, and whose pietythough strained through a sieve would leave no trace of an objectupon which to lavish thanks. It is easy enough, with a waistcoatselected for the occasion, to eat one's proportion of turkey andhide away one's allowance of wine; and if this be returning thanks, why then gratitude is considerably easier, and vastly moreagreeable, than falling off a log, and may be acquired in one easylesson without a master. But if more than this be required-if to begrateful means anything beyond being gluttonous, your truephilosopher--he of the severe brow upon which logic has stamped itseternal impress, and from whose heart sentiment has been banishedalong with other small vices-your true philosopher, say we, willthink twice before he "crooks the pregnant hinges of the knee" inhumble observance of the day. 

For here is the nut of reason he is obliged to crack before he canobtain the kernel of emotion proper to the day. Unless the blessingswe enjoy are favours from the Omnipotent, to be grateful is to beabsurd. If they are, then, also the ills with which we are afflictedhave the same origin. Grant this, and you make an offset of thelatter against the former, or are driven either to the ridiculousposition that we must be equally grateful for both evils andblessings, or the no less ridiculous one that all evils areblessings in disguise. 

But the truth is, my fine friend, your annual gratitude is a sorrysham, a cloak, my good fellow, to cover your unhandsome gluttony;and when by chance you do take to your knees, it is only that youprefer to digest your bird in that position. We understand your caseaccurately, and the hard sense we are poking at you is not apreachment for your edification, but a bit of harmless fun for ourown diversion. For, look you! there is really a subtle but potentrelation between the gratitude of the spirit and the stuffing of theflesh. 

We have ever taught the identity of Soul and Stomach; these are butdifferent names for one object considered under differing aspects. Thankfulness we believe to be a kind of ether evolved by the actionof the gastric fluid upon rich meats. Like all gases it ascends, andso passes out of the esophagus in prayer and psalmody. Thisbeautiful theory we have tested by convincing experiments in themanner following:--

Experiment 1st. --A quantity of grass was placed in a large bladder, and a gill of the gastric fluid of a sheep introduced. In tenminutes the neck of the bladder emitted a contented bleat. 

Experiment 2nd. --A pound of beef was substituted for the grass, andthe fluid of a dog for that of the sheep. The result was a cheerfulbark, accompanied by an agitation of the bottom of the bladder, asif it were attempting to wag an imaginary tail. 

Experiment 3rd. --The bladder was charged with a handful of choppedturkey, and an ounce of human gastric juice obtained from theCoroner. At first, nothing but a deep sigh of satisfaction escapedfrom the neck of the bladder, followed by an unmistakeable grunt, similar to that of a hog. Upon increasing the proportion of turkey, and confining the gas, the bladder was very much distended, appearing to suffer great uneasiness. The restriction being removed, the neck distinctly articulated the words "Praise God, from whom allblessings flow!"

Against such demonstration as this any mere theological theorizingis of no avail. Flogging. 

It may justly be demanded of the essayist that he shall give somesmall thought to the question of corporal punishment by means of the"cat, " and "ground-ash. " We have given the subject the mostelaborate attention; we have written page after page upon it. Dayand night we have toiled and perspired over that distressingproblem. Through Summer's sun and Winter's snow, with allunfaltering purpose, we have strung miles of ink upon acres ofpaper, weaving wisdom into eloquence with the tireless industry of asilkworm fashioning his cocoon. We have refused food, scorned sleep, and endured thirst to see our work grow beneath our cunning hand. The more we wrote the wiser we became; the opinions of one day wererejected the next; the blind surmising of yesterday ripened into thefull knowledge of to-day, and this matured into the superhumanomniscience of this evening. We have finally got so infernallyclever that we have abandoned the original design of our great work, and determined to make it a compendium of everything that isaccurately known up to date, and the bearing of this upon floggingin general. 

To other, and inferior, writers it is most fortunate that our designhas taken so wide a scope. These can go on with their perennialwrangle over the petty question of penal and educationalflagellation, while we grapple with the higher problem, and unfoldthe broader philosophy of an universal walloping. Reflections uponthe Beneficent Influence of the Press. 

Reflection 1. --The beneficent influence of the Press is most talkedabout by the Press. 

Reflection 2. --If the Press were less evenly divided upon all social, political, and moral questions the influence of its beneficencewould be greater than it is. 

Reflection 3. --The beneficence of its influence would be more marked. 

Reflection 4. --If the Press were more wise and righteous than it is, it might escape the reproach of being more foolish and wicked thanit should be. 

Reflection 5. --The foregoing Reflection is not an identicalproposition. 

Reflection 6. --(a) The beneficent influence of the Press cannot bepurchased for money. (b) It can if you have enough money. Charity. 

Charity is certain to bring its reward-if judiciously bestowed. TheAnglo-Saxons are the most charitable race in the world-and the mostjudicious. The right hand should never know of the charity that theleft hand giveth. There is, however, no objection to putting it inthe papers. Charity is usually represented with a babe in herarms-going to place it benevolently upon a rich man's doorstep. TheStudy of Human Nature. 

To the close student of human nature no place offers such manifoldattractions, such possibilities of deep insight, such a mine ofsuggestion, such a prodigality of illustration, as a pig-pen atfeeding time. It has been said, with allusion to this philosophicalpursuit, that "there is no place like home;" but it will be seenthat this is but another form of the same assertion. --End of theEssay upon the Study of Human Nature. Additional Talk-Done in theCountry. I. 

. .. . Life in the country may be compared to the aimless drifting ofa house-dog professing to busy himself about a lawn. He goes nosingabout, tacking and turning here and there with the most intenseapparent earnestness; and finally seizes a blade of grass by themiddle, chews it savagely, drops it; gags comically, and curls awayto sleep as if worn out with some mighty exercise. Whatever pursuityou may engage in in the country is sure to end in nausea, which youare quite as sure to try to get recognised as fatigue. II. 

. .. . A windmill keeps its fans going about; they do not stop long inone position. A man should be like the fans of a windmill; he shouldgo about a good deal, and not stop long-in the country. III. 

. .. . A great deal has been written and said and sung in praise ofgreen trees. And yet there are comparatively few green trees thatare good to eat. Asparagus is probably the best of them, thoughcelery is by no means to be despised. Both may be obtained in anygood market in the city. IV. 

. .. . A cow in walking does not, as is popularly supposed, pick upall her feet at once, but only one of them at a time. Which onedepends upon circumstances. The cow is but an indifferentpedestrian. H‘c fabula docet that one should not keep three-fourthsof his capital lying idle. V. 

. .. . The Quail is a very timorous bird, who never achieves anythingnotable, yet he has a crest. The Jay, who is of a warlike andpowerful family, has no crest. There is a moral in this whichAristocracy will do well to ponder. But the quail is very good toeat and the jay is not. The quail is entitled to a crest. (In theEastern States, this meditation will provoke dispute, for there thejay has a crest and the quail has not. The Eastern States areexceptional and inferior. ) VI. 

. .. . The destruction of rubbish with fire makes a very great smoke. In this particular a battle resembles the destruction of rubbish. There would be a close resemblance even if a battle evolved nosmoke. Rubbish, by the way, is not good eating, but an essayistshould not be a gourmet-in the country. VII. 

. .. . Sweet milk should be taken only in the middle of the night. Iftaken during the day it forms a curd in the stomach, and breeds adire distress. In the middle of the night the stomach is supposed tobe innocent of whisky, and it is the whisky that curdles the milk. Should you be sleeping nicely, I would not advise you to come out ofthat condition to drink sweet milk. VIII. 

. .. . In the country the atmosphere is of unequal density, and inpassing through the denser portions your silk hat will be ruffled, and the country people will jeer at it. They will jeer at it anyhow. When going into the country, you should leave your silk hat at abank, taking a certificate of deposit. IX. 

. .. . The sheep chews too fast to enjoy his victual. 

CURRENT JOURNALINGS. 

. .. Following is the manner of death incurred by Dr. Deadwood, thecelebrated African explorer, which took place at Ujijijijiji, underthe auspices of the Royal Geographical Society of England, assisted, at some distance, by Mr. Shandy of the New York Herald;--

An intelligent gorilla has recently been imported to this country, who had the good fortune to serve the Doctor as a body servant inthe interior of Africa, and he thus describes the manner of hismaster's death. The Doctor was accustomed to pass his nights in thestomach of an acquaintance-a crocodile about fifty feet long. Stepping out one evening to take an observation of one of the lunareclipses peculiar to the country, he spoke to his host, saying thatas he should not return, until after bedtime, he would not troublehim to sit up to let him in; he would just leave the door open tillhe came home. By way of doing so, he set up a stout fence-railbetween his landlord's distended jaws, and went away. 

Returning about midnight, he took off his boots outside, so as notto awaken his friend, entered softly, knocked away the prop, andprepared to turn in. But the noise of pounding on the rail hadaroused the householder, and so great was the feeling of reliefinduced by the relaxation of the maxillary muscles, that heunconsciously shut his mouth to smile, without giving his tenanttime to get into the bedroom. The Doctor was just stooping to untiehis drawers, when he was caught between the floor and ceiling, likea lemon in a squeezer. 

Next day the melancholy remains were given up to our informant, whodisplays a singular reticence regarding his disposition of them;merely picking his teeth with his claws in an absent, thoughtfulkind of way, as if the subject were too mournful to be discussed inall its harrowing details. 

None of the Doctor's maps or instruments were recovered; hisbereaved landlord holds them as security for certain rents claimedto be due and unpaid. It is probable that Great Britain will make astern demand for them, and if they are not at once surrenderedwill-submit her claim to a Conference. 

. .. . The prim young maidens who affiliate with the Young Men'sChristian Association of San Francisco-who furnish the posies fortheir festivals, and assist in the singing of psalms-have agymnasium in the temple. Thither they troop nightly to display theirskill in turning inside out and shutting themselves up likejack-knives of the gentler kind. 

Here may be seen the godly Rachel and the serious Ruth, suspended bytheir respective toes between the heaven to which they aspire andthe wicked world they do abhor. Here the meek-eyed Hannah, pendentfrom the horizontal bar, doubleth herself upon herself and staresfixedly backward from between her shapely limbs, a thing of beautyand a joy for several minutes. Mehitable Ann, beloved of youngSoapenlocks, vaults lightly over a barrier and with unspoken prayerlays hold on the unstable trapeze mounting aloft in air. Jerusha, comeliest of her sex, ties herself in a double bow-knot, andmeditates upon the doctrine of election. 

O, blessed temple of grace divine! O, innocence and youth and simplefaith! O, water and molasses and unsalted butter! O, nicenessabsolute and godly whey! Would that we were like unto these ewelambs, that we might frisk and gambol among them without evil. Wouldthat we were female, and Christian, and immature, with a flavour asof green grass and a hope in heaven. Then would we, too, sing hymnsthrough our blessed nose, and contort and musculate with muchsatisfaction of soul, even in the gymnasium of The Straight-backed. 

. .. . Some raging iconoclast, after having overthrown religion byhistory, upset history by science, and then toppled over science, has now laid his impious hands upon babies' nursing bottles. 

"The tubes of these infernal machines, " says this tearing beast, "are composed of india-rubber dissolved in bisulphide of carbon, and thickened with lead, resin, and sometimes oxysulphuret ofantimony, from which, when it comes in contact with the milk, sulphuretted hydrogen is evolved, and lactate of lead formed in thestomach. "

This logic is irresistible. Granting only that the tubes are made inthat simple and intelligible manner (and anybody can see for himselfthat they are), the sulphuretted hydrogen and the lactate of leadfollow (down the osophagus) as a logical sequence. But thescientific horror seems to be profoundly unaware that thesesubstances are not only harmless to the child, but actuallynutritious and essential to its growth. Not only so, but nature hasimplanted in its breast an instinctive craving for these verycomforts. Often have we seen some wee thing turn disgusted from thebreast and lift up its thin voice: "Not for Joseph; give me thebottle with the oxysulphuret of antimony tube. I take sulphurettedhydrogen and lactate of lead in mine every time!" And we have said:"Nature is working in that darling. What God hath joined togetherlet no man put asunder!"

And we have thought of the wicked iconoclast. 

