Of course there could n't be no mistake When he talked of long-winded prayin', For Peters and Johnson they sot and scowled At every word he was sayin'.

And the minister he went on to say,
"There's various kinds o' cheatin';
And religion's as good for every day
As it is to bring to meetin'.

I don't think much of a man that gives
The Lord "Amens" at my preachin',
And spends his time the followin' week
In cheatin' and overreachin'."

I guess that dose was bitter enough
For a man like Jones to swaller;
But I noticed he did n't open his mouth,
Not once, after that last holler.
"Hurrah," says I, for the minister,
Of course I said it quiet,

"Give us some more of such plain talk;
It's very refreshing diet."

The minister hit 'em every time;

And when he spoke of fashion,

And a riggin' out in bows and things,

As woman's rulin' passion,

And a-comin' to church to see the styles,

I could n't help a-winkin'

And a-nudgin' my wife, says I, "That's you," And I guess it sot her to thinkin'.

Says I to myself, "That sermon's pat;

But man is a queer creation;

And I'm much afraid that most of the folks

Didn't make the application.

Now, if he had said a word about

My personal mode of sinnin',

I'd have gone to work to right myself,

And not sot there a-grinnin'."

Just then the minister says; says he,

"And now I've come to the fellers

Who've lost this shower by usin' their friends
As sort o' moral umbrellas,

Go home," says he, "and find your own faults,
Instead of huntin' your brothers';

Go home,” he says, "and wear the coats
You've tried to fit for others."

My wife she nudged, and Brown he winked,
And there was lots o' smilin',

And lots of lookin' into our pew;

It sot my blood a-bilin'.

Says I to myself, "Our minister

Is gittin' a little bitter;

I'll tell him when meetin''s out that I
Aint at all that kind of a critter."

CLXXXIII.-TO MAKE MISCHIEF.

KEEP your eye on your neighbors. Take care of them. Do not let them stir without watching. They may do something wrong if you do. To be sure, you never did know them to do any thing very bad, but it may be on your account they have not. Perhaps, if it had not been for your kind care, they might have disgraced themselves a long time ago. Therefore do not relax any effort to keep them where they ought to be. Never mind your own business; that will take care of itself. There is a man passing along, he is looking over the fence, be suspicious of him; perhaps he contemplates stealing, some of these dark nights; there is no knowing what queer fancies he may have got into his head.

If you find any symptoms of any one passing out of the path of duty, tell every one else what you see, and be particular to see a great many. It is a good way to circulate such things, though it may not benefit yourself or any one

else particularly. Do keep something going; silence is a dreadful thing, though it is said there was silence in heaven for the space of half an hour; but do not let any such thing occur on earth; it would be too much for this mundane sphere.

If, after all your watchful care, you can not see any thing out of the way in any one, you may be sure it is not because they have not done any thing bad; perhaps in an unguarded moment you lost sight of them; throw out hints that they are no better than they should be; that you should not wonder if the people found out what they were after awhile; then they may not carry their heads so high. Keep it going, and some one may take the hint and begin to help you along after awhile, then there will be music, and every thing will work to a charm.

CLXXXIV.-THE MYSTERIOUS GUEST.

'Twas night; the clock had just struck ten
When, with a mighty din,

The stage-coach halted at the door
Of Smith's Hotel in Lynn;

An inside passenger got out,

Who straight went in the inn.

His portly figure was enwrapped

In overcoat of shag,

While one hand grasped a traveling trunk,

The other held a bag;

And in the twinkle of his eye

You recognized a wag.

"Waiter," he cried, "show me a room;

I'm tired and travel-sore."

The waiter showed him to a room

Upon the second floor.

"Just stay a moment," said the man,

The waiter closed the door.

"You see," observed the traveler,
Ere I can take a doze,
I'll have to ask a little help
In getting off my clothes;
For I'm a trifle crippled,

And can't pull off my hose."

"All right," replied the waiter,
Who was a generous elf;
"I pities any man," said he,
"As can't undress hisself.
I'll very soon unrig you, sir,
And lay you on the shelf."

"'Tis well," resumed the traveler,
Who dropped into a chair,
First, hang my wig upon yon peg
(And he took off his hair),

I'm like a case of glass," said he,
"And must be touched with care."

And as he spoke, he ope'd his mouth
As though it were a trap,

And thrust his fingers in the hole,-
The waiter heard a snap,

And out there rolled two sets of teeth,
And fell into his lap.

"Now, waiter, just unscrew my arm,

But don't look so alarmed;

I'm helpless as a sailing ship

Upon a sea becalmed;

And when my arm you've taken off
You'll see that I'm disarmed."

The waiter, in astonishment,

Upon the traveler gazed;

He thought so strange a stranger
Must certainly be crazed;

But when he saw the arm come off

He was still more amazed,

Now, bring me here that looking-glass,
And I'll take out my eye;
Although I'm not a party man,
A man of parts am I;"
And as he uttered this vile joke
He laughed as if he'd die.

The waiter's hair now stood on end,
He trembled with affright;
"Surely," thought he, "no mortal eyes
E'er saw so strange a sight;

But the man of fractions sat

And laughed with all his might.

Now lay my fragments in that box
Where they'll be out of sight;
Be careful not to drop the eye,

And mind the teeth don't bite.
My limbs go on my trunk by day,
And in my trunk by night."

K. N. E.--37.