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MARK TWAIN TELLS AN ANECDOTE OF A. WARD,
As Artemus was once traveling in the cars, dreading to be bored, and feeling miserable, a man approached him, sat down, and said,
'Did you hear that last thing on Horace Greeley?”
“Greeley? Greeley?” said Artemus, “Horace Greeley? Who is he?"
The man was quiet about five minutes. Pretty soon he said,
“George Francis Train is kicking up a good deal of a row over England. Do you think they will put him in a bastile?”
“ Train? Train? George Francis Train?” said Artemus, solemnly, “I never heard of him.”
This ignorance kept the man quiet about fifteen minutes, then he said,
“What do you think about General Grant's chances for the Presidency? Do you think they will run him?"
“Grant? Grant? hang it, man,” said Artemus,“ you appear to know more strangers than any man I ever saw.”
The man was furious, He walked off, but at last came back and said,
“You confounded ignoramus, did you ever hear of Adam?” Artemus looked up and said, “What was his other name?"
THE DYING STREET ARAB.-MATTHIAS BARR.
I krows what you mean, I'm a dyin';
Well, I ain't no worse nor the rest;
I reckon, is allus the best.
A-tellin' me wrong from the right;
For sayin' your prayers of a night.
I never knowed who was my father,
And mother, she died long ago;
It ain't much they have teached me, I know.
Yet I think they'll be sorry, and miss me,
When took right away from this here, For sometimes I catches them siyly
A-wipin' away of a tear.
And they says as they hopes I'll get better;
I can't be no worse when I'ın dead; I ain't had so jolly a time on't,
A-dyin' by inches for bread.
I've stood in them streets precious often,
When the wet's been a-pourin' downı,
Nor never so much as a brown.
Chokeful of what's tidy to eat,
While I drops like a dorg at their feet.
I ain't now afeerd o' your face;
We'll meet in that t'other place.
And talk to them here in the court;
There won't be no larkin' nor sport.
You'll tell them as how I died happy,
And hopin' to see them again;
Is freed of his trouble and pain.
I feels as it never tells lies, And read me them words—you know, guy'nor,-
As is good for a chap when he dies. There, give me your hand, sir, and thankee
For the good as you've done a poor lad; Who knows, had they teached me some better,
I mightn't have growed up so bad.
NOTHING BUT LEAVES.
He found thereon nothing but leaves.---Matt. xi., 19.
Nothing but leaves; the spirit grieves
Over a wasted life;
Nothing but leaves !
Nothing but leaves; no garnered sheaves
Of life's fair, ripened grain;
Nothing but leaves.
Nothing but leaves; memory weaves
No veil to screen the past :
Nothing but leaves.
Bearing our withered leaves ?
Nothing but leaves.
THE MAN OF EXPEDIENTS.-S. GILMAN.
The man of expedients is he who, never providing for the little mishaps and stitch-droppings with which this mortal life is pestered, and too indolent or too ignorant to repair them in the proper way, passes his days in inventing a succession of devices, pretexts, substitutes, plans, and commutations, by the help of which he thinks he appears as well as other people. Look through the various professions and characters of life. You will there see men of expedients darting, and shifting, and glancing, like fishes in the stream.
If a merchant, the man of expedients borrows incontinently, at two per cent. a month; if a sailor, he stows his hold with jury-masts, rather than ascertain if his ship be sea. worthy; if a visitor where he dislikes, he is called out before the evening has half expired; if a musician, he scrapes on a fiddle-string of silk; if an actor, he takes his stand within three feet of the prompter; if a poet, he makes “fault” rhyme with “ought,” and “look” with “spoke;" if a reviewer, he fills up three quarters of his article with extracts from the writer whom he abuses; if a divine, he leaves ample room in every sermon for an exchange of texts; if a physician, he is often seen galloping at full speed, nobody knows where; if a del or, he has a marvelous acquaintance with short corners and dark alleys; if a collegian, he commits Euclid and Locke to memory without understanding them, interlines his Greek, and writes themes equal to the Rambler,
But it is in the character of a general scholar that the man of expedients most shines. He ranges through all the arts and sciences—in cyclopædias; he acquires a most thorough knowledge of classical literature--from translations; he is very extensively read-in title-pages; he obtains an exact acquaintance with authors-from reviews; he follows all literature up to its sources-in tables of contents; his researches are indefatigable--into indexes; he quotes by memory with astonishing facility--the dictionary of quotations; and his bibliographical familiarity is miraculous—with Dibdin.
We are sorry to say that our men of expedients are to be sometimes discovered in the region of morality. The are those who claim the praise of a good action, when they have acted merely from convenience, inclination, or compulsion. There are those who make a show of industry, when they are set in motion only by avarice. There are those who are quiet and peaceable, only because they are sluggish. There are those who are sagely silent, because they have not one idea ; abstemious, from repletion; patriots, because they are ambitious; perfect, because there is no temptation.
THAT LINE FENCE.
Old Farmer Smith came home in a miff
From his field the other day,
At Ler wheel was spinning away.
With the buzz of her wheel kept time; And his wrathful brow is clearing now,
Under her cheerful rhyme.
And listen to what I say:
With the man across the way? "I have built my fence, but he won't commence
To lay a single rail;
I am tempted to make a sale!”
I'm afraid it will be as they say." “No, no, little wife, I have heard that strife
In a lawyer's hands don't pay.
I am told that he said he would, -
I vowed that I never should.
To the man across the way?” "If that's what you want, I can help you haunt
That man with a spectre gray.
And then you have gained a neighbor;
Of a court, and as much more labor. “Just use your good sense-let's build him a fence,
And shame bad acts out of the fellow." They built up his part, and sent to his heart
Love's dart, where the good thoughts mellow. That very same night, by the candle light,
They opened with interest a letter: Not a word was there, but three greenbacks fair
Said--the man was growing better.