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QUR VISITOR, AND WHAT HE CAME FOR. He came in with an interrogation-point in one eye, and a stick in one hand. One eye was covered with a handkerchief and one arm in a sling. His bearing was that of a man with a settled purpose in vier.

"I want to see,” said he, “the man that puts things into this paper.”

We intimated that several of us earned a frugal livelihood in that way.

"Well, I want to see the man which cribs things out of the other papers. The fellow who writes mostly with shears, you understand.”

We explained to him that there were seasons when the most gifted among us, driven to frenzy by the scarcity of ideas and events, and by the clamcrous demands of an insatiable public, in moments of emotional insanity plunged the glittering shears into our exchanges. He went on calmly, but in a voice tremulous with suppressed feeling, and indistinct through the recent loss of half a dozen or so of his front teeth,“ Just so.

I presume so. I don't know much about this business; but I want to see a man, the man that printed that little piece about pouring cold water down a drunken man's spine of his back, and making himn instantly sober. If you please, I want to see that man. I would like to talk with him.”

Then he leaned his stick against our desk and spit on his serviceable hand, and resumed his hold on the stick as though he were weighing it. After studying the stick a minute, he added, in a somewhat louder tone,

“ Mister, I came here to see that 'ere man. I want to set him bad."

We told him that particular man was not in.

“ Just so. I presume so. They told me before I come that the man I wanted to see wouldn't be anywhere. I'll wait for him. I live up north, and I walked seven miles to converse with that man. I guess I'll sit down and wait."

He sat down by the door, and reflectively pounded the foor with his stick, but his feelings would not allow him to keep still.

“ I suppose none of you didn't ever pour much cold water down any drunken man's back to make him instantly sober, perhaps?"

None of us in the office had ever tried the experiment.

“Just so. I thought just as like as not you had not. Well, mister, I have. I tried it yesterday, and I have come seven miles on foot to see the man that printed that piece. It wasn't much of a piece, I don't think; but I want to see the man that printed it, just for a few minutes. You see, John Smith, he lives next door to my house, when I'm to home, and he gets how-come-you-so every little period. Now, when he's sober, he's all right, if you keep out of his way; but when he's drunk, he goes home and breaks dishes, and tips over the stove, and throws the hardware around, and makes it inconvenient for his wife; and sometimes he gets his gun and goes out calling on his neighbors, and it ain't pleasant.

“Not that I want to say any thing about Smith; but me and my wife don't think he ought to do so. He came home drunk yesterday, and broke all the kitchen windows out of his house, and followed his wife around with the carving knife, talking about her liver, and after awhile he lay down by my fence and went to sleep. I had been reading that little piece: it wasn't much of a piece; and I thought if I could polir some water down his spine, on his back, and make him sober, it would be more comfortable for his wife and a square thing to do all around. So I poured a bucket of spring-water down John Smith's spine of his back.”

“Well," said we, as our visitor paused,“ did it make him sober?” Our visitor took a firmer hold of his stick and replied with increased emotion,“Just so.

I suppose it did make him as sober as a judge in less time than you could say Jack Robinson; but, mister, it made him mad. It made him the maddest man I ever see; and, mister, John Smith is a bigger man than me and stouter. Bla-bless him, I never knew he was half so stout till yesterday; and he's handy with his fists too. I should suppose he's the handiest man with bis fists I ever saw.”

Then he went for you, did he?" we asked innocently. “Just so. Exactly. I suppose he went for me about the bust he knew; but I don't hold no grudge against John Smith! I suppose he ain't a good man to hold a grudge against, only I want to see the man that printed that piece. I want to see him bad. I feel as though it would soothe me to see that man. I want to show him how a drunken man acts when you pour cold water down the spine of his back. That's what I come for.”.

Our visitor, who had poured water down the spine of a drunken man's back, remained until about six o'clock in the evening, and then went up-street to find the man that printed that little piece. The man he is looking for started for Alaska last evening for a summer vacation, and will not be back before September of next year.

THE LOST BABIES.