. .. . There are a lot of evil-minded horses about the city, who seemto take a fiendish delight in letting fly their heels at whomsoeverthey catch in a godly reverie unconscious of their proximity. Thisis perfectly natural and human, but it is annoying to be alwaysgetting horse-kicked when one is not in a mood for it. 

The worst of it is, these horses always manage it so as to gettethered across the sidewalk in the most populous thoroughfares, where they at once drop into the semblance of a sound slumber. Bythis means they lure the unsuspecting to their doom, and just assome unconscious pedestrian is passing astern of them they wake up, and without a preliminary yawn, or even a warning shake of the taillike the more chivalrous rattlesnake, they at once discharge theirfeet at him with a rapidity and effect that are quite surprising ifthe range be not too long. Usually this occurs in Merchant-street, below Montgomery, and the damage is merely nominal; some worthlessItalian fisherman, market gardener, or decayed gentleman oozing outof a second-class restaurant being the only sufferer. 

Rut not infrequently these playful brutes get themselves tethered insome fashionable promenade, and the consequence is demoralizing towhite people. We speak within the limits of possibility when we saythat we have seen no less than seven women and children in the airat once, impelled heavenward by as many consecutive kicks of asingle skilled operator. No longer ago than we can remember we sawan aged party in spectacles and a clawhammer coat gyrating throughthe air like an irregular bolt shot out of a catapult. Before wecould ascertain from him the site of the quadruped from whom he hadreceived his impulsion, he had passed like a vague dream, and theequine scoundrel went unwhipped of justice. 

These flying squadrons are serious inconveniences to public travel;it is conducive to profanity to have a whizzing young woman, arattling old man, or a singing baby flung against one's face everyfew moments by the hoofs of some animal whom one has never injured, and who is a perfect stranger. 

It ought to be stopped. 

. .. . In the telegraphic account of a distressing railway accident inNew York, we find the following:--"The body of Mr. Germain wasidentified by his business partner, John Austin, who seemed terriblyaffected by his loss. "

O, reader, how little we think upon the fearful possibilities hiddenaway in the womb of the future. Any day may snatch from our life itslight. One moment we were happy in the possession of some dearobject, about which to twine the tendrils of the heart; the next, wecower and shiver in the chill gloom of a bereavement that withersthe soul and makes existence an intolerable burden! To-day allnature smiles with a sunny warmth, and life spreads before us awilderness of sweets; to-morrow-we lose our business partner!

. .. . Mr. J. L. Dummle, one of our most respected citizens, left hishome to go, as he said, to his office. There was nothing unusual inhis demeanour, and he appeared to be in his customary health andspirits. It is not known that there was anything in his financial ordomestic affairs to make life distasteful to him. About half an hourafter parting with his family, he was seen conversing with a friendat the corner of Kearny and Sutter-streets, from which point heseems to have gone directly to the Vallejo-street wharf. He was hereseen by the captain of the steamer New World, standing upon theextreme end of the wharf, but the circumstance did not arouse anysuspicion in the mind of the Captain, to whom he was well known. Atthat moment some trivial business diverted the Captain's attention, and he saw Mr. Dummle no more; but it has been ascertained that thelatter proceeded directly home, where he may now be seen by any onedesiring to obtain further particulars of the melancholy event herenarrated. 

Mr. Dummle speaks of it with perfect frankness and composure. 

. .. . In deference to a time-worn custom, on the first day of theyear the writer swore to, affixed a revenue stamp upon, and recordedthe following document:--

"I will not, during this year, utter a profane word-unless insport-without having been previously vexed by something. 

"I will murder no one that does not offend me, except for his money. 

"I will commit highway robbery upon none but small school children, and then only under the stimulus of present or prospective hunger. 

"I will not bear false witness against my neighbour where nothing isto be made by it. 

"I will be as moral and religious as the law shall compel me to be. 

"I will run away with no man's wife without her full and freeconsent, and never, no never, so help me heaven! will I take hischildren along. 

"I wont write any wicked slanders against anybody, unless byrefraining I should sacrifice a good joke. 

"I wont beat any cripples who do not come fooling about me when I ambusy; and I will give all my neighbours' boots to the poor. "

. .. . A town in Vermont has a society of young men, formed for theexpress purpose of rescuing young ladies from drowning. We warnthese gentlemen that we will not accept even honorary membership intheir concern; we do not sympathize with the movement. Upon severaloccasions we have stood by and seen young ladies' noses disappearbeneath the waters blue, with a stolid indifference that would havebeen creditable in a husband. It was a trifle rough on the darlings, but if we know our own mind we do not purpose, just for the doubtfulpleasure of saving a female's life, to surrender our prerogative ofmarrying when and whom we like. 

If we take a fancy to a woman we shall wed her, but we're not to becoerced into matrimony by any ridiculous school-girl who may chanceto fall into a horse-pond. We know their tricks and their manners-waking to consciousness in a fellow's arms and throwing their ownwet ones about his neck, saying, "The life you have preserved, nobleyouth, is yours; whither thou goest I will go; thy horses andcarriages shall be my horses and carriages!"

We are too old a sturgeon to be caught with a spoon-hook. Ladies inthe vicinity of our person need not hesitate to fling themselvesmadly into the first goose-puddle that obstructs their way; theirliberty of action will be scrupulously respected. 

. .. . There is a bladdery old nasality ranging about the country uponfree passes, vexing the public ear with "hallowed songs, " and makingof himself a spectacle to the eye. This bleating lamb calls himselfthe "Sacred Singer, " and has managed to get that pleasing title intothe newspapers until it is become as offensive as himself. 

Now, therefore, we do trustfully petition that this wearisomepsalm-sharp, this miauling meter-monger, this howling dervish ofhymns devotional, may strain his trachea, unsettle the braces of hislungs, crack his ridiculous gizzard and perish of pneumoniastarvation. And may the good Satan seize upon the catgut strings ofhis tuneful soul, and smite therefrom a wicked, wicked waltz!

. .. . We hold a most unflattering opinion of the man who will thievea dog, but between him and the man who will keep one, the moraldifference is not so great as to be irreconcilable. 

Our own dog is a standing example of canine inutility. The scurvycur is not only totally depraved in his morals, but his hair standsthe wrong way, and his tail is of that nameless type intermediatebetween the pendulously pitiful and the spirally exasperating-a tailwhich gives rise to conflicting emotions in the mind of thebeholder, and causes the involuntarily uplifted hand to hesitate ifit shall knuckle away the springing tear, or fall in thunderousvengeance upon the head of the dog's master. 

That dog spends about half his elegant leisure in devouring the coldvictuals of compassion, and the other half in running after thebricks of which he is the provocation and we are the target. Withinthe last six years we employed as editors upon the unhappy journalwhich it was intended that this article should redeem, no less thansixteen pickpockets, hoping they would steal him; but with an acuteintelligence of which their writing conveyed but an imperfect idea, they shunned the glittering bait, as one walks to windward of thedeadly upas tree. We have given him away to friends until we haven'ta friend left; we have offered him at auction-sales, and beenourselves knocked down; we have decoyed him into strange places andabandoned him, until we are poor from the payment of unpromisedrewards. In the character of a charitable donation he has beendriven from the door of every orphan asylum, foundling hospital, andreform school in the State. Not a week passes but we forfeitexemplary damages for inciting him to fall foul of passinggentlemen, in the vain hope of getting him slain. 

If any one would wish to purchase a cheap dog, we would sell thisbeast. 

. .. . A religious journal published in the Far West says thatBrothers Dong, Gong, and Tong are Chinese converts to its church. There is a fine religious nasality about these names that isstrongly suggestive of the pulpit in the palmy days of the Puritans. 

By the way, we should dearly love to know how to baptize a Chinaman. We have a shrewd suspicion that it is done as the Mongolianlaundryman dampens our linen: by taking the mouth full of water andspouting it over the convert's head in a fine spray. If so, itfollows that the pastor having most "cheek" is best qualified forcleansing the pagan soul. 

An important question arises here. Suppose Dong, Gong, and Tong tohave been baptized in this way, who pronounced that efficaciousformula, "I baptize thee in the name, " etc. ? Clearly the parson, with his mouth full of water, could not have done so at the instantof baptism, and if the sentence was spoken by any other person itwas a falsehood. It must therefore have been spoken either beforethe minister distended his cheeks, or after he had exhausted them. In either case, according to the learned Dr. Sicklewit, the ceremonyis utterly null and void of effect. (Study of Baptism, vol. Ix. , ch. Cxix. Vi. P. 627, line 13 from bottom. )

Possibly, however, D. , G. And T. Were not baptized in this way. Thenhow the devil were they baptized?-and why?

. .. . Henry Wolfe, of Kentucky, aged one hundred and eight years, whohad never been sick in his life, lay down one fine day and sawed hisneck asunder with a razor. Henry did not believe in self-slaughter;he despised it. It was Henry's opinion that as God had placed ushere we should stay until it was His pleasure to remove us. That isalso our opinion, and the opinion of all other good Christians whowould like to die but are afraid to do it. It will be observed thatHenry could not claim originality of opinion. 

But there is a point beyond which hope deferred maketh the heartsick, and Henry had passed that point. He waited patiently till hewas naked of scalp and deaf of ear. He endured without repining thebent back, the sightless eyes, and the creaking joints incident toover-maturity. But when he saw a man perish of senility, who ininfancy had called him "Old Hank, " Mr. Wolfe thought patience hadceased to be commendable, and he abandoned his post of duty withoutbeing regularly relieved. 

It is to be hoped he will be hotly punished for it. 

. .. . One day an obscure and unimportant person pitched himself amongthe rolling porpoises, from a ferry-boat, and an officiousbusy-body, not at once clearly apprehending that the matter was noneof his immediate business, hied him down to the engineer andcommanded that official to "back her, hard!" As it is customary uponthe high seas for such orders to emanate from the officer incommand, that particular boat kept forging ahead, and theunimportant old person carried out his original design-that is, hewent to the bottom like an iron wedge. Rises the press in its wrathand prates about a Grand Jury! Shrieks an intelligent public, inchorus, at the heartless engineer!

Meantime the pretty fish are running away with choice bits of God'simage at the bottom of the bay; the cunning crab makes merry with adead man's eye, the nipping shrimp sweetens himself for the tableupon the clean juices of a succulent corpse. Below all is peace andfat feasting; above rolls the sounding ocean of eternal Bosh!

. .. . There is war! The woman suffrage folk go up against oneanother, because that a portion of them cleave to the error that theBible is a collection of fables. These will probably divestthemselves of this belief about the time that Mr. Satan stands overthem with a toasting-fork, points significantly to a glowinggridiron, and says to each suffrager:

"Madame, I beg your pardon, but you will please retire to theladies' dressing-room, disrobe, unpad, lay off your back-hair; andmake yourself as comfortable as possible while some fresh coals arebeing put on the fire. When you have unmade your toilet you maytouch that bell, and you will be nicely buttered and salted for theiron. A polite and gentlemanly attendant will occasionally turn you, and I shall take pleasure in looking in upon you once in a millionyears, to see that you are being properly done. Exceedingly sultryweather, Madame. Au revoir. "

. .. . The funeral of the Rev. Father Byrne took place from the Churchof the Holy Cross. The ceremonies were of the most solemn andimpressive character, and were keenly enjoyed by the empty benchesby which the Protestant clergy were ably represented. Why turned yenot out, O Biblethump, and Muddletext, and you, Hymnsing? Is it thusthat the Master was wont to treat the dead?

Now get thee into the secret recesses of thy closet, Rev. Lovepreach; knuckle down upon thy knees and pray to a tolerant Godnot to smite thee with a plague. For lo! thou hast been a bigoted, bat-eyed, cat-hearted fraud-a preacher of peace and a practiser ofstrife. For these many years thy tongue hath been dropping gospelhoney, and thy soul secreting bitterness. Thy voice has been as thesound of glad horns upon a hill, but thy ways are the ways of agaunt hound tracking the hunted stag. "Holier than we, " are you? Andwhen the worker of differing faith is gone to his account, you turnyour sleek back upon the God's-image as it is given to the waitingworms. Perdition seize thee and thy holiness! we'll none of it. 

