now as a baby, the dirrity baste! But the worrest of all was the copyin' he'd be doin' till ye'd be dishtracted. It's yerself knows the tinder feet that's on me since iver I've bin in this connthry. Well, owin' to that I fell into a way o' slippin' me shoes off when I'd be settin' down to pale the praities or the likes o' that; an', do ye mind! that haythin would do the same thing after me, whiniver the missus set him to parin' apples or tomaterses. The saints in heaven couldn't have made him belave he cud kape the shoes on him when he'd be paylin' anything.

Didn't he get

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Did I lave fur that? Faix an' I didn't. me into throuble wid me missus, the haythin? aware yersel' how the boondles comin' in from the grocery often contains more'n'll go into anything dacently. So, for that matter, I'd now and then take out a sup o' sugar, or flour, or tay, an' wrap it in paper an' put it in me bit of a box tucked under the ironin' blankit, the how it cuddent be bodderin' any one. Well, what shud it be, but this blessed Sathurday morn, the missus was a-spakin' pleasant an' respec'ful wid me in me kitchen, when the grocer-boy comes in an' stands fornenst her wid his boondles, an' she motions like to Fing Wing (which I never would call him by that name nor any other, but just haythin), she motions to him, she does, for to take the boondles an' empty out the sugar, an' what not, where they belongs. If you'll belave me, what did that blatherin' Chineser do but take out a sup o' sugar, an' a handful o' tay, an' a bit o'chase, right afore the missus, wrap them into bits o' paper, an' I spacheless wid shurprise, an' he the next minute up wid the ironin' blankit and pullin' out me box, wid a show o' bein' sly, to put them in. Och, the Lord forgive me, but I clutched it, an' the missus sayin' "Oh, Kitty!" in a way that 'ud cruddle your blood. "He's a haythin nager," says I. "I've found you out," says she. "I'll arrist him," says I. "It's you ought to be arristed," "You won't," says I. says she. "I will," says she-an' so

it went till she give me such sass as I cuddent take from no lady- an' I give her warnin' an' left that instant, an' she a-pointin' to the doore.

101. BROTHER WATKINS.-John B. Gough.

My beloved brethering, before I take my text I must tell you about my parting with my old congregation. On the morning of last Sabbath I went into the meeting-house to preach my farewell discourse. Just in front of me sot the old fathers and mothers in Israel; the tears coursed down their furrowed cheeks; their tottering forms and quivering lips breathed out a sad-fare ye well, brother Watkins -ah! Behind them sot the middle-aged men and matrons; health and vigor beamed from every countenance, and as they looked up I could see in their dreamy eyesfare ye well, brother Watkins - ah! Behind them sot the boys and girls that I had baptized and gathered into the Sabbath-school. Many times had they been rude and boisterous, but now their merry laugh was hushed, and in the silence I could hear-fare ye well, brother Watkins — ah! Around, on the back seats, and in the aisles, stood and sot the colored brethering, with their black faces and honest hearts, and as I looked upon them I could see a-fare ye well, brother Watkins-ah! When I had finished my discourse and shaken hands with the brethering-ah! I passed out to take a last look at the old church- ah! the broken steps, the flopping blinds, and moss-covered roof, suggested only ―fare ye well, brother Watkins-ah! I mounted my old gray mare, with my earthly possessions in my saddlebags, and as I passed down the street the servant-girls stood in the doors, and with their brooms waved me a-fare ye well, brother Watkins-ah! As I passed out of the village the low wind blew softly through the waving branches of the trees, and moaned ―fare ye well, brother Watkins-ah!

I came down to the creek, and as the old mare stopped to drink I could hear the water rippling over the pebbles a fare ye well, brother Watkins — ah! And even the little fishes, as their bright fins glistened in the sunlight, I thought, gathered around to say, as best they could — fare ye well, brother Watkins-ah! I was slowly passing up the hill, meditating upon the sad vicissitudes and mutations of life, when suddenly out bounded a big hog from a fence-corner, with aboo! aboo! and I came to the ground with my saddle-bags by my side. As I lay in the dust of the road my old gray mare ran up the hill, and as she turned the top she waved her tail back at me, seemingly to say-fare ye well, brother Watkins ah! I tell you, my brethering, it is affecting times to part with a congregation you have been with for over thirty years—ah!