Come, my wife, put down the Bible,

Lay your glasses on your book ;
Both of us are bent and agéd--

Backward, mother, let us look!
This is still ihe same old homestead

Where I brought you long ago,
When the hair was bright with sunshine

That is now like winter's snow.
Let us talk about the babies

As we sit here all alone,
Such a merry troop of youngsters:

How we lost them one by one.
Jack, the first of all the party,

Came to us one winter's night,-
Jack, you said, should be a parson,

Long before he saw the light.
Do you see that great cathedral,

Filled, the transept and the nave,
Hear the organ grandly pealing,

Watch the silken hangings wave;
See the priest in robes of office,

With the altar at his back--
Would you think that gifted preacher

Could be our own little Jack?
Then a girl with curly tresses

Used to climb upon my knee,
Like a little fairy princess

Ruling at the age of three,

With the years there came a wedding

How your fond heart swelled with pride
When the lord of all the county

Chose your baby for his bride!
Watch that stately carriage coming,

And the form reclining there-
Would you think that brilliant lady

Could be our own little Clare?
Then the last, a blue-eyed youngster-

I can hear him prattling now-
Such a strong and sturdy fellow,

With his broad and honest brow.
How he used to love his mother!

Ah! I see your trembling lip:
He is far off on the water,

Captain of a royal ship.
See the bronze upon his forehead,

Hear the voice of stern command-
That's the boy who clung so fondly

To his mother's gentle hand!
Ah! my wife, we've lost the babies,

Ours so long and ours alone;
Now transformed to these great people,-

Stately men and woman grown.
Seldom do we even see them;

Yes, a bitter tear-drop starts,
And we sit here in the firelight,

Lonely hearth and lonely hearts.
All their lives seein full without us ;

They'll stop long enough one day
Just to lay us in the churchyard, -

Then they'll each go on their way.

THE PHILOSOPHER'S SCALES.-JANE TAYLOR,

A monk, when his rites sacerdotal were o'er,
In the depth of his cell with his stone-covered floor,
Resigning to thought his chimerical brain,
Once formed the contrivance we now shall explain,
But whether by magic's or alchemy's powers
We know not; indeed, 'tis no business of ours.
Perhaps it was only by patience and care,
At last, that he brought his invention to bear.
In youth 'twas projected, but years stole away,
And ere 'twas complete he was wrinkled and gray;
But success is secure, unless energy fails;
And at length he produced THE PILOSOPHER'S SCALE.
“What were they?" you ask. You shall presently see;
These scales were not made to weigh sugar and tea;
Oh, no; for such properties wondrous had they,
That qualities, feelings, and thoughts they could weigh,
Together with articles, small or immense,
From mountains or planets to atoms of sense.
Naught was there so bulky but there it would lay,
Aud naught so ethereal but there it would stay,
And naught so reluctant but in it must go:
All which some examples more clearly will show.
The first thing he weighed was the head of Voltaire,
Which retained all the wit that had ever been there.
As a weight he threw in a torn scrap of a leaf,
Containing the prayer of the penitent thief;
When the skull rose aloft with so sudden a spell,
That it bounced like a ball on the roof of the cell.
One time he put in Alexander the Great,
With the garment that Dorcas had made, for a weight;
And though clad in armor from sandals to crown,
The hero rose up, and the garment went down.
A long row of almshouses, amply endowed
By a well-esteemed Pharisee, busy and proud,
Next loaded one scale; while the other was pressed
By those mites the poor widow dropped into the chest ;
Up flew the endowment, not weighing an ounce,
And down, down the farthing-worth came with a bounce.
Again, he performed an experiment rare;
A monk, with austerities bleeding and bare,
Climbed into his scale; in the other was laid
The beart of our Howard, now partly decayed ;
When he found with surprise, that the whole of his brother
Weigled less, by some pounds, than this bit of the other.
By further experiments (no matter how),
He found that ten chariots weighed less than one plow;
A sword with gilt trappings rose up in the scale,
Though bulanced by only a ten-penny nail;
A shield and a helmet, a buckler and spear,
Weighed less than a widow's uncrystallized tear;
A lord and a lady went up at full sail,
When a bee chanced to light on the opposite scale;
Ten doctors, ten lawyers, two courtiers, one earl,
Tev counselors' wigs, full of powder and curl,
All heaped in one balance, and swinging froin thence,
Weighed less than a few grains of candor and sense:
A first-water diamond, with brilliants begirt,
Than one good potato just washed from the dirt;

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