. .. . Two hundred dollars for biting a woman's neck and arms! Thatwas the sentence imposed upon the gentle Mr. Hill, because HisEminence set his incisors into the yielding tissue of Mrs. Langdon, a lady with whom his wife happened to be debating by means of astew-kettle. 

If this monstrous decision stand, the writer owes the treasury aboutten thousand dollars. Though by nature of a mild and gentleappetite, preferring simple roots and herbs, yet it has been hiscustom to nip all female necks and arms that have been willinglysubmitted unto his teeth. He hath found in this harmless, and he hadsupposed lawful, practice, an exceeding sweetness of sensation, anda satisfaction wherewith the delights of sausage, or the bliss ofpigs' feet, can in nowise compare. Having commonly found thegratification mutual, he thinks he is justified in maintaining itsinnocence. 

. .. . We are tolerably phlegmatic and notoriously hard to provoke. Welook on with considerable composure while our favourite Chinaman isbeing dismembered in the streets, and our dog publicly insulted. Detecting an alien hand in our trousers pocket excites in us only afeeling of temperate disapprobation, and an open swindle executedupon our favourite cousin by an unscrupulous shopkeeper we regardsimply as an instance of enterprise which has taken an unfortunatedirection. Slow to anger, quick to forgive, charitable in judgmentand to mercy prone; with unbounded faith in the entire goodness ofman and the complete holiness of woman; seeking ever for palliatingcircumstances in the conduct of the blackest criminal-we are at oncea model of moderation and a pattern of forbearance. 

But if Mrs. Victoria Woodhull and her swinish crew of free lovershad but a single body, and that body lay asleep under the upturnedroot of a prostrate oak, we would work with a dull jack-knife dayand night-month in and month out-through summer's sun and winter'sstorm-to sever that giant trunk, and let that mighty root, claspingits mountain of inverted earth, back into the position assigned toit by nature and by nature's God!

. .. . We like a liar-a thoroughly conscientious, industrious, andingenious liar. Not your ordinary prevaricator, who skirts along thecoast of truth, keeping ever within sight of the headlands andpromontories of probability-whose excursions are limited to short, fair-weather reaches into the ocean of imagination, and who paddlesfor port as if the devil were after him whenever a capful of windthreatens a storm of exposure; but a bold, sea-going liar, whospurns a continent, striking straight out for blue water, with hiseyes fixed upon the horizon of boundless mendacity. 

We have found such a one, and our hat is at half-mast in token ofprofound esteem and conscious inferiority. This person gravely tellsus that at the burning of the Archiepiscopal Palace at Bourges, among other valuable manuscripts destroyed was the originaldeath-warrant of Jesus Christ, signed at Jerusalem by one Capel, anddated U. C. 783. Not only so, but he kindly favours us with aliteral translation of it!

One cannot help warming up to a man who can lie like that. Talkabout Chatterton's Rowley deception, Macpherson's Ossian fraud, orLocke's moon hoax! Compared with this tremendous fib they are as butthe stilly whisper of a hearth-stone cricket to the shrilltrumpeting of a wounded elephant-the piping of a sick cocksparrow tothe brazen clang of a donkey in love!

. .. . For the memory of the late John Ridd, of Illinois, we entertainthe liveliest contempt. Mr. Ridd recently despatched himself with afirearm for the following reasons, set forth in a letter that heleft behind. 

"Two years ago I discovered that I was worthless. My great failingsare insincerity of character and sly ugliness. Any one who watchedme a little while would discover my unenviable nature. "

Now, it is not that Mr. Ridd was worthless that we hold his memoryin reprobation; nor that he was insincere, nor sly, nor ugly. It isbecause possessing these qualities he was fool enough to think theydisqualified him for the duties of life, or stood in the way of hisbeing an ornament to society and an honour to his country. 

. .. . "About the first of next month, " says a pious contemporary, "weshall discontinue the publication of our paper in this city, andshall remove our office and fixtures to--, where we hope for ablessing upon our work, and a share of advertising patronage. "

A numerous editorial staff of intelligent jackasses will accompanythe caravan. In imagination we behold them now, trudging gravelyalong behind the moving office fixtures, their goggle eyes cast downin Christian meditation, their horizontal ears flopping solemnly inunison with their measured tread. Ever and anon the leader halts, uprolls the speculative eye, arrests the oscillation of the ears, laying them rigidly back along the neck, exalts the conscious tail, drops the lank jaw, and warbles a psalm of praise that shakes theblind hills from their eternal repose. His companions take up theparable in turn, "and the echoes, huddling in affright, like Odin'shounds, " go baying down the valleys and clamouring amongst thepines, like a legion of invisible fiends after a strange cat. Thenagain all is hush, and tramp, and sanctity, and flop, and holymeditation! And so the pilgrimage is accomplished. Selah! Hee-haw!

. .. . A man in California has in his possession the rope with whichhis father was hanged by a vigilance committee in '49 forhorse-stealing. He keeps it neatly coiled away in an old cheese-box, and every Sunday morning he lays his left hand reverently uponit, and with uncovered head and a look of stern determination in hiseye, raises his right to heaven, and swears by an avenging God itserved the old man right!

It has not been deemed advisable to put this dutiful son under bondsto keep the peace. 

. .. . A contemporary has some elaborate obituary commendation of aboy seven years of age, who was "a child of more than ordinarysprightliness, loved the Bible, and was deeply impressed with aveneration for holy things. "

Now we would sorrowfully ask our contemporary if he thinks flatterylike this can soothe the dull cold ear of young Dobbin? Dobbin pŠremay enjoy it as light and entertaining reading, but when theresurrecting angel shall stir the dust of young Theophilus with hisfoot, and sing out "get up, Dobbin, " we think that sprightly youthwill whimper three times for molasses gingerbread before he willsignify an audible aspiration for the Bible. A sweet-tooth is oftenmistaken for early piety, and licking a sugar archangel may beeasily construed as veneration for holy things. 

. .. . A young physician of Troy became enamoured of a rich femalepatient, and continued his visits after she was convalescent. Duringone of these he had the misfortune to give her the small-pox, havingneglected to change his clothes after calling on another patientenjoying that malady. The lady had to be removed to the pest-house, where the stricken medico sedulously attends her for nothing. Hisgenerosity does not end here: he declares that should she recover hewill marry her-if she be not too badly pitted. 

Apparently the legal profession does not enjoy a monopoly of all theself-sacrifice that is current in the world. 

. .. . A young woman stood before the mirror with a razor. Pensivelyshe twirled the unaccustomed instrument in her jewelled fingers, fancying her smooth cheek clothed with a manly beard. In imaginationshe saw her pouting lips shaded by the curl of a dark moustache, andher eyes grew dim with tears that it was not, never could be, so. And the mirrored image wept back at her a silent sob, the echo ofher grief. 

"Ah, " she sighed, "why did not God make me a man? Must I still dragout this hateful, whiskerless existence?"

The girlish tears welled up again and overran her eyes. Thoughtfullyshe crossed her right hand over to her left ear; carefully buttimidly she placed the keen, cold edge of the steel against thesmooth alabaster neck, twisted the fingers of her other hand intoher long black hair, drew back her head and ripped away. There wasan apparition in that mirror as of a ripe watermelon opening itsmouth to address a public meeting; there were the thud and jar of asudden sitting down; and when the old lady came in from fryingdoughnuts in the adjoining room she found something that seemed tointerest her-something still and warm and wet-something kind ofdoubled up. 

Ah! poor old wretch! your doughnuts shall sizzle and sputter andswim unheeded in their grease; but the beardless jaw that shouldhave wagged filially to chew them is dropped in death; the stomachwhich they should have distended is crinkled and dry for ever!

. .. . Miss Olive Logan's lecture upon "girls" has suggested to thewriter the propriety of delivering one upon "boys. " He doesn't knowanything about boys, and is therefore entirely unprejudiced. He wasnever a boy himself-has always been just as old as he is now; thoughthe peculiar vagueness of his memory previously to the time ofbuilding the pyramid of Cheops, and his indistinct impressions as tothe personal appearance of Job, lead to the suspicion that hisfaculties at that time were partially undeveloped. He regardshimself as the only lecturer extant who can do justice to boys; andhe prefers to do it with an axe-handle, but is willing, like OliveLogan, to sacrifice his mere preferences for the purpose of makingmoney. 

This lecture will take place as soon as a sum of money has been sentto this office sufficiently large to justify him in renting a hallfor one hour's uninterrupted profanity-sixty minutes of careful, accurate, and elaborate cursing. Admission-all the money you haveabout you. Boys will be charged in proportion to their estimateddepravity; fifty dollars a head for the younger sorts, and from fivehundred to one thousand for those more advanced in generaldiabolism. 

. .. . Some women in New York have set the fashion of having costlydiamonds set into their front teeth. The attention of robbers andgarotters is called to this fact, with the recommendation that nogreater force be used than is necessary. The use of the ordinarybludgeon or slung shot would be quite needless; a gentle tap on thehead with a clay pipe or a toothpick will place the victim in theproper condition to be despoiled. Great care should be exercised inextracting the jewels; instead of the teeth being knocked inwards, as in ordinary cases of mere purposeless mangling, they should beartistically lifted out by inserting the point of a crowbar into themouth and jumping on the other end. 

. .. . The Coroner having broken his leg, inquests will hereafter beheld by the Justices of the Peace. People intending to commitsuicide will confer a favour by worrying along until the Coronershall recover, as the Justices are all new to the business. Thecold, uncharitable world is tolerably hard to endure, but ifunfortunates will secure some respectable employment and go to workat it they will be surprised to find how glibly the moments willglide away. The Coroner will probably be ready for their carcases inabout four weeks, and it would be well not to bind themselves toservice for a longer period, lest he should find it necessary tosend for them and do their little business himself. A fair supply ofstreet-cadavers and water-corpses can usually be counted on, but itis absolutely necessary to have a certain proportion of suicides. 

. .. . John Reed, of Illinois, is a man who knows his rights, andknowing dares maintain. Having communicated to a young lady hisintention of conferring upon her the honour of his company at aFourth of July celebration, John was pained and disgusted to hearthe proposal quietly declined. John went thoughtfully away to aneighbour who keeps a double-shotgun. This he secured, and againsought the object of his hopeless preference. The object was seatedat the dinner-table contending with her lobscouse, and did not feelhis presence near. Mr. Reed poised and sighted his artillery, andwith the very natural remark, "I think this fetcher, " he explodedthe twin charges. A moment later might have been seen the rarespectacle of a headless young lady sitting bolt upright at table, spooning a wad of hash into the top of her neck. The wall oppositepresented the appearance of having been bombarded with freshlivers and baptized with sausage-meat. 

No one in the vicinity slept any that night. They were busy gettingready for the Fourth: the gentlemen going about inviting the ladiesto attend the celebration, and the ladies hastily andunconditionally accepting. 

. .. . In answer to the ladies who are always bothering him for aphotograph, Mr. Grile hopes to satisfy all parties by the followingmeagre description of his charms. 

In person he is rather thin early in the morning, and a triflecorpulent after dinner; in complexion pale, with a suspicion of rubyabout the gills. He wears his hair brown, and parted crosswise ofhis remarkably fine head. His eyes are of various colours, butmostly bottle-green, with a glare in them reminding one of incipienthydrophobia-from which he really suffers. A permanent depression inthe bridge of his nose was inherited from a dying father what timethe son mildly petitioned for a division of the estate to which heand his seventeen brothers were about to become the heirs. The mouthis gentlemanly capacious, indicative of high breeding and feeding;the under jaw projects slightly, forming a beautiful naturalreservoir for the reception of beer and other liquids. The foreheadretreats rapidly whenever a creditor is met, or an offended readerespied coming toward the office. 

His legs are of unequal length, owing to his constant habit of usingone of them to kick people who may happen to present a fairer markthan the nearest dog. His hand is remarkably slender and white, andis usually inserted in another man's pocket. In dress he iswonderfully fastidious, preferring to wear nothing but what is givenhim. His gait is something between those of a mud-turtle and ajackass-rabbit, verging closely on to the latter at periods ofsupposed personal danger, as before intimated. 

