"O, don't mind it, don't mind it; the fault was my own, no doubt,-though I did think it clear enough for " Clear! Why, you stated it as "Don't say a word. clear as the sun to anybody but an abject idiot, but it's that confounded cocktail that has played the mischief." "No, now don't say that. I'll begin it all over again, and-" "Don't now, for goodness' sake, don't do anything of the kind, because I tell you my head is in such a condition that I don't believe I could understand the most trifling, question a man could ask me." I'll put it so plain this "Now, don't you be afraid. time that you can't help but get the hang of it. We will begin at the very beginning." [Leaning far across the table, with determined impressiveness wrought upon his every feature, and fingers prepared to keep tally of each point as enumerated; and I, leaning forward with pain. ful interest, resolved to comprehend or perish.] "You know the vein, the ledge, the thing that contains the metal, whereby it constitutes the medium between all other forces, whether of present or remote agencies, so brought to bear in favor of the former against the latter, or the latter against the former, or all, or both, or compromising as possible the relative differences existing within the radius whence culminate the several degrees of similarity to which—" I said: "Q, blame my wooden head, it ain't any use! -it ain't any use to try,-I can't understand anything The plainer you get it the more I can't get the hang of it." I heard a suspicious noise behind me, and turned in time to see Hingston dodging behind a newspaper, and qnaking with a gentle ecstasy of laughter. I looked at Ward again, and he had thrown off his dread solemnity and was laughing also. Then I saw that I had been sold, that I had been made the victim of a swindle in the way of a string of plausibly worded sentences that didn't mean anything under the sun. Artemus Ward was one of the best fellows in the world, and one of the most companionable. It has been said that he was not fluent in conversation, but, with the above experience in my mind, I differ. S. C. Clemens. OVER THE HILL TO THE POOR-HOUSE. Over the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way-1, a woman of seventy, and only a trifle gray I, who am smart an' chipper, for all the years I've told, Over the hill to the poor-house-I can't make it quite clear! Over the hill to the poor-house-it seems so horri? queer! Many a step I've taken a-toilin' to and fro, But this is a sort of journey I never thought to go. What is the use of heapin' on me a pauper's shame? I am willin' and anxious an' ready any day, Once I was young and han'some--I was upon my soul- And I can't remember, in them days, of hearin' people say, 'Taint no use of boastin', or talkin' over free, And when to John I was married, sure he was good and smart And so we worked together and life was hard but gay, So we worked for the child'r'n, and raised 'em every one; Worked for 'em summer and winter, just as we ought to 've done; [demn, Only perhaps we humored 'em, which some good folks con But every couple's child'rn's a heap the best to them. Strange how much we think of our blessed little ones! I'd have died for my daughters, I'd have died for my sons; And God he made that rule of love; but when we're old and gray, I ve noticed it sometimes somehow fails to work the other way. Strange, another thing: when our boys an' girls was grown, And when, exceptin' Charley, they'd left us there alone; When John he nearer an' nearer come, an' dearer seemed to be, The Lord of Hosts he come one day an' took him away from me. Still I was bound to struggle, an' never to cringe or fall— Fill at last he went a courtin', and brought a wife from town. She was somewhat dressy, an' hadn't a pleasant smile- She had an edication, an' that was good for her; So 'twas only a few days before the thing was done- But I have never seen a house that was big enough for two. An' I never could speak to suit her, never could please her eye, I went to live with Susan, but Susan's house was small, Twas easy to discover that there wasn't room for me. An' then I went to Thomas, the oldest son I've got, An' then I wrote to Rebecca,-my girl who lives out West, And to Isaac, not far from hier-some twenty miles at best; And one of 'em said 'twas too warm there, for any one so old, And t'other had an opinion the climate was too cold. So they have shirked and slighted me, an' shifted me about— Over the hill to the poor-house-my child'rn dear, good-bye! Will. M. Carleton. THE MOTHER AND HER CHILD. BESIDE her mother, sat a darling child, Wasted by sickness, from whose cheek the bloom And as its pale beams trembled in the room,* "Mother, dear mother, lift my weary head, And lay it gently on your own dear breast; Where spirits dwell; and like the golden west "Dee, mother, that bright star is almost gone! The mother's heart was lifted up in prayer, Like that of some sweet birdling, soft and clear; Then, as the song poured forth, the warbled theme She stopped, her head drooped low; the trembling strain Was softly lingering on the hallowed name The note seemed fluttering yet upon her tongue! But she was dead-her heart had broken with her song! TRIUMPH OF FAITH. COME, now, my incredulous friends, and follow me to tne bed of the dying believer. Would you see in what peace a Christian can die? Watch the last gleams of thought which stream from his dying eyes. Do you see anything like apprehension? The world, it is true, begins to shut in. The shadows of evening collect around his senses. A dark mist thickens and rests upon the objects which have hitherto engaged his observation. The countenances of his friends become more and more indistinct. The sweet expressions of love and friendship are no longer intelligible. His car wakes no more at the well-known voice of his children; and the soothing accents of tender affection die away, unheard, upon his decaying senses. To him the spectacle of human life is drawing to its close; and the curtain is descending which shuts out this earth, its actors, and its scenes. He is no longer interested in all that is done under the sun. Oh! that I could now open to you the recesses of his soul; that I could reveal to you the light which darts into the chambers of his understanding! He approaches The imag the world which he has so long seen in faith. |