round mark, and put some dots inside of it, and a great big white spot in the middle of 'em.

66

Now," says he, "the sun is ninety-five millions of miles "Stop," says I; "how do you

from the yearth, and

know that? Who's been thar to measure it? What surveyor ever drug his chain over that route, I'd like to know? "Taint so; and it's a whoppin' big humbug," says I. Says he, "It's universally believed by eddycated people, and the scientificers have pruv'd it." Says I, "They don't know nothin' about it; not a bit more nor I do; and they've never been any cluster to the sun than I hev. It's agin nater, sense, and Scripter to say that the sun don't rise and set, for thar's a tex' which maybe you've seed if you ever read the Bible, which I can't scarcely believe you ever did, that says, "from the risin' of the sun to the goin' down thereof." And see here, young man, if you can't teach the children something better than sich fool talk and infidel doctrine, you might as well look out for another settlement where they haint got no churches, and where they never read the Bible. He said he would n't quarrel with me, as different men held different views, and he wanted to do what was right, if he knew it.

He asked me to stay awhile and hear the scholars recite, SO I took a cheer, and sot down, and I heard and seed a good deal that I did n't like, by no manner of means. I found that he was tryin' to larn Nancy things entirely out of the line of eddycation; and, as I think, highly unproper. Fust, I heerd one class say their lesson. They was a-spellin', and, I thought, spelled quite exceedingly. Then come Nancy's turn to say her lesson. She said it very spry, but I was shockt, and determined she should leave that school.

I have heerd that grammar was an uncommon fine study, but I don't want no more grammar about my house. The lesson that Nancy said was nothin' but the foolishest kind of talk, the ridicles luv talk you ever seed. She got up, and the fust word she said was, "I love!" I look right

at her hard for doin' so unproper, but she went right on and said, "Thou lovest, he loves;" and I reckon you never heerd sich a riggymyrole in your life,-love, love, love, and nothing but love. She said one time, "I did love." Says I, "Who did you love?" Then the scholars laughed, but I wasn't to be put off, and I says, "Who did you love, Nancy? I want to know; who did you love?" The schoolmaster, Mr. McQuillister, interfered, and said he would explain when Nancy finished her lesson.

This sorter pacified me, and Nancy went on with her awful love talk. It got wuss and wuss every minute. Bimeby she said, "I might, could, would, or should love." I stopped her, and said, I reckoned I would see about that, and told her to walk out of that house. The school-master tried to interfere, but I would n't let him say a word. He said I was a fool, and I knockt him down and made him holler in short order. I talked the straight thing to him; I told him I'd show him how he'd larn my darter grammar.

I got the nabers together, and we sent Mr. McQuillister off in a hurry, and I reckon thar'l be no more grammar teachin' in these parts soon. If you know of any rather oldish man in your reegin that don't teach grammar, we would be glad if you would send him up. But in the future we'll be keerful how we employ men. Young school-masters won't do, especially if they teaches grammar. It's a bad thing for morils.

CLXXXVII. THE LOUD CALL.

THERE lived a parson, as we're told,
But when or where we know not,
Who oft his nodding flock would scold,
Threat'ning that they to heaven should go not,
But down to hell be hurled

If they would not abjure the world,
And count as dross its filthy mammon, gold.

It chanced at length, this goodly wight,
Who stoutly fought the Christian fight,

Elsewhere received a louder call;

What though the stipend was a trifle more?
To one who placed on wealth so little store,
This had no weight, you know, at all!
'Twas not the cash; oh, no;

But 't

was "the Lord commanded;
And though 't was hard to go away,
Should he refuse the Lord t' obey,
And be a faithless servant branded?
No, sure; so he must go.

The parting Sabbath now arrived,
And all his simple flock contrived
To hear their priest's farewell.
He plied them long in righteous strain,
Bade them from darling sins refrain,

And in sweet concord dwell;

To hate the world, in holy ways be bold,
And shun the soul's seducer, glittering gold.

The service o'er,
Before the door

The parish gentry gathered 'round.
Smiling, the good man came among them,
Seized on their offered hands, and wrung them.
"A saint on earth!" the grannies cried,
Then rolled their eye-balls up, and sighed,

And dropped their farewell curtsies to the ground.
Behind the rest,

To bid the priest good-bye,

In nature's sooty jacket drest,

Old Cæsar came-a wag, and mighty sly.

Bowing, the stick of ebony began

A confab with the gold-despising man:
"Ah, how good massa parson do?

I hope he find him berry well."
Well, Cæsar, well; and how do you?"
"Ah, massa, Cæsar hardly tell;

Dis good long twenty year

Wid you he worship here,

And now he sorry from your flock you go."
"Well, honest Cæsar, it must e'en be so;

I'm sorry, too,

That I am forced away;

But, then, you know, 't would never do,
The Lord's loud call for me to disobey.

"Who, massa, who, you say?
De Lord call you away?

Massa, how many pound a year

Do people pay for preaching here?"

"Two hundred."

“Why, Cæsar, yes; I think they offer four.”

'Ah, massa, maybe 'tis de Lord who call,

But, don't you think more loud you let him bawl,—
Aye, call and call till all be blue,

'Fore you come back from four to two?

De Lord he hollo till he dumb

Fore massa parson ever come."

CLXXXVIII.-FASHIONABLE PIANO MUSIC.

That woman

I DON'T like your chopped music any way. (she had more sense in her little finger than forty medical societies), Florence Nightingale, says that the music you pour out is good for sick folks, and the music you pound out is n't. Not that exactly, but something like it. I have been to hear some music-pounding. It was a young woman, with as many white muslin flounces round her as the planet Saturn had rings, that did it. She gave the music-stool a twirl or two, and fluffed down on to it like a whirl of soap-suds in a hand-basin. Then she pushed up her cuffs as if she was going to fight for the champion's belt. Then she worked her wrists and her hands, to limber 'em, I suppose, and spread out her fingers till they looked as if they would pretty

much cover the key-board, from the growling end to the little squeaky one. Then those two hands of hers made a jump at the keys as if they were a couple of tigers coming down on a flock of black and white sheep, and the piano gave a great howl as if its tail had been trod on. Dead stop,- -so still you could hear your hair growing. Then another jump, and another howl, as if the piano had two tails and you had trod on both of them at once, and then a grand clatter and scramble and string of jumps, up and down, back and forward, one hand over the other, like a stampede of rats and mice more than like any thing I call music. I like to hear a woman sing, and I like to hear a fiddle sing, but those noises they hammer out of those wood and ivory anvils-do n't talk to me, I know the difference between a bull-frog and a wood-thrush.

-Oliver Wendell Holmes.

CLXXXIX.-THE GHOST.

'Tis about twenty years since Abel Law,

A short, round-favored, merry

Old soldier of the Revolutionary

War,

Was wedded to

A most abominable shrew.

The temper, sir, of Shakespeare's Catharine

Could no more be compared with hers,

Than mine

With Lucifer's.

Her eyes were like a weasel's; she had a harsh

Face, like a cranberry marsh,

All spread

With spots of white and red;

Hair of the color of a wisp of straw,
And a disposition like a cross-cut saw.
The appellation of this lovely dame
Was Nancy; don't forget the name.