102. A CATASTROPHE.

On a pine woodshed, in an alley dark, where scattered moonbeams, shifting through a row of tottering chimneys and awnings torn and drooping, fell, strode back and forth, with stiff and tense-drawn muscles and peculiar tread, a cat. His name was Norval; on yonder neighboring sheds his father caught the rats that came in squads from the streets beyond Dupont, in search of food and strange adventure. Grim war he courted, and his twisted tail and spine upheaving in fantastic curves, and claws distended, and ears flatly pressed against a head thrown back defiantly, told of impending strife. With eyes a-gleam and screeching blasts of war, and steps as silent as the falling dew, young Norval crept along the splintered edge, and gazed a moment through the darkness down, with tail awag triumphantly. Then with an imprecation and a growl-perhaps an oath in direst vengeance hissed- he started back, and crooking his body like a letter S, or like a U inverted (n), stood in

fierce expectancy. 'Twas well. With eyeballs glaring and ears aslant, and open mouth, in which two rows of fangs stood forth in sharp and dread conformity, slap up a post from out the dark below, a head appeared. A dreadful tocsin of determined strife young Norval uttered, then, with a face unblanched and mustache standing straight before bis nose, and tail flung wildly to the passing breeze, stepped back in cautious invitation to the foe. Approaching each other, with preparations dire, each cat surveyed the vantage of the field. Around they walked, tails uplifted and backs high in air, while from their mouths, in accents hissing with consuming rage, dropped brief but awful sentences of hate. Twice around they went in circle, each eye upon the foe intently bent, then sideways moving, as is wont with cats, gave one long-drawn, terrific, savage yeow, and buckled in.

103. BUZFUZ VERSUS PICKWICK.-Charles Dickens.

You have heard from my learned friend, gentlemen of the jury, that this is an action for a breach of promise of marriage, in which the damages are laid at fifteen hundred pounds. The plaintiff, gentlemen, is a widow-yes, gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, some time before his death, became the father, gentlemen, of a little boy. With this little boy, the only pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bardell shrunk from the world, and courted the retirement and tranquillity of Goswell street; and here she placed in her front parlor window a written placard, bearing this inscription: "Apartments furnished, for a single gentleman. Inquire within." Mrs. Bardell's opinions of the opposite sex, gentlemen, were derived from a long contemplation of the inestimable qualities of her lost husband. She had no fear she had no distrust - all was confidence and reliance. "Mr. Bardell," said the widow," was a man

of honor, Mr. Bardell was a man of his word,- Mr. Bardell was no deceiver,- Mr. Bardell was once a single gentleman himself; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for assistance, for comfort, and for consolation; — in single gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me of what Mr. Bardell was, when he first won my young and untried affections; to a single gentleman, then, shall my lodgings be let."

Actuated by this beautiful and touching impulse (among the best impulses of our imperfect nature, gentlemen), the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears, furnished her first floor, caught her innocent boy to her maternal bosom, and put the bill up in her parlor window. Did it remain there long? No. The serpent was on the watch; the train was laid; the mine was preparing; the sapper and miner was at work! Before the bill had been in the parlor window three days-three days, gentlemen-a being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster, knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's house. He inquired within, he took the lodgings, and on the very next day he entered into possession of them. This man was Pickwick - Pickwick the defendant.

Of this man I will say little. The subject presents but few attractions; and I, gentlemen, am not the man, nor are you, gentlemen, the men, to delight in the contemplation of revolting heartlessness, and of systematic villainy. I say systematic villainy, gentlemen; and when I say systematic villainy, let me tell the defendant, Pickwick, if he be in court, as I am informed he is, that it would have been more decent in him, more becoming, if he had stopped away. Let me tell him, further, that a counsel, in the discharge of his duty, is neither to be intimidated, nor bullied, nor put down; and that any attempt to do either the one or the other will recoil on the head of the attempter, be he plain