In conversation he is animated and brilliant, some of his lies beingquite equal to those of Coleridge or Bolingbroke; but in repose heresembles nothing so much as a heap of old clothes. In conclusion, his respect for letter-writing ladies is so great that he would nottouch one of them with a ten-foot pole. 

. .. . Only one hundred and ten thousand pious pilgrims visited MountArarat in a body this year. The urbane and gentlemanly proprietorsof the Ark Tavern complain that their receipts have hardly beensufficient to pay for the late improvements in this snug retreat. These gentlemen continue to keep on hand their usual assortment ofchoice wines, liquors, and cigars. 

Opposite the Noah House, Shem Street, between Ham and Japhet. 

. .. . It is commonly supposed that President Lopez, of Paraguay, waskilled in battle; but after reading the following slander upon himand his mother, written some time since by a friend of ours, it isdifficult to believe he did not commit suicide:--

"The telegraph informs us that President Lopez, of Paraguay, hasagain murdered his mother for conspiring against his life. Thatsprightly, and active old lady has now been executed three thousandtimes for the same offence. She is now eighty-three years old, anderect as a telegraph pole. Time writes no wrinkles on her awfulbrow, and her teeth are as sound as on the day of her birth. Sherises every morning punctually at four o'clock and walks ten miles;then, after a light breakfast, enters her study and proceeds tohatch out a new conspiracy against her first born. About 2 P. M. Itis discovered, and she is publicly executed. A light toast and a cupof strong tea finish the day's business; she retires at seven andgoes to sleep with her mouth open. She has pursued this life withthe most unfaltering regularity for the last fifty years. It is onlyby this unswerving adherence to hygienic principles that she hasattained her present green old age. "

. .. . There is a person resident in Stockton Street whom we cannotregard with feelings other than those of lively disapproval. It isnot that the woman-for this person is a mature female--ever did usany harm, or is likely to; that is not our grievance. What weseriously object to and actively contemn-yea, bitterly denounce-isthe nose of her. So mighty a nose we have never beheld-so spacious, and open, and roomy a human snout the unaided imagination isimpotent to picture. It rises from her face like a rock from atroubled sea-grand, serene, majestic! It turns up at an angle thatfills the spectator with admiration, and impresses him with an awethat is speechless. 

But we have no space for a description of this eternal proboscis. Suffice it that its existence is a standing menace to society, athreat to civilization, and a danger to commerce. The woman who willharbour and cherish such an organ is no better than a pirate. We donot know who she is, and we have no desire to know. We only knowthat all the angels could not pull us past her house with a chaincable, without giving us one look at that astounding feature. It isthe one prominent landmark of the nineteenth century-the specialwonder of the age-the solitary marvel of a generation!

We would give anything to see her blow it. 

. .. . At the Coroner's inquest in the case of John Harvey there wasconsiderable difficulty in ascertaining the cause of death, but asone witness testified that the deceased was pounding fulminate ofmercury at the Powder Works just previously to his lamented demise, there is good reason to believe he was hoist into heaven with hisown petard. In fact, such fractions of him as have come to hand, upto date, seem to confirm this view. This evidence is ratherdisjointed and fragmentary, but it is sufficient to discourage thebrutal practice of pounding fulminate of mercury when our streetsand Sunday-schools are swarming with available Chinaman who seldomhit back. 

. .. . We find the following touching tale in all the newspapers. Itbelongs to that class of tales concerning which the mildest doubt ishateful blasphemy. 

"A little girl in Ithaca, just before she died, exclaimed: 'Papa, take hold of my hand and help me across. ' Her father had died twomonths before. Did she see him?"

There is not a doubt of it; but interested relatives have somewhatmisstated the little girl's exclamation, which was this:--

"Papa, take hold of my hand, and I will help you out of that. "

. .. . We get the most distressing accounts of the famine in Persia. It is said that cannibalism is as common among the starvinginhabitants as pork-eating in California. 

This is very sad; it shows either a very low state of Persianmorality or a conspicuous lack of Persian ingenuity. They ought tomanage it as the conscientious Indians do. In time of famine thesegentle creatures never disgrace themselves by feasting upon eachother: they permit their dogs to devour the dead, and then they eatthe dogs. 

. .. . An old lady was set upon by a fiend in human apparel, andremorselessly kissed in the presence of her daughter. 

This happened a few days since in Iowa, where the fiend now liesburied. Any man who is so dead to shame, and so callous of soulgenerally, as to force his unwelcome endearments upon a poor, defenceless old lady, while her beautiful young daughter standsweeping by, equally defenceless, deserves pretty much all the evilthat can be done to him. Splitting him like a fish is sodisgracefully inadequate a punishment, that the man who shouldadminister it might justly be regarded as an accomplice. 

. .. . From London we have intelligence of the stabbing to death of aman by mistake. His assassin mistook him for a person related tohimself, whose loss would be his own financial gain. Fancy the utterdejection of this stabber when he discovered the absurd blunder hehad committed! We believe a slip like that would justify a man inthrowing down the knife and discarding murder for ever; while twosuch errors would be ample excuse for him to go into some kind ofbusiness. 

. .. . A small but devout congregation were at worship. When it hadbecome a free exhibition, in which any brother could enact a part, aqueer-looking person got up and began a pious and learnedexhortation. He spake for some two hours, and was listened to withprofound attention, his discourse punctuated with holy groans andpious amens from an edified circle of the saintly. Tears fell as thegentle rains from heaven. Several souls were then and there snatchedas brands from the eternal burning, and started on their way toheaven rejoicing. At the end of the second hour, and as the inspiredstranger approached "eighty-seventhly, " some one became curious toknow who the teacher was, when lo! it turned out that he was anescaped lunatic from the Asylum. 

The curses of the elect were not loud but deep. They fumed withexceeding wrath, and slopped over with pious indignation at theswindle put upon them. The inspired, however, escaped, and wasafterwards captured in a cornfield. 

The funeral was unostentatious. 

. .. . We hear a great deal of sentiment with regard to the last solareclipse. Considerable ink has been consumed in setting forth theterrible and awe-inspiring features of the scene. As there will beno other good one this season, the following recipe for producingone artificially will be found useful:--Suspend a grindstone from thecentre of a room. Take a cheese of nearly the same size, and afterblacking one side of it, pass it slowly across the face of thegrindstone and observe the effect in a mirror placed opposite, onthe cheese side. The effect will be terrific, and may be heightenedby taking a rum punch just at the instant of contact. This plan isquite superior to that of nature, for with several cheeses graduatedin size, all known varieties of eclipse may be presented. In writingup the subsequent account, a great many interesting phenomena may beintroduced quite impossible to obtain either by this or any otherprocess. 

. .. . We have observed with considerable impatience that the authorsof Sunday School books do not seem to know anything; there is noreason why these pleasant volumes should not be made as effective asthey are deeply interesting. The trouble is in the method oftreating wicked children; instead of being destroyed by appallingcalamities, they should simply be made painfully ridiculous. 

For example, the little scoundrel who climbs up an apple-tree toplunder a bird's-nest, ought never to fall and break his neck. Heshould be permitted to garner his unholy harvest of eggs in hispocket, then lose his balance, catch the seat of his pantaloons on aknot-hole, and hang doubled up, with the smashed eggs trickling downhis jacket, and getting into his hair and eyes. Then the good littlegirls should be lugged in, to poke fun at him, and ask him if helikes 'em hard or soft. This would be a most impressive warning. 

The boy who neglects his prayers to go boating on a Sunday ought notto be drowned. He should be spilled out into the soft mud alongshore, and stuck fast where the Sunday School scholars could pelthim with slush, and their teacher have a fair fling at him with adead cat. 

The small female glutton who steals jam in the pantry ought not toget poisoned. She should get after a pot of warm glue, which shouldbe made to miraculously stiffen the moment she gets it into hermouth, and have to be gouged out of her with a chisel and hammer. 

Then there is the swearing party, who is struck by lightning-a veryshallow and unprofitable device. He should open his face to swear, dislocate his jaw, be unable to get closed up, and the rats shouldget in at night, make nests there, and breed. 

There are other suggestions that might be made, but these will givea fair idea of our method, the foundation of which is thesubstitution of potent ridicule for the current grave but imbecilerebuke. It may be gratifying to learn that we are embodying ourviews in a whole library of Sunday School literature, adapted to themeanest capacity, and therefore equally edifying to pupil, pastor, and parent. 

. .. . A young correspondent, who has lately read a great deal in theEnglish papers about "baby-farming, " wishes to know what that maybe. It is a new method of agriculture, in which the young of ourspecies are used for manure. 

The babies are collected each day and put into large vats containingequal parts of hydrobicarbonate of oxygenated sulphide, andoxygenated sulphide of hydrobicarbonate, where they are left to soakovernight. In the morning they are carefully macerated in a mortarand are then poured into shallow copper pans, where they remainuntil all the liquid portions have been evaporated by the sun. Theresiduum is then scraped out, and after the addition of a certainproportion of quicklime the whole is thrown away. Ordinary bone dustand charcoal are then used for manure, and the baby farmers seldomfail of getting a good crop of whatever they plant, provided theystick the seeds in right end up. 

It will be seen that the result depends more upon thehydrobicarbonate than upon the infants; there isn't much virtue inbabies. But then our correspondent should remember that there isnone at all in adults. 

. .. . A young woman writes to a contemporary, desiring to learn if itis true that kissing a dead man will cure the tooth-ache. It might;it sometimes makes a great difference whether you take your medicinehot or cold. But we would earnestly advise her to try kissing amultitude of live men before taking so peculiar a prescription. Itis our impression that corpses are absolutely worthless for kissingpurposes, and if one can find no better use for them, they might aswell be handed over to the needy and deserving worm. 

. .. . Mr. Knettle, deceased, became irritated, and fired three shotsfrom a revolver into the head of his coy sweetheart, while she wasmaking believe to run away from him. It has seldom been ourlot-except in the cases of a few isolated policemen-to record soperfectly satisfactory target practice. If that man had lived hewould have made his mark as well as hit it. He died by his own handat the beginning of a brilliant career, and although we cannot hopeto emulate his shooting, we may cherish the memory of his virtuesjust as if we could bring down our girl every time at ten paces. 

. .. . A pedagogue has been sentenced to the county gaol, for sixmonths, for whipping a boy in a brutal manner. The public heartilyapproves the sentence, and, quite naturally, we dissent. We knownothing whatever about this particular case, but upon generalprinciples we favour the extreme flagellation of incipient Man. Inour own case the benefit of the system is apparent; had not ourpious parent administered daily rebukes with such foreign bodies ashe could lay his hands on we might have grown up a Presbyteriandeacon. 

Look at us now!

. .. . A man who played a leading part in a late railroad accident hadhad his life insured for twenty thousand dollars. Unfortunately thepolicy expired just before he did, and he had neglected to renew it. This is a happy illustration of the folly of procrastination. Had hegot himself killed a few days sooner his widow would have beenprovided with the means of setting up housekeeping with another man. 

. .. . People ought not to pack cocked pistols about in the hippockets of their trousers; the custom is wholly indefensible. Suchis the opinion of the last man who leaned up against the counter ina Marysville drinking-saloon for a quiet chat with the barkeeper. 

The odd boot will be given to the poor. 

. .. . A man ninety-seven years of age has just died in the State ofNew York. The Sun says he bad conversed with both PresidentWashington and President Grant. 

If there were any further cause of death it is not stated. 

. .. . The letter following was written by the Rev. ReubenHankerlockew, a Persian Christian, in relation to the late famine inhis country. The Rev. Gentleman took a hopeful view of affairs. 

"Peace be with you-bless your eyes! Our country is now suffering thedirest of calamities, compared with which the punishment ofTarantulus" (we suppose our correspondent meant Tantalus) "was nice, and the agony of a dyspeptic ostrich in a junk shop is a conditionto be coveted. We are in the midst of plenty, but we can't getanything that seems to suit. The supply of old man is practicallyunlimited, but it is too tough to chew. The market stalls are fullof fresh girl, but the scarcity of salt renders the meat entirelyuseless for table purposes. Prime wife is cheap as dirt-and about asgood. There is a 'corner' in pickled baby, and nobody can 'fill. 'The same article on the hoof is all held by a ring of speculators atfigures which appal the man of moderate means. Of the various brandsof 'cemetery, ' that of Japan is most abundant, owing to the recentpestilence, but it is, fishy and rank. As for grain, or vegetablefilling of any kind, there is hone in Persia, except the small lot Ihave on hand, which will be disposed of in limited quantities forready money. But don't you foreigners bother about us-we shall getalong all right-until I have disposed of my cereals. Persia does notneed any foreign corn until after that. "

It is improbable that the Rev. Gentleman himself perished ofstarvation. 

