in a monstrous good humor and she interduced him to me as her-husband.

If it had not been for those pulls that I took at the Capt'n's best I should certainly have collapsed.

Well, they was monstrous kind and wanted me to make their house my home whilst I stayed in Baltimore. But I didn't.

I kum on to home disgusted and intend to do what I never done before in my life, going to—work.

Hereafter I shall always be afraid of pretty widders and have respect and likin' for the Captain's best.

In sorro and tribulashun,

Your troo frend,

JOE ROBY.

LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, 1863-BEUTELSBACH, 1880.

GEORGE L. CATLIN.

"Yah, I shpeaks English a leetle; berhaps you shpeaks petter

der German."

"No, not a word."-"Vell den, Meester, it hardt for to be oonderstandt.

I vos drei yahr in your coontry, I fights in der army mit Sherman

Twentiet Illinois Infantry-fightin' Joe Hooker's commandt."

"So you've seen service in Georgia-a veteran, eh?"-"Vell, I tell you

Shust how it vos. I vent ofer in sixty, und landt in Nei

York;

I sphends all mine money, gets sick, und near dies in der Hospiddal Bellevue;

Ven I gets petter I tramps to Cheecago to look for some

vork."

"Pretty young then, I suppose?" "Yah, svansig apout; und der beoples

Vot I goes to for to ask for vork dey have none for to geef;

42 LOOKOUT MOUNTAIN, 1863-BEUTELSBACH, 1880.

Efery von laughs; but I holds my head up just so high as der steeples.

Only dot var comes along, or I should have die, I belief."

"Ever got wounded? I notice you walk rather lame and unsteady. Pshaw! got a wooden leg, eh? What battle? At Lookout? don't say?

I was there too-wait a minute-your beer glass is empty already,

Call for another. There! tell me how 'twas you got wounded

that day."

"Vell, ve charge ope der side of der mountain-der sky vas all smoky and hazy,

Ve fight all day long in der clouds, but I nefer get hit until

night

But I don't care to say mouch apout it. Der poys called me foolish and crazy,

Und der doctor vot cut ofe my leg, he say, 'Goot '-dot it serf

me shust right.

"But I dinks I vood do dot thing over again, shust der same, and no matter

Vot any man say."-" Well, let's hear it-you needn't mind talking to me,

For I was there, too, as I tell you-and Lor! how the bullets did

patter

Around on that breastwork of boulders that sheltered our Tenth

Tennessee."

"So? Dot vos a Tennessee regiment charged upon ours in de efening,

Shust before dark; und dey yell as dey charge, und ve geef a

hurrah,

Der roar of der guns, it vas orful."—"Ah! yes, I remember, 'twas deafening,

The hottest musketry firing that ever our regiment saw." "Und after ve drove dem back, und der night come on, I listen, Und dinks dot I hear somepody a calling'-a voice dot cried, 'Pring me some vater for Gott's sake'-I saw his pelt-blate glisten,

Oonder der moonlight, on der barapet, shust outside.

"I dhrow my canteen ofer to vere he lie, but he answer Dot his left hand vos gone, und his right arm broke mit a fall;

Den I shump ofer, und give him to drink, but shust as I ran,

sir,

Bang! come a sharpshooter's pullet, and dot's how it vos-dot

is all."

"And they called you foolish and crazy, did they? Him, you befriended

The reb, I mean-what become of him? Did he ever come 'round?"

"Dey tell me he crawl to my side, und call till his strenght vos all ended

Until dey come out mit der stretchers, and carry us from der

ground.

"But pefore ve go, he ask me my name und says he: 'Yacob

Keller,

You loses your leg for me, und some day if both of us leefs,

I shows you I don't forget,'-but he most have died, de poor feller.

I nefer hear ofe him since. He don't get vell, I beliefs.

"Only I alvays got der saddisfachshun ofe knowin

Shtop! vots der matter? Here, take some peer, you're vite as

a sheet

Shteady! your hand on my shoulder! my gootness! I dinks you vos goin'

To lose your senses avay und fall right off mit der seat.

"Geef me your handts. Vot! der left von gon? Und you vos a soldier

In dot same battle?-a Tennessee regiment?-dot's mighty queer

Berhaps after all you're-"-"Yes, Yacob, God Bless you old fellow, I told you

I'd never--no never forget you. I told you I'd come, and I'm here."

COLLECTING THE TOLL.

From the New York Ledger.

A charming young lady is Widow Le Clare,
Unrivalled in grace, and as rich as she's fair;
Her wit is as sparkling as gems from the mine,
Her song is so sweet, you would think it divine

Her soft tones can thrill

A lover, at will;

And naught can compare

With the curls of brown hair

That dance o'er the shoulders of Widow Le Clare.

NATHAN UPHAM.

One bright, sparkling night, when the stars were aglow,
And mirrored their faces in crisp, crystal snow-

On our right the new moon in her arms seemed to hold
The fast-fading form of the vanishing old;

With high-mettled bays,

And the jauntiest of sleighs,
O'er the snow's silver glare,
We sped through the air-

Yes, I, and the beautiful Widow Le Clare!

How lightning-like pulsed the warm blood througo my veins,
When first to the widow I gave up the reins !
It seemed as if Fate had my destiny sealed;
And that my young love must then be revealed!
The steeds flew along,

Like a lover's smooth song;

And, breathing a prayer,

I glanced at the rare

And bright flashing eyes of the Widow Le Clare.

"Now don't!" said the widow, in the sweet pouting way,
That always means "Yes," while still saying "Nay."
"Don't what?" I inquired, half afraid, I confess,
She meant to coquette, in her mock roguishness;
"I was always afraid,

At a bridge, when a maid,

For the beaux would declare

It was only their share,

The toll at the bridge," said the Widow Le Clare.

Just then, on the bridge, did the fleet hoofs resound,
While I, with one arm her waist clasping around,
Collected the toll from her lips cherry red;
"Please not at each arch !" the arch widow said.
But ah! 'twas too late;

That bridge sealed my fate;

For lo! then and there,

She answered my prayer,

And promised no longer to be Widow Le Clare!

JIM BLAINE'S STORY OF HIS GRANDFATHER'S

OLD RAM.

MARK TWAIN (SAMUEL L. OLEMENS.)

Abridged for reading from Roughing It.

Every now and then, in those days, the boys used to tell me I ought to get one Jim Blaine to tell me the stirring story of his grandfather's old ram-but they always added that I must not mention the matter unless Jim was drunk at the time-just comfortably and socially drunk. They kept this up until my curiosity was on the rack to hear the story. I got to haunting Blaine; but it was of no use-the boys always found fault with his condition; he was often moderately, but never satisfactorily drunk. I never watched a man's condition with such absorbing interest, such anxious solicitude; I never so pined to see a man uncompromising drunk before. At last, one evening I hurried to his cabin, for I learned that this time his situation was such that even the most fastidious could find no fault with it he was tranquilly, serenely, symmetrically drunk —not a hiccup to mar his voice, not a cloud upon his brain thick enough to obscure his memory. As I entered, he was sitting upon an empty powder-keg, with a clay pipe in one hand and the other raised to command silence. His face was round, red and very serious; his throat