Fer now the holl on't's gone an' past, wut is there to go for?
Ef, wile you're 'lectioneerin' round, some curus chaps should beg
To know my views o' State offairs, jest answer, WOODEN LEG!
Ef they ain't settisfied with thet, an' kin o' pry an' doubt,
An' ax fer sutthin' deffynit, jest say, ONE EYE PUT OUT !
Thet kin' o' talk I guess you'll find I'll answer to a charm,
An' wen you're druv tu nigh the wall, hol' up my missin' arm;

Then you can call me "Timbertoes"-thet's wut the people likes;
Sutthin' combinin' morril truth with phrases sech ez strikes;
Some say the people's fond o' this, or thet, or wut you please-
I tell ye, wut the people want is jest correct idees;

"Old Timbertoes," you see, 's a creed it's safe to be quite bold on.

There's nothin' in't the other side can any ways git hold on;
It's a good tangible idee, a sutthin' to embody

Thet valooable class o' men who look thru brandy-toddy;
It gives a Party Platform, tu, jest level with the mind
Of all right-thinkin', honest folks thet mean to go it blind;
Then there air other good hooraws to dror on ez you need 'em.
Sech ez the ONE-EYED SLARTERER, the BLOODY BIRDOFREDUM;
Them's wut takes hold o' folks thet think, ez well ez o' the

masses,

An' makes you sartin o' the aid o' good men of all classes.

There's one thing I'm in doubt about; in order to be Presidunt, It's absolutely ne'ssary to be a Southern residunt;

The Constitution settles thet, an' also thet a feller

Must own a nigger o' some sort, jet black or brown or yeller
Now I hain't no objections ag'in particklar climes,

Nor agin ownin' anythin' (except the truth, sometimes),
But, ez I haint no capital, up there among ye, maybe,
You might raise funds enough for me to buy a low-priced baby,
An' then to suit the No'thern folks, who feel obleeged to say
They hate an' cuss the very thing they vote fer every day,
Say your're assured I go full butt fer Libbaty's diffusion,
An' made the purchis on'y jest to spite the Institootion-
But, golly! there's the currier's hoss upon the pavement pawin'!
I'll be more 'xplicit in my next.

Yourn,

BIRDOFREDUM SAWIN.

CUSTOM HOUSE MORALS.

BY W. D. HOWELLS.

THE travelers all met at breakfast and duly discussed the adventures of the night; and for the rest, the forenoon passed rapidly and slowly with Basil and Isabel, as regret to leave Quebec, or the natural impatience of travelers to be off, overcame them. Isabel spent part of it in shopping, for she had found some small sums of money and certain odd corners in her trunks still unappropriat

ed, and the handsome stores on the

Rue Fabrique were

very tempting. She said she would just go in and look; and the wise reader imagines the result. As she knelt over her boxes, trying so to distribute her purchases a s to make them look as

if they were old

CUSTOM HOUSE MORALS.

old things of hers, which she had brought all the way round from Boston with her—a fleeting touch of conscience stayed her hand.

"Basil," she said, "perhaps we'd better declare some of these things. What's the duty on those?" she asked, pointing to certain articles.

"I don't know. About a hundred per cent. ad valorem." "C'est à dire-?"

"As much as they cost."

"O then, dearest," responded Isabel indignantly, "it can't be wrong to smuggle! I won't declare a thread!"

"That's very well for you, whom they won't ask. But what if they ask me whether there's anything to declare?"

Isabel looked at her husband and hesitated. Then she replied, in terms that I am proud to record in honor of American woman. hood: "You mustn't fib about it, Basil" (heroically); “I couldn't respect you if you did" (tenderly); "but " (with decision) "you must slip out of it some way!

A WESTERN REMINISCENCE.

sober and

YEARS ago, when Rock Island was a small village, and its people had lots of fun all to themselves, one of our very dignified citizens put his own head under one end of a yoke and a little bull's under the other, to teach the animal how to be usewith ful and work. When he found the bull was running away him down a dirt road towards a crowd around the country store on Illinois Street, he measured sixteen feet at a jump, kept up with the bull, and yelled at the top of his voice: "Look out! Here we come, darn our fool souls! Head us, somebody!" and when halted and the yoke was being lifted from his neck, he yelled, "Unyoke the bull; never mind me. Newspaper.

I will stand!"

THE TOTAL DEPRAVITY OF INANIMATE THINGS.

ΚΑ

BY KATHERINE KENT CHILD WALKER.

ATHERINE KENT CHILD WALKER was born in Pittsfield, Vt., in 1842. She is a daughter of the Rev. Willard Child. She married the Rev. Edward Ashley Walker in 1856, and has published several juveniles anonymously, edited two compilations of sacred poetry, "The Cross Bearer," and "Songs of Prayer and Praise," translated from the German "Climbing the Glacier," and is best known by an article in The Atlantic, entitled "The Total Depravity of Inanimate Things" (September, 1864).

I AM Confident that, at the annunciation of my theme, Andover, Princeton and Cambridge will skip like rams, and the little hills of East Windsor, Meadville and

Fairfax like lambs. However di

vinity schools may refuse to "skip" in unison, and may butt and batter each other about the doctrine and origin of human depravity, all will join devoutly in the credo, I believe in the total depravity of inanimate things.

The whole subject lies in a nutshell, or, rather, an apple-skin. We have clerical authority for affirming that all its miseries were let loose upon the human race by "them greenin's " tempting our mother to curious pomological speculations; and from that time

till now - Longfel

A LOST EFFORT.

low, thou reasonest well!" things are not what they seem," but are diabolically otherwise-masked-batteries, nets, gins, and snares of evil.