. .. . We are filled with unspeakable gratification to record thedeath of that double girl who has been in everybody's mouth formonths. This shameless little double-ender, with two heads and onebody-two cherries on a single stem, as it were-has been for manymoons afflicting our simple soul with an itching desire that shemight die-the nasty pig! Two half-girls, joined squarely at thewaist, and without any legs, are not a pleasant type of the comingwoman. 

Had she lived, she would have been a bone of social, theological, and political contention, and we should never have heard the end-ofwhich she had two alike. If she had lived to marry, somemischief-making scoundrel would have procured the indictment of herhusband for bigamy. The preachers would have fought for her, and ifconverted separately, her Methodist end might have always beenthrashing her Episcopal end, or vice versƒ. When she came to serveon a jury, nobody could have decided if there ought to be elevenothers or only ten; and if she ever voted twice, the opposite partywould have had her up for repeating; and if only once, she wouldhave been read out of her own, for criminal apathy in the exerciseof the highest duty, etc. 

We bless God for taking her away, though what He can want with heris as difficult a problem as herself or Himself. She will have towear two golden crowns, thus entailing a double expense; she wont beable to fly any, and having no legs, she must be constantly watchedto keep her from rolling out of heaven. She will just have to lie ona soft cloud in some out-of-the-way corner, and eternally toot twotrumpets, without other exercise. If Gabriel is the sensible fellowwe think him, he wont wake her at the Resurrection. 

Look at this infant in any light you please, and it is evident thatshe was a dead failure and is yet. She did but one good thing, andthat was to teach the Siamese Twins how to die. After they shallhave taken the hint, we hope to have no more foolish experiments indouble folks born that way. Married couples are sufficientlyunpleasing. 

. .. . The head biblesharp of the New York Independent resigned hisposition, because the worldly proprietor would insist upon runningthe commercial column of that sheet in a secular manner, with an eyeto the goods that perish. The godly party wished him to ignore thefilthy lucre of this world, and lay up for himself treasures inheaven; but the sordid wretch would seize every covert opportunityto reach out his little muckrake after the gold of the gentile, tothe neglect of the things that appertain unto salvation. Thereforedid the conscientious driver of the piety-quill betake himself tosome new field. 

Will the editors of all similar sheets do likewise? or have theymore elastic consciences? For, behold, the muckrake is likewisevisible in all. 

. .. . Some of the Red Indians on the plains have discarded the songsof their fathers, and adopted certain of Dr. Watts's hymns, whichthey howl at their scalp-dances with much satisfaction. 

This is encouraging, certainly, but we dare not counsel the goodmissionaries to pack up their libraries and go home with theimpression that the noble red is thoroughly converted. There yetremains a work to do; he must be taught to mortify, instead ofpaint, his countenance, and induced to abandon the savage vice ofstealing for the Christian virtue of cheating. Likewise he must bemade to understand that although conjugal fidelity is highly com-mendable, all civilized nations are distinguished by a faithfuladherence to the opposite practice. 

. .. . Some raving maniac sends us a mass of stuff, which savoursstrongly of Walt Whitman, and which, probably for that reason, hecalls poetry. We have room for but a single bit of description, which we print as an illustration of the depth of literary depravitywhich may be attained by a "poet" in love:--

"Behold, thou art fair, my love: behold, thou art fair; thou hastdove's eyes within thy locks; thy hair is as a flock of goats thatappear from Mt. Gilead. Thy teeth are like a flock of sheep that areeven shorn, which came up from the washing; whereof every one beartwins, and none is barren among them. Thy lips are like a thread ofscarlet, and thy speech is comely; thy temples are like a piece ofpomegranate within thy locks. Thy neck is a tower of ivory; thineeyes like the fishpools of Heshbon, by the gate of Bath-rabbim; thynose is as the tower of Lebanon looking towards Damascus. "

Really, we think that will do for one instalment. What the mischiefthis "poet" means, with his goat's hair, sheep's teeth, and templeslike a piece of pomegranate, is quite beyond our mental reach. Wewould suggest that the ignorance of English grammar displayed in thephrase "every one bear twins, " is not atoned for by comparing hismistress's eyes to a duck pond, and her nose to the "tower ofLebanon looking towards Damascus. " The latter simile is suggestiveof unpleasant consequences to the inhabitants of that village incase the young lady should decide to blow that astounding feature!Our very young contributor will consider himself dismissed with suchignominy as is implied by our frantic indifference. 

. .. . A liberal reward will be paid by the writer for a suitablyvituperative epithet to be applied to the ordinary street preacher. The writer has himself laboured with so unflagging a zeal in thepursuit of the proper word, has expended the midnight oil with solavish and matchless a prodigality, has kneaded his brain with sucha singular forgetfulness of self-that he is gone clean daft. Andall, without adequate result! From the profoundest deep of histeeming invention he succeeded in evolving only such utterlyunsatisfying results as "rhinoceros, " "polypus, " and "sheeptick" inthe animal kingdom, and "rhubarb, " "snakeroot, " and "smartweed" inthe vegetable. The mineral world was ransacked, but gave forth only"old red sandstone, " which is tolerably severe, but had beenpreviously used to stigmatize a member of the Academy of Sciences. 

Now, what we wish to secure is a word that shall contain withinitself all the essential principles of downright abuse; the merepronouncing of which in the public street would subject one to theinconvenience of being rent asunder by an infuriatedpopulace-something so atrociously apt and so exquisitely diabolicalthat any person to whom it should be applied would go right away outand kick himself to death with a jackass. We covenant that theinventor shall be slain the moment we are in possession of hisinfernal secret, as life would of course be a miserable burden tohim ever afterward. 

With a calm reliance upon the fertile scurrility of our readers, weleave the matter in their hands, commending their souls to themerciful God who contrived them. 

. .. . We have received from a prominent clergyman a long letter ofearnest remonstrance against what he is pleased to term our"unprovoked attacks upon God's elect. "

We emphatically deny that we have ever made any unprovoked attacksupon them. "God's elect" are always irritating us. They areeternally lying in wait with some monstrous absurdity, to spring itupon us at the very moment when we are least prepared. They take afiendish delight in torturing us with tantrums, galling us withgammon, and pelting us with platitudes. Whenever we disguise ourselfin the seemly toggery of the godly, and enter meekly into thetabernacle, hoping to pass unobserved, the parson is sure to detectus and explode a bombful of bosh upon our devoted head. No sooner dowe pick up a religious weekly than we stumble and sprawl through abewildering succession of inanities, manufactured expressly toensnare our simple feet. If we take up a tract we are laid out coldby an apostolic knock straight from the clerical shoulder. We cannotwalk out of a pleasant Sunday without being keeled Over by a strokeof pious lightning flashed from the tempestuous eye of an iratechurchman at our secular attire. Should we cast our thoughtlessglance upon the demure Methodist Rachel we are paralysed by a scowlof disapprobation, which prostrates like the shock of a gymnotus;and any of our mild pleasantry at the expense of young Squaretoes iscut short by a Bible rebuke, shot out of his mouth like a rock froma catapult. 

Is it any wonder that we wax gently facetious in conversing of "theelect?"--that in our weak way we seek to get even? Now, goodclergyman, go thou to the devil, and leave us to our own devices; oran offended journalist shall skewer thee upon his spit, and roastthee in a blaze of righteous indignation. 

. .. . The New York Tribune, descanting upon the recent nationalmisfortune by which the writer's red right hand was quietly chewedby an envious bear, says it cannot commend the writer's example, buthopes "his next appearance in print may edify his readers on thedangers of such a practice. "

We had not hitherto deemed it necessary to raise a warning voice toa universe not much given to fooling with bears anyhow, but embracethis opportunity to declare ourself firmly and unalterably opposedto the whole business. We plant our ample feet squarely upon theplatform of non-intervention, so far as affects the social economyand individual idiosyncrasies of bears. But if the Tribune manexpects a homily upon the sin of feeding oneself in courses to wildanimals, he is informed that we waste no words upon the senselesswretch who is given to that species of iniquity. We regard him withineffable self-contempt. 

. .. . A young girl in Grass Valley having died, her father wrote someverses upon the occasion, in which she is made to discourse thus:--"Then do not detain me, for why should I stay When cherubs in heavencall me away? Earth has no pleasure, no joys that compare, With thejoys that await us in heaven so fair. "

As the little darling was only two years and a fraction of age it istolerably impossible to divine upon what authority she sought tothrow discredit upon the joys of earth: her observation having beenlimited to mother's milk and treacle toffy. But that's just the waywith professing Christians; they are always disparaging the delightswhich they are unfitted to enjoy. 

. .. . The Rev. Dr. Cunningham instructs his congregation that it isnot enough to give to the Church what they can spare, but to giveand keep giving until they feel it to be a burden and a sacrifice. These, brethren, are the inspired words of one who has a deep andabiding pecuniary interest in what he is talking about. Such a mancannot err, except by asking too little; and empires have risen andperished, islands have sprung from the sea, mountains have burnttheir bowels out, and rivers have run dry, since a man of God hascommitted this error. OBITUARY NOTICES. CHRISTIANS. 

. .. . It is with a feeling of professional regret that we record thedeath of Mr. Jacob Pigwidgeon. Deceased was one of our earliestpioneers, who came to this State long before he was needed. His ageis a matter of mere conjecture; probably he was less advanced inyears than Methuselah would have been had he practised a reasonabletemperance in eating and drinking. Mr. Pigwidgeon was a gentleman ofsincere but modest piety, profoundly respected by all who fanciedthemselves like him. Probably no man of his day exercised sopeculiar an influence upon society. Ever, foremost in every goodwork out of which there was anything to be made, an unstinteddispenser of every species of charity that paid a commission to thedisburser, Mr. Pigwidgeon was a model of generosity; but so modestlydid he lavish his favours that his left hand seldom knew what pockethis right hand was relieving. During the troubles of '56 he wasclosely identified with the Vigilance Committee, being entrusted bythat body with the important mission of going into Nevada andremaining there. In 1863 he was elected an honorary member of theSociety for the Prevention of Humanity to the Chinese, and there islittle doubt but he might have been anything, so active was theesteem with which he inspired those for whom it was desired that heshould vote. 

Originally born in Massachusetts, but for twenty-one years a nativeof California and partially bald, possessing a cosmopolitan naturethat loved an English shilling as well, in proportion to its value, as a Mexican dollar, the subject of our memoir was one whom it wasan honour to know, and whose close friendship was a luxury that onlythe affluent could afford. It shall even be the writer's proudestboast that he enjoyed it at less than half the usual rates. 

The circumstances attending his taking off were most mournful. Hehad been for some time very much depressed in spirits of one kindand another, and on last Wednesday morning was observed to befoaming at the mouth. No attention was paid to this; his familybelieving it to be a symptom of hydrophobia, with which he had beenafflicted from the cradle. Suddenly a dark-eyed stranger enteredthe house, took the patient's neck between his thumb and forefinger, threw the body across his shoulder, winked respectfully to thebereaved widow, and withdrew by way of the kitchen cellar. Farewell, pure soul! we shall meet again. 

. .. . We are reluctantly compelled to relate the untimely death ofMrs. Margaret Ann Picklefinch, which occurred about one o'clockyesterday morning. The circumstances attending the melancholy eventwere these:--

Just before the hour named, her husband, the well-known temperancelecturer, and less generally known temperance lecturee, came homefrom an adjourned meeting of the Cold-Water Legion, and retiredvery drunk. His estimable lady got up and pulled off his boots, asusual. He got into bed and she lay down beside him. She uttered amild preliminary oath of endearment and suddenly ceased speaking. Itmust have been about this time she died. About daylight he invitedher to get up and make a fire. Detecting no movement in her body heenforced family discipline. The peculiar hard sound of his wifestriking the floor first aroused his suspicions of the bereavementhe had sustained, and upon rising later in the day he found hisfirst fears realized; the lady had waived her claim to his furtherprotection. 

