Since I saw you I

night, hour after hour, to this very moment. have suffered the torments of the lost. Saturday evening I had a sudden call, by telegraph, and took the night train for Boston. The occasion was the death of a valued old friend, who had requested that I should preach his funeral sermon. I took my

seat in the cars, and set myself to framing the discourse. But I never got beyond the opening paragraph; for then the train started and the car-wheels began their "clack, clack-clack-clack-clack! clack, clack-clack-clack-clack!" and right away those odious rhymes fitted themselves to that accompaniment. For an hour I sat there, and set a syllable of those rhymes to every separate and distinct clack the car-wheels made. Why, I was as fagged out, then, as if I had been chopping wood all day! My skull was splitting with headache. It seemed to me that I must go mad if I sat there any longer; so I undressed and went to bed. I stretched myself out in my berth, and—well, you know what the result was. The thing went right along, just the same. 'Clack-clack-clack, a blue trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for an eight-cent fare; clackclack-clack, a buff trip slip, clack-clack-clack, for a six-cent fare, and so on, and so on, and so on-punch, in the presence of the passenjare!' Sleep? Not a single wink! I was almost a lunatic when I got to Boston. Don't ask me about the funeral. I did the best I could, but every solemn individual sentence was meshed and tangled and woven in and out with 'Punch, brothers, punch with care, punch in the presence of the passenjare.' And the most distressing thing was that my delivery dropped into the undulating rhythm of those pulsing rhymes, and I could actually catch absent-minded people nodding time to the swing of it with their stupid heads. And, Mark, you may believe it or not, but before I got through, the entire assemblage were placidly bobbing their heads in solemn unison, mourners, undertaker, and all. The moment I had finished, I fled to the ante-room in a state bordering on frenzy. Of course it would be my luck to find a sorrowing and aged maiden aunt of the deceased there, who had arrived from Springfield too late to get into the church. She began to sob, and said

"Oh, oh, he is gone, he is gone, and I didn't see him before he died!'

"Yes!' I said, 'he is gone, he is gone, he is gone-on, wil

this suffering never cease!'

"You loved him, then! Oh, you, too, loved him!'

"Loved him! Loved who?'

"Why, my poor George! my poor nephew!'

"Oh-him! Yes-oh, yes, yes. Certainly-certainly. Punch -punch-oh, this misery will kill me!'

"Bless you! bless you, sir, for these sweet words! I, too, suffer in this dear loss. Were you present during his last moments?'

"Yes! I-whose last moments?'

"His. The dear departed's.'

""Yes! Oh, yes-yes-yes! I suppose so, I think so, I don't know. Oh, certainly-I was there-I was there!'

"Oh, what a privilege! what a precious privilege! And his last words-oh, tell me, tell me his last words! What did he say?' "He said he said-oh, my head, my head, my head! He said he said he never said anything but Punch, punch, punch in the presence of the passenjare! Oh, leave me, madam! In the name of all that is generous, leave me to my madness, my misery, my despair!-a buff trip slip for a six-cent fare, a pink trip slip for a three-cent fare-endurance can no fur-ther go!-PUNCH in the presence of the passenjare!""

My friend's hopeless eyes rested upon mine a pregnant minute, and then he said, impressively

"Mark, you do not say anything. You do not offer me any hope. But, ah me, it is just as well-it is just as well. You could not do me any good. The time has long gone by when words could comfort me. Something tells me that my tongue is doomed to wag for ever to the jigger of that remorseless jingle. There -there it is coming on me again: a blue trip slip for an eight-cent fare, a buff trip slip for a

Thus murmuring fainter and fainter, my friend sank into a peaceful trance and forgot his sufferings in a blessed respite.

Why did I write this article? It was for a worthy, even a noble purpose. It was to warn you, reader, if you should come across those merciless rhymes, to avoid them-avoid them as you would a pestilence!

Josh Billings.

SOLLUM THOUGHTS.

THE fear ov God iz the philosophy ov religion; the love ov God iz the charity of religion.

