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ASKING THE GOV'NER.

Smith had just asked Mr. Thompson's daughter if she would give him a lift out of the slough of bachelordom, and she had said "yes."

It therefore became necessary to get the old gentleman's permission, so, as Smith said, arrangements might be made to hop the conjugal twig.

Smith said he'd rather pop the interrogatory to all of old Thompson's daughters, and his sisters, and his lady-cousins, and his aunt Hannah in the country, and the whole of his female relations, than ask old Thompson. But it had to be done, and so he went down and studied out a speech which he was to disgorge at old Thompson the very first time he set eyes on him. So Smith dropped in on him one Sunday evening, when all the family had meandered around to chapel, and found him doing a sum in beer measure.

"How are you, Smith?" said old Thompson, as the former walked in, white as a piece of chalk, and trembling as if he had swallowed a condensed earthquake. Smith was afraid to answer, 'cause he wasn't sure about that speech. He knew he had to keep his grip on it while he had it there, or it would slip from him quicker than an oiled eel through an auger hole. So he blurted out:

"Mr. Thompson, sir; perhaps it may not be unknown to you that, during an extended period of some five years, I have been busily engaged in the prosecution of a commercial enterprise-"

"Is that so, and keepin' it a secret all this time, while I thought you were keepin' shop? Well, by George, you're a 'cute soul, ain't you?"

Smith had to begin and think it over again, to get the run of it:

"Mr. Thompson, sir; perhaps it may not be unknown to you that, during the extended period of five years, I have been busily engaged in the prosecution of a commercial enterprise, with the determination to secure a sufficient maintenance-"

"Sit down, Smith, and help yourself to beer. Don't stand there holding your hat like a blind beggar with paralysis.

I never have seen you behave yourself so queer in all my

born days."

Smith had been knocked out again, and so he had to wander back to take a fresh start:

"Mr. Thompson, sir; it may not be unknown to you that, during an extended period of five years, I have been engaged in the prosecution of a commercial enterprise, with the determination to procure a sufficient maintenance-" “Well?" asked old Thompson, but Smith went on :

"In the hope that some day I might enter wedlock, and bestow my earthly possessions upon one whom I could call my own. I have been a lonely man, sir, and have felt that it is not good for a man to be alone; therefore I would-❞ "Neither is it; I'm glad you came in. How's your father?" "Mr. Thompson, sir;" said Smith, in despairing confusion, raising his voice to a yell, “it may not be unknown to you that, during an extended period of a lonely man, I have been engaged to enter wedlock, and bestowed all my enterprise on one whom I could determine to be good for certain possessions-no, I mean, that is-Mr. Thompson, sir; it may not be unknown-"

"And then, again, it may. Look here, Smith; you'd better lay down and take something warm, you ain't well.” Smith's eyes stuck wildly out of his head with embarrassment, but he went on again :

"Mr. Thompson, sir; it may not be lonely to you to prosecute me whom a friend, for a commercial maintenance, but -but-eh-dang it--Mr. Thompson, sir: It—”

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'Oh, Smith, you talk like a fool. I never saw a more firstclass idiot in the course of my whole life. What's the matter with you, anyhow?"

"Mr. Thompson, sir; said Smith, in an agony of bewilderment, "it may not be unknown that you prosecuted a lonely man who is not good for a commercial period of wedlock for some five years, but-"

"See here, Smith, you're drunk, and if you can't behave better than that, you'd better leave; if you don't, I'll chuck you out, or I'm a Dutchman."

"Mr. Thompson, sir;" said Smith, frantic with despair, "it may not be known to you that my earthly possessions

are engaged to enter wedlock five years with a sufficiently lonely man, who is not good for a commercial mainte

nance-"

"The very deuce he isn't. Now you jist git up and git out, or I'll knock what little brains out you've got left."

With that, old Thompson took Smith and shot him into the street as if he'd run him against a locomotive train at the rate of sixty miles an hour. Before old Thompson had time to shut the front door, Smith collected his legs, and one thing and another that were lying around on the pavement, arranged himself in a vertical position, and yelled out:

"Mr. Thompson, sir; it may not be known to you-" which made the old fellow so pink with rage, that he went out and set a bull terrier on Smith, before he had a chance to lift a