We extend to Mr. P. Our sincere sympathy in the greatest calamitythat can befall an unmarriageable man. The inconsolable survivorcalled at our office last evening, conversed feelingly some momentsabout the virtues of the dear departed, and left with the air of adog that has had his tail abbreviated and is forced to begin lifeanew. Truly the decrees of Providence appear sometimes absurd. 

. .. . Mr. Bildad Gorcas, whose death has cast a wet blanket of gloomover our community, was a man comparatively unknown, but his lifefurnishes an instructive lesson to fast livers. Mr. Gorcas never inhis life tasted ardent spirits, ate spiced meats, or sat up laterthan nine o'clock in the evening. He rose, summer and winter, at twoA. M. , and passed an hour and three quarters immersed in ice water. For the last twenty years he has walked fifteen miles daily beforebreakfast, and then gone without breakfast. During his waking hourshe was never a moment idle; when not hard at work he was trying tothink. Up to the time of his death, which occurred last Sunday, hehad never spoken to a doctor, never had occasion to curse a dentist, had a luxurious growth of variegated hair, and there was not awrinkle upon any part of his body. If he had not been cut off byfalling across a circular saw at the early age of thirty-two, thereis no telling how long he might have weathered it through. 

A life like his is so bright and shining an example that we arealmost sorry he died. 

. .. . During the week just rolled into eternity, our city has beenplunged into the deepest grief. He who doeth all things well, thoughto our weak human understanding His acts may sometimes seen tosavour of injustice, has seen fit to remove from amongst us onewhose genius and blameless life had endeared him to friend and foealike. 

In saying that Mr. Jowler was a dog of preeminent abilities andexceptional virtues, we but faintly echo the verdict of a bereavedUniverse. Endowed with a gigantic intellect and a warm heart, modestin his demeanour genial in his intercourse with friends andacquaintances, and forbearing towards strangers (with whom he evermaintained the most cordial relations, unmarred by the grossfamiliarity-too common among dogs of inferior breeds), inoffensivein his daily walk and conversation, the deceased was universallyrespected and his loss will be even more generally deplored. 

It would be a work of supererogation to give a r‚sum‚ of the publiccareer of one so well known-one whose name has become a householdword. In private life his character was equally estimable. He hadever a wag of encouragement for the young, the ill-favoured, thebelaboured, and the mangy. Though his gentle spirit has passed away, he has left with us the record of his virtues as a shining examplefor all puppies; and the writer is pleased to admit that so far asin him lay he has himself endeavoured to profit by it. PAGANS. 

. .. . Yo Hop is dead! He was last seen alive about three o'clockyesterday morning by a white labourer who was returning home afteran elongated orgie at a Barbary Coast inn, and at the time seemed tobe in undisputed possession of all his faculties; the remainder ofhis personal property having been transferred to the white laboureraforesaid. At the moment alluded to, Mr. Hop was in the act ofthrowing up his arms, as if to ward off some impending danger in thehands of the sole spectator. An instant later he experienced one ofthose sudden deaths which have made this city popularly famous andsurgically interesting. 

The lamented was forty years of age; how much longer he might havelived, in his own country, it is impossible to determine; but it isto be remarked that the climate of California is a very trying oneto people of his peculiar organization. The body was kindly taken incharge by a resident of the vicinity, and now lies in state in hisback yard, where it is being carefully prepared for burial by thoseskilful meathounds, Messrs. Lassirator, Mangler, and Chure, whosenames are a sufficient guarantee that the mournful rites will beattended to in a manner befitting the solemn occasion. 

We tender the bereaved widow our sincere sympathy at the regularrates. The cause of Mr. Hop's demise is unknown. It is unimportant. 

. .. . A dead Asian was recently found in a ditch in Nevada county. His head, like that of a toad, had a precious jewel imbedded in it, about the size of an ordinary watermelon, and a clear majority ofhis fingers, toes, and features had received Christian burial in thestomachs of several contiguous hogs with roving commissions. As heseemed unwilling to state who he was, or how he got his deserts, hewas tenderly replaced in his last ditch, and his discoverersproceeded leisurely for the coroner. Upon the arrival of that publicfunctionary some days later, a pile of nice clean bones wasdiscovered, with this touching epitaph inscribed with a lead pencilupon a segment of the skull:

"Yur lize wot cant be chawd of Chineece jaik; xekewted bi me fur aplitikle awfens, and et bi mi starven hogs, wich aint hed nuthinafore sence jaix boss stoal mi korn. BIL ROPER, and ov sich isKingdem cum. "

. .. . The following report of an autopsy is of peculiar interest tophysicians and Christians:--Case 81st. --Felo de se. Yow Kow, yellow, male, Chinese, aged 94; found dead on the street; addicted to opium. Autopsy-sixteen hours after death. Slobbering at the mouth; headcaved in; immense rigor mortis; eyes dilated and gouged out; abdomenlacerated; hemorrhage from left ear. Head. Water on the brain; scalpcongested, rather; when burst with a mallet interior of headresembled a war map. Thorax. Charge of buckshot in left lung;diaphragm suffused; heart wanting-finger marks in that vicinity;traces of hobnails outside. Abdomen. Lacerated as aforesaid; smallintestines cumbered with brick dust; slingshot in duodenum;boot-heel imbedded in pelvis; butcher's knife fixed rigidly in rightkidney. 

Remarks: Chinese immigration will ruin any country in the world. 

MUSINGS, PHILOSOPHICAL AND THEOLOGICAL. 

. .. . Seated in his den, in the chill gloom of a winter twilight, comforting his stomach with hoarded bits of cheese and broadbiscuits, Mr. Grile thinketh unto himself after this fashion ofthought:

I. To eat biscuits and cheese before dining is to confess that youdo not expect to dine. 

II. "Once bit, twice shy, " is a homely saying, but singularly true. A man who has been swindled will be very cautious the second time, and the third. The fourth time he may be swindled again more easilyand completely than before. 

III. A four-footed beast walks by lifting one foot at a time, but afour-horse team does not walk by lifting one horse at a time. Andyet you cannot readily explain why this is so. 

IV. If a jackass were to describe the Deity he would represent Himwith long ears and a tail. Man's ideal is the higher and truer one;he pictures Him as somewhat resembling a man. 

V. The bald head of a man is a very common spectacle. You have neverseen the bald head of a woman. 

VI. Baldheaded women are a very common spectacle. 

VII. Piety, like small-pox, comes by infection. Robinson Crusoe, however, caught it alone on his island. It is probable that he hadit in his blood. 

VIII. The doctrine of foreknowledge does not imply the truth offoreordination. Foreordination is a cause antedating an event. Foreknowledge is an effect, not of something that is going to occur, which would be absurd, but the effect of its being going to occur. 

IX. Those who cherish the opposite opinion may be very goodcitizens. 

X. Old shoes are easiest, because they have accommodated themselvesto the feet. Old friends are least intolerable because they haveadapted themselves to the inferior parts of our character. 

XI. Between old friends and old shoes there are other points ofresemblance. 

XII. Everybody professes to know that it would be difficult to finda needle in a haystack, but very few reflect that this is becausehaystacks seldom contain needles. 

XIII. A man with but one leg is a better man than a man with twolegs, for the reason that there is less of him. 

XIV. A man without any legs is better than a man with one leg; notbecause there is less of him, but because he cannot get about toenact so much wickedness. 

XV. When an ostrich is pursued he conceals his head in a bush; whena man is pursued he conceals his property. By instinct each knowshis enemy's design. 

XVI. There are two things that should be avoided; the deadly upastree and soda water. The latter will make you puffy and poddy. 

XVII. This list of things to be avoided is necessarily incomplete. 

XVIII. In calling a man a hog, it is the man who gets angry, but itis the hog who is insulted. Men are always taking up the quarrels ofothers. 

XIX. Give an American a newspaper and a pie and he will make himselfcomfortable anywhere. 

XX. The world of mind will be divided upon the question of baptismso long as there are two simple and effective methods of baptising, and they are equally disagreeable. 

XXI. They are not equally disagreeable, but each is disagreeableenough to attract disciples. 

XXII. The face of a pig is a more handsome face than the face of aman-in the pig's opinion. 

XXIII. A pig's opinion upon this question is as likely to be correctas is a man's opinion. 

XXIV. It is better not to take a wife than to take one belonging tosome other man: for if she has been a good wife to him, she hasadapted her nature to his, and will therefore be unsuited to yours. If she has not been a good wife to him she will not be to you. 

XXV. The most gifted people are not always the most favoured: a manwith twelve legs can derive no benefit from ten of them withoutcrawling like a centipede. 

XXVI. A woman and a cow are the two most beautiful creatures in theworld. For proof of the beauty of a cow, the reader is referred toan ox; for proof of the beauty of a woman, an ox is referred to thereader. 

XXVII. There is reason to believe that a baby is less comely than acalf, for the reason that all kine esteem the calf the more comelybeast, and there is one man who does not esteem the baby the morecomely beast. 

XXVII. To judge of the wisdom of an act by its result is a veryshallow plan. An action is wise or unwise the moment it is decidedupon. 

XXIX. If the wisdom of an action may not be determined by theresult, it is very difficult to determine it. 

XXX. It is impossible. 

XXXI. The moon always presents the same side to the earth becauseshe is heaviest on that side. The opposite side, however, is moreprivate and secluded. 

XXXII. Camels and Christians receive their burdens kneeling. 

XXXIII. It was never intended that men should be saints in heavenuntil they are dead and good for nothing else. On earth they aremostly

XXXIV. Fools. 

I, Grile, have arranged these primal truths in the order of theirimportance, in the hope that some patient investigator may amplifyand codify them into a coherent body of doctrine, and so establish anew religion. I would do it myself were it not that a very corpulentand most unexpected pudding is claiming my present attention. 

O, steaming enigma! O, savoury mountain of hidden mysteries! toolong neglected for too long a sermon. Engaging problem, let mereveal the secrets latent in thy breast, and unfold thine occultphilosophy! [Cutting into the pudding. ] Ah! here, and here aloneis-[Eating it]. LAUGHORISMS. 

. .. . When a favourite dog has an incurable pain, you "put him out ofhis misery" with a bullet or an axe. A favourite child similarlyafflicted is preserved as long as possible, in torment. I do not saythat this is not right; I claim only that it is not consistent. There arc two sorts of kindness; one for dogs, and another forchildren. A very dear friend, wallowing about in the red mud of abattle-field, once asked me for some of the dog sort. I suspect, ifno one had been looking, he would have got it. 

. .. . It is to be feared that to most men the sky is but a concavemirror, showing nothing behind, and in looking into which they seeonly their own distorted images, like the reflection of a face in aspoon. Hence it needs not surprise that they are not very devoutworshippers; it is a great wonder they do not openly scoff. 

. .. . The influence of climate upon civilization has been moreexhaustively treated than studied. Otherwise, we should know how itis that some countries that have so much climate have nocivilization. 

. .. . Whoso shall insist upon holding your attention while heexpounds to you things that you have always thriven without knowingresembles one who should go about with a hammer, cracking nuts uponother people's heads and eating the kernels himself. 

. .. . There are but two kinds of temporary insanity, and each has buta single symptom. The one was discovered by a coroner, the other bya lawyer. The one induces you to kill yourself when you are unwellof life; the other persuades you to kill somebody else when you arefatigued of seeing him about. 

. .. . People who honour their fathers and their mothers have thecomforting promise that their days shall be long in the land. Theyare not sufficiently numerous to make the life assurance companiesthink it worth their while to offer them special rates. 

. .. . There are people who dislike to die, for apparently no betterreason than that there are a few vices they have not had the time totry; but it must be confessed that the fewer there are of theseuntasted sweets, the more loth are they to leave them. 

. .. . Men ought to sin less in petty details, and more in the lump;that they might the more conveniently be brought to repentance whenthey are ready. They should imitate the touching solicitude of thelady for the burglar, whom she spares much trouble by keeping herjewels well together in a box. 