Hope iz a hen that lays more eggs than she kan hatch out. Better leave yure child virtew than money; but this iz a sekret known only to a few.

I honestly beleave it iz better tew know nothing than tew know what ain't so.

About the hardest work a phellow kan do iz tew spark two galls at once, and preserve a good average.

Prudery iz one ov virtews bastards.

A nickname will outlive enny man or thing; it iz like the crook in a dogg's taile, you may cut it oph, and throw it behind the barn, but the crook iz thare yet, and the stump iz the epitaph.

If yu analize what most men kall plezzure, yu will find it compozed ov one part humbugg, and two parts pain.

When yu haint got nothing tew do, do it at once; this iz the way to learn to be bizzy.

We hav bin told that the best way to overkum misfortunes iz tew fight with them-I have tried both ways, and recommend a successful dodge.

The art ov becomeing ov importance in the eyes ov others, iz not tew overrate ourself, but tew cauze them tew do it.

The true way to understand the judgments ov heaven is to submit to them.

Method iz everything, espeshily tew ordinary men; the few men who kan lift a ton, at plessure, hav a divine right tew take holt ov it tew a disadvantage.

The mind ov man iz like a piece ov land that, tew be useful, must be manured with learning, ploughed with energy, sown with virtew, and harvested with ekonemy.

Whare religion iz a trade, morality iz a merchandize.

Conversashun should be enlivened with wit, not compozed

ov it.

LOBSTIR SALLAD.

A SLANDER iz like a hornet, if yu kant kill it dead the fust blo, yu better not strike at it.

Politeness iz a shrewd way folks haz ov flattering themselfs.

I make this distinkshun between charakter and reputashun— reputashun iz what the world thinks ov us, charakter iz what the world knows ov us.

What a ridikilus farce it iz to be continually on the hunt for peace and quiet.

No man ever yet increased hiz reputashun bi contradikting lies.

Anxiety alwus steps on itself.

Silence, like darkness, iz generally safe.

Thare iz only two things that i kno ov that a man wont brag ov, one iz lieing, and tuther iz jealousy.

It takes branes tew make a smart man, but good luck often makes a famous one.

The less a man knows, the more he will guess at ; and guessing iz nothing more than suspicion.

After all there don't seem tew be but this diffrence between the wize men and the phools; the wize men are all fuss and sum feathers, while the phools are all fuss and no feathers.

Opinyuns are like other vegetables, worth just what they will

fetch.

I think most men had rather be charged with malice than with making a blunder.

Love cuts up all sorts ov monkey shines, it makes a fool sober and a wise man frisky.

I don't beleave in total depravity, every man haz sumthing in him to show that God made him.

I suppoze that one reazon whi the "road to ruin " iz broad, iz tew accomadate the grate amount ov travel in that direkshun.

I think i had rather hear a man brag about himself, than tew hear him brag all the time ov some one else-for i think i like vanity a leetle better than i do sickofansy.

Bret Harte.

HER LETTER.

I'm sitting alone by the fire,

Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even you would admire,—
It cost a cool thousand in France;
I'm be-diamonded out of all reason,
My hair is done up in a cue :
In short, sir," the belle of the season"
Is wasting an hour on you.

A dozen engagements I've broken;

I left in the midst of a set; Likewise a proposal, half spoken,

That waits on the stairs-for me yet.
They say he'll be rich,-when he grows up-
And then he adores me indeed.

And you, sir, are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off as you read.

"And how do I like my position ?"

"And what do I think of New York ?” "And now, in my higher ambition,

With whom do I waltz, flirt, or talk?" "And isn't it nice to have riches,

And diamonds, and silks, and all that ?"
"And aren't it a change to the ditches
And tunnels of Poverty Flat?"

Well, yes,-if you saw us out driving
Each day in the park, four-in-hand,—
If you saw poor dear mamma contriving
To look supernaturally grand,-
If you saw papa's picture, as taken
By Brady, and tinted at that,-