. .. . I once knew a man who made me a map of the opposite hemisphereof the moon. He was crazy. I knew another who taught me what countrylay upon the other side of the grave. He was a most acute thinker-ashe had need to be. 

. .. . Those who are horrified at Mr. Darwin's theory, may comfortthemselves with the assurance that, if we are descended from theape, we have not descended so far as to preclude all hope of return. 

. .. . There is more poison in aphorisms than in painted candy; but itis of a less seductive kind. 

. .. . If it were as easy to invent a credible falsehood as it is tobelieve one, we should have little else in print. The mechanicalconstruction of a falsehood is a matter of the gravest import. 

. .. . There is just as much true pleasure in walloping one's own wifeas in the sinful enjoyment of another man's right. Heaven gives toeach man a wife, and intends that he shall cleave to her alone. Tocleave is either to "split" or to "stick. " To cleave to your wife isto split her with a stick. 

. .. . A strong mind is more easily impressed than a weak one: youshall not as readily convince a fool that you are a philosopher, asa philosopher that you are a fool. 

. .. . In our intercourse with men, their national peculiarities andcustoms are entitled to consideration. In addressing the commonFrenchman take off your hat; in addressing the common Irishman makehim take off his. 

. .. . It is nearly always untrue to say of a man that he wishes toleave a great property behind him when he dies. Usually he wouldlike to take it along. 

. .. . Benevolence is as purely selfish as greed. No one would do abenevolent action if he knew it would entail remorse. 

. .. . If cleanliness is next to godliness, it is a matter ofunceasing wonder that, having gone to the extreme limit of theformer, so many people manage to stop short exactly at the line ofdemarcation. 

. .. . Most people have no more definite idea of liberty than that itconsists in being compelled by law to do as they like. 

. .. . Every man is at heart a brute, and the greatest injury you canput upon any one is to provoke him into displaying his nature. Nogentleman ever forgives the man who makes him let out his beast. 

. .. . The Psalmist never saw the seed of the righteous begging bread. In our day they sometimes request pennies for keeping thestreet-crossings in order. 

. .. . When two wholly irreconcilable propositions are presented tothe mind, the safest way is to thank Heaven that we are not like theunreasoning brutes, and believe both. 

. .. . If every malefactor in the church were known by his face itwould be necessary to prohibit the secular tongue from crying "stopthief. " Otherwise the church bells could not be heard of a pleasantSunday. 

. .. . Truth is more deceptive than falsehood, because it is commonlyemployed by those from whom we do not expect it, and so passes forwhat it is not. 

. .. . "If people only knew how foolish it is" to take their wine witha dash of prussic acid, it is probable that they would-prefer totake it with that addition. 

. .. . "A man's honour, " says a philosopher, "is the best protectionhe can have. " Then most men might find a heartless oppressor in thepredatory oyster. 

. .. . The canary gets his name from the dog, an animal whom he looksdown upon. We get a good many worse things than names from thosebeneath us; and they give us a bad name too. 

. .. . Faith is the best evidence in the world; it reconcilescontradictions and proves impossibilities. It is wonderfullydeveloped in the blind. 

. .. . He who undertakes an "Account of Idiots in All Ages" will findhimself committed to the task of compiling most known biographies. Some future publisher will affix a life of the compiler. 

. .. . Gratitude is regarded as a precious virtue, because tendered asa fair equivalent for any conceivable service. 

. .. . A bad marriage is like an electric machine: it makes you dance, but you can't let go. 

. .. . The symbol of Charity should be a circle. It usually endsexactly where it begins-at home. 

. .. . Most people redeem a promise as an angler takes in a trout; byfirst playing it with a good deal of line. 

. .. . It is a grave mistake to suppose defaulters have noconsciences. Some of them have been known, under favourablecircumstances, to restore as much as ten per cent. Of their plunder. 

. .. . There is nothing so progressive as grief, and nothing soinfectious as progress. I have seen an acre of cemetery infected bya single innovation in spelling cut upon a tombstone. 

. .. . It is wicked to cheat on Sunday. The law recognises this truth, and shuts up the shops. 

. .. . In the infancy of our language to be "foolish" signified to beaffectionate; to be "fond" was to be silly. We have altered thatnow: to be "foolish" is to be silly, to be "fond" is to beaffectionate. But that the change could ever have been made issignificant. 

. .. . If you meet a man on the narrow crossing of a muddy street, stand quite still. He will turn out and go round you, bowing hisapologies. It is courtesy to accept them. 

. .. . If every hypocrite in the United States were to break his legat noon to-day, the country might be successfully invaded at oneo'clock by the warlike hypocrites of Canada. 

. .. . To Dogmatism the Spirit of Inquiry is the same as the Spirit ofEvil; and to pictures of the latter it has appended a tail, torepresent the note of interrogation. 

. .. . We speak of the affections as originating in instinct. This isa miserable subterfuge to shift the obloquy from the judgment. 

. .. . What we call decency is custom; what we term indecency ismerely customary. 

. .. . The noblest pursuit of Man is the pursuit of Woman. 

. .. . "Immoral" is the solemn judgment of the stalled ox upon thesun-inspired lamb. "ITEMS" FROM THE PRESS OF INTERIOR CALIFORNIA. 

. .. . A little bit of romance has just transpired to relieve themonotony of our metropolitan life. Old Sam Choggins, whom the editorof this paper has so often publicly thrashed, has returned from MudSprings with a young wife. He is said to be very fond of her, andthe way he came to get her was this:

Some time ago we courted her, but finding she was "on the make, "threw her off, after shooting her brother and two cousins. She vowedrevenge, and promised to marry any man who would horsewhip us. ThisSam agreed to undertake, and she married him on that promise. 

We shall call on Sam to-morrow with our new shot-gun, and presentour congratulations in the usual form. --Hangtown "Gibbet. "

. .. . The purposeless old party with the boiled shirt, who has forsome days been loafing about the town peddling hymn-books at merelynominal prices (a clear proof that he stole them), has been disposedof in a cheap and satisfactory manner. His lode petered out aboutsix o'clock yesterday afternoon; our evening edition being delayeduntil that time, by request. The cause of his death, as nearly ascould be ascertained by a single physician-Dr. Duffer being toodrunk to attend-was Whisky Sam, who, it will be remembered, delivered a lecture some weeks ago entitled "Dan'l in the Lion'sDen; and How They'd aEt 'Im ef He'd Ever ben Ther"--in which hetriumphantly overthrew revealed religion. 

His course yesterday proves that he can act as well as talk. --DevilGully "Expositor. "

. .. . There was considerable excitement, in the street yesterday, owing to the arrival of Bust-Head Dave, formerly of this place, whocame over on the stage from Pudding Springs. He was met at the hotelby Sheriff Knogg, who leaves a large family, and whose loss will beuniversally deplored. Dave walked down the street to the bridge, andit reminded one of old times to see the people go away as he heavedin view. It was not through any fear of the man, but from theknowledge that he had made a threat (first published in this paper)to clean out the town. Before leaving the place Dave called at ouroffice to settle for a year's subscription (invariably in advance)and was informed, through a chink in the logs, that he might leavehis dust in the tin cup at the well. 

Dave is looking very much larger than at his last visit justprevious to the funeral of Judge Dawson. He left for Injun Hill atfive o'clock, amidst a good deal of shooting at rather long range, and there will be an election for Sheriff as soon as a stranger canbe found who will accept the honour. --Yankee Flat "Advertiser. "

. .. . It is to be hoped the people will all turn out to-morrow, according to advertisement in another column. The men deservehanging, no end, but at the same time they are human, and entitledto some respect; and we shall print the name of every adult male whodoes not grace the occasion with his presence. We make this threatsimply because there have been some indications of apathy; and anyman who will stay away when Bob Bolton and Sam Buxter are to behanged, is probably either an accomplice or a relation. OldBlanket-Mouth Dick was not the only blood relation these fellowshave in this vicinity; and the fate that befell him when they couldnot be found ought to be a warning to the rest. 

We hope to see a full attendance. The bar is just in rear of thegibbet, and will be run by a brother of ours. Gentlemen who shrinkfrom publicity will patronize that bar. --San Louis Jones "Gazette. "

. .. . A painful accident occurred in Frog Gulch yesterday which hascast a good deal of gloom over a hitherto joyous and whisky lovingcommunity. Dan Spigger-or as he was familiarly called, MurdererDan-got drunk at his usual hour yesterday, and as is his custom tookdown his gun, and started after the fellow who went home with hisgirl the night before. He found him at breakfast with his wife andthirteen children. After killing them he started out to return, butbeing weary, stumbled and broke his leg. Dr. Bill found him in thatcondition, and having no waggon at hand to convey him to town, shothim to put him out of his misery. 

Dan was dearly loved by all who knew him, and his loss is aDemocratic gain. He seldom disagreed with any but Democrats, andwould have materially reduced the vote of that party had he not beenso untimely cut off. --Jackass Gap "Bulletin. "

. .. . The dance-house at the corner of Moll Duncan Street andFish-trap Avenue has been broken up. Our friend, the editor of theJamboree, succeeded in getting his cock-eyed sister in there as abeer-slinger, and the hurdy-gurdy girls all swore they would notstand her society; and they got up and got. The light fantastic isnot tripped there any more, except when the Jamboree man sneaks inand dances a jig for his morning pizen. --Murderburg "Herald. "

. .. . The Superintendent of the Mag Davis Mine requests us to statethat the custom of pitching Chinamen and Injins down the shaft willhave to be stopped, as he has resumed work in the mine. The oldwell, back of Jo Bowman's, is just as good, and is more centrallylocated. --New Jerusalem "Courier. "

. .. . Three women while amusing themselves in Calaveras county metwith a serious accident. They were jumping across a hole eighthundred feet deep and ten wide. One of them couldn't quite make it, succeeding only in grasping a sage-bush on the opposite edge, whereshe hung suspended. Her companions, who had just stepped into anadjacent saloon, saw her peril, and as soon as they had finisheddrinking went to her assistance. Previously to liberating her, oneof them by way of a joke uprooted the bush. This exasperated theother, and she, threw her companion half-way across the shaft. Shethen attempted to cross over to the other side in two jumps. 

The affair has made considerable talk. --Red Head "Tribune. "

. .. . A family who for fifteen years have lived at the bottom of amine shaft in Siskiyou county, were all drowned by a rain-storm lastWednesday night. They had neglected their usual precaution ofputting an umbrella over the mouth of the shaft. The man-who hadalways been vacillating in politics-was taken out a stiffRadical. --Dog Valley "Howl. "

. .. . There is a fellow in town who claims to be the man thatmurdered Sheriff White some months ago. We consider him an impostor, seeking admission into society above his level, and hope people willstop inviting him to their houses. --Nigger Hill "Patriot. "

. .. . A stranger wearing a stovepipe hat arrived in town yesterday, putting up at the Nugget House. The boys are having a good time withthat hat this morning, and the funeral will take place at twoo'clock. --Spanish Camp "Flag. "

. .. . The scoundrel who tipped over our office last month will behung to-morrow, and no paper will be issued next day. --Sierra"Fire-cracker. "

. .. . The old grey-headed party who lost his life last Friday at thejewelled hands of our wife, deserves more than a passing notice atours. He came to this city last summer, and started a weeklyMethodist prayer meeting, but being warned by the Police, who wasformerly a Presbyterian, gave up the swindle. He afterward undertookto introduce Bibles and hymn-books, and, it is said, on oneoccasion attempted to preach. This was a little more than anoutraged community could be expected to endure, and at oursuggestion he was tarred and feathered. 

For a time this treatment seemed to work a reform, but the heart ofa Methodist is, above all things, deceitful and desperately wicked, and he was soon after caught in the very act of presenting aspelling-book to old Ben Spoffer's youngest daughter, Ragged Moll, since hung. The Vigilance Committee pro tem. Waited upon him, whenhe was decently shot and left for dead, as was recorded in thispaper, with an obituary notice for which we have never received acent. Last Friday, however, he was discovered sneaking into thepotato patch connected with this paper, and our wife, God bless her, got an axe and finished him then and there. 

His name was John Bucknor, and it is reported (we do not know withhow much truth) that at one time there was an improper intimacybetween him and the lady who despatched him. If so, we pitySal. --Coyote "Trapper. "

. .. . Our readers may have noticed in yesterday's issue an editorialarticle in which we charged Judge Black with having murdered hisfather, beaten his wife, and stolen seven mules from Jo Gorman. Thefacts are substantially true, though somewhat different from what westated. The killing was done by a Dutchman named Moriarty, and thebruises we happened to see on the face of the Judge's wife werecaused by a fall-she being, doubtless, drunk at the time. The muleshad only strayed into the mountains, and have returned all right. 

We consider the Judge's anger at so trifling an error veryridiculous and insulting, and shall shoot him the first time hecomes to town. An Independent Press is not to be muzzled by anyabsurd old buffer with a crooked nose, and a sister who isconsiderably more mother than wife. Not as long as we have our usualsuccess in thinning out the judiciary with buck shot. --Lone Tree"Sockdolager. "

. .. . Yesterday, as Job Wheeler was returning from a clean-up at theButtermilk Flume, he stopped at Hell Tunnel to have a chat with theboys. John Tooley took a fancy to Job's watch, and asked for it. Being refused, he slipped away, and going to Job's shanty, killedhis three half-breed children and a valuable pig. This is the thirdtime John has played some scurvy trick, and it is about time theSuperintendent discharged him. There is entirely too much of thispractical joking amongst the boys, and it will lead to troubleyet. --Nugget Hill "Pickaxe of Freedom. "

. .. . The stranger from Frisco with the claw-hammer coat, who put upat the Gag House last Thursday, and was looking for a chance toinvest, was robbed the other night of three hundred ounces of cleandust. We know who did it, but don't be frightened, John Lowry; we'llnever tell, though we are awful hard up, owing to our subscribersgoing back on us. --Choketown "Rocker. "

. .. . Old Mother Gooly, who works a ranch on shares near Whiskyville, was married last Sunday to the new Episcopalian preacher fromDogburg. It seems that he laboured more faithfully to convert hersoul than to save the crop, and the bride protested against hismisdirected industry, with a crowbar. The citizens are very muchgrieved to lose one whose abilities they never fairly appreciateduntil his brain was scraped off the iron and weighed. It was foundto be considerably heavier than the average. 

But the verdict of the people is unanimously given. He ought not tohave fooled with Mother Gooly's immortal part, to the neglect of thewheat crop. That kind of thing is not popular at Whiskyville. It isnot business. --"Bullwhacker's Own. "

. .. . The railroad from this city north-west will be commenced assoon as the citizens get tired of killing the Chinamen brought up todo the work, which will probably be within three or four weeks. Thecarcases are accumulating about town and begin to becomeunpleasant. --Gravel Hill "Thunderbolt. "

. .. . The man who was shot last week at the Gulch will be buried nextThursday. He is not yet dead, but his physician wishes to visit amother-in-law at Lard Springs, and is therefore very anxious to getthe case off his hands. The undertaker describes the patient as "thelongest cuss in that section. "--Santa Peggie "Times. "

. .. . There is some dispute about land titles at Little Bilk Bar. About half a dozen cases were temporarily decided on Wednesday, butit is supposed the widows will renew the litigation. The only properway to prevent these vexatious lawsuits is to hang the Judge of theCounty Court. --Cow-County "Outcropper. "

POESY. 

Ye Idyll of Ye Hippopopotamus. 

 With a Methodist hymn in his musical throat, The Sun was emitting his ultimate note; His quivering larynx enwrinkled the sea Like an Ichthyosaurian blowing his tea; When sweetly and pensively rattled and rang This plaint which an Hippopopotamus sang:

 "O, Camomile, Calabash, Cartilage-pie, Spread for my spirit a peppermint fry; Crown me with doughnuts, and drape me with cheese, Settle my soul with a codliver sneeze. Lo, how I stand on my head and repine-- Lollipop Lumpkin can never be mine!"

 Down sank the Sun with a kick and a plunge, Up from the wave rose the head of a Sponge; Ropes in his ringlets, eggs in his eyes, Tip-tilted nose in a way to surprise. These the conundrums he flung to the breeze, The answers that Echo returned to him these:

 "Cobblestone, Cobblestone, why do you sigh-- Why do you turn on the tears?"

 "My mother is crazy on strawberry jam, And my father has petrified ears. "

 "Liverwort, Liverwort, why do you droop-- Why do you snuffle and scowl?"

 "My brother has cockle-burs into his eyes, And my sister has married an owl. "

 "Simia, Simia, why do you laugh-- Why do you cackle and quake?"

 "My son has a pollywog stuck in his throat, And my daughter has bitten a snake. "

 Slow sank the head of the Sponge out of sight, Soaken with sea-water-then it was night. The Moon had now risen for dinner to dress, When sweetly the Pachyderm sang from his nest; He sang through a pestle of silvery shape, Encrusted with custard-empurpled with crape; And this was the burden he bore on his lips, And blew to the listening Sturgeon that sips From the fountain of opium under the lobes Of the mountain whose summit in buffalo robes The winter envelops, as Venus adorns An elephant's trunk with a chaplet of thorns:

 "Chasing mastodons through marshes upon stilts of light ratan, Hunting spiders with a shotgun and mosquitoes with an axe, Plucking peanuts ready roasted from the branches of the oak, Waking echoes in the forest with our hymns of blessed bosh, We roamed-my love and I. By the margin of the fountain spouting thick with clabbered milk, Under spreading boughs of bass-wood all alive with cooing toads, Loafing listlessly on bowlders of octagonal design, Standing gracefully inverted with our toes together knit, We loved-my love and I. " Hippopopotamus comforts his heart Biting half-moons out of strawberry tart. Epitaph on George Francis Train. (Inscribed on a Pork-barrel. ) Beneath this casket rots unknown A Thing that merits not a stone, Save that by passing urchin cast; Whose fame and virtues we express By transient urn of emptiness, With apt inscription (to its past Relating-and to his): "Prime Mess. " No honour had this infidel, That doth not appertain, as well, To altered caitiff on the drop; No wit that would not likewise pass For wisdom in the famished ass Who breaks his neck a weed to crop, When tethered in the luscious grass. And now, thank God, his hateful name Shall never rescued be from shame, Though seas of venal ink be shed; No sophistry shall reconcile With sympathy for Erin's Isle, Or sorrow for her patriot dead, The weeping of this crocodile. Life's incongruity is past, And dirt to dirt is seen at last, The worm of worm afoul doth fall. The sexton tolls his solemn bell For scoundrel dead and gone to-well, It matters not, it can't recall This convict from his final cell. Jerusalem, Old and New. Didymus Dunkleton Doty Don John Is a parson of high degree; He holds forth of Sundays to marvelling crowds Who wonder how vice can still be When smitten so stoutly by Didymus Don-- Disciple of Calvin is he. But sinners still laugh at his talk of the New Jerusalem-ha-ha, te-he! And biting their thumbs at the doughty Don-John-- This parson of high degree-- They think of the streets of a village they know, Where horses still sink to the knee, Contrasting its muck with the pavement of gold That's laid in the other citee. They think of the sign that still swings, uneffaced By winds from the salt, salt sea, Which tells where he trafficked in tipple, of yore-- Don Dunkleton Johnny, D. D. Didymus Dunkleton Doty Don John Still plays on his fiddle--D. D. , His lambkins still bleat in full psalmody sweet, And the devil still pitches the key. Communing with Nature. One evening I sat on a heavenward hill, The winds were asleep and all nature was still, Wee children came round me to play at my knee, As my mind floated rudderless over the sea. I put out one hand to caress them, but held With the other my nose, for these cherubim smelled. I cast a few glances upon the old sun; He was red in the face from the race he had run, But he seemed to be doing, for aught I could see, Quite well without any assistance from me. And so I directed my wandering eye Around to the opposite side of the sky, And the rapture that ever with ecstasy thrills Through the heart as the moon rises bright from the hills, Would in this case have been most exceedingly rare, Except for the fact that the moon was not there. But the stars looked right lovingly down in the sea, And, by Jupiter, Venus was winking at me! The gas in the city was flaring up bright, Montgomery Street was resplendent with light; But I did not exactly appear to advance A sentiment proper to that circumstance. So it only remains to explain to the town That a rainstorm came up before I could come down. As the boots I had on were uncommonly thin My fancy leaked out as the water leaked in. Though dampened my ardour, though slackened my strain, I'll "strike the wild lyre" who sings the sweet rain! Conservatism and Progress. Old Zephyr, dawdling in the West, Looked down upon the sea, Which slept unfretted at his feet, And balanced on its breast a fleet That seemed almost to be Suspended in the middle air, As if a magnet held it there, Eternally at rest. Then, one by one, the ships released Their folded sails, and strove Against the empty calm to press North, South, or West, or East, In vain; the subtle nothingness Was impotent to move. Ten Zephyr laughed aloud to see:-- "No vessel moves except by me, And, heigh-ho! I shall sleep. " But lo! from out the troubled North A tempest strode impatient forth, And trampled white the deep; The sloping ships flew glad away, Laving their heated sides in spray. The West then turned him red with wrath, And to the North he shouted: "Hold there! How dare you cross my path, As now you are about it?" The North replied with laboured breath-- His speed no moment slowing:-- "My friend, you'll never have a path, Unless you take to blowing. " Inter Arma Silent Leges. (An Election Incident. ) About the polls the freedmen drew, To vote the freemen down; And merrily their caps up-flew As Grant rode through the town. From votes to staves they next did turn, And beat the freemen down; Full bravely did their valour burn As Grant rode through the town. Then staves for muskets they forsook, And shot the freemen down; Right royally their banners shook As Grant rode through the town. Hail, final triumph of our cause! Hail, chief of mute renown! Grim Magistrate of Silent Laws, A-riding freedom down! Quintessence. 

"To produce these spicy paragraphs, which have been unsuccessfullyimitated by every newspaper in the State, requires the combinedefforts of five able-bodied persons associated on the editorialstaff of this journal. "--New York Herald. 

Sir Muscle speaks, and nations bend the ear:

 "Hark ye these Notes-our wit quintuple hear; Five able-bodied editors combine Their strength prodigious in each laboured line!" O wondrous vintner! hopeless seemed the task To bung these drainings in a single cask; The riddle's read-five leathern skins contain The working juice, and scarcely feel the strain. Saviours of Rome! will wonders never cease? A ballad cackled by five tuneful geese! Upon one Rosinante five stout knights Ride fiercely into visionary fights! A cap and bells five sturdy fools adorn, Five porkers battle for a grain of corn, Five donkeys squeeze into a narrow stall, Five tumble-bugs propel a single ball! Resurgam. Dawns dread and red the fateful morn-- Lo, Resurrection's Day is born! The striding sea no longer strides, No longer knows the trick of tides; The land is breathless, winds relent, All nature waits the dread event. From wassail rising rather late, Awarding Jove arrives in state; O'er yawning graves looks many a league, Then yawns himself from sheer fatigue. Lifting its finger to the sky, A marble shaft arrests his eye-- This epitaph, in pompous pride, Engraven on its polished side: "Perfection of Creation's plan, Here resteth Universal Man, Who virtues, segregated wide, Collated, classed, and codified, Reduced to practice, taught, explained, And strict morality maintained. Anticipating death, his pelf He lavished on this monolith; Because he leaves nor kin nor kith He rears this tribute to himself, That Virtue's fame may never cease. Hic jacet-let him rest in peace!" With sober eye Jove scanned the shaft, Then turned away and lightly laughed "Poor Man! since I have careless been In keeping books to note thy sin, And thou hast left upon the earth This faithful record of thy worth, Thy final prayer shall now be heard: Of life I'll not renew thy lease, But take thee at thy carven word, And let thee rest in solemn peace!"

THE END. 

"For my own part, I must confess to bear a very singular respect tothis animal, by whom I take human nature to be most admirably heldforth in all its qualities as well as operations; and, therefore, whatever in my small reading occurs concerning this, our fellowcreature, I do never fail to set it down by way of commonplace; andwhen I have occasion to write upon human reason, politics, eloquenceor knowledge, I lay my memorandums before me, and insert them with awonderful facility of application. "--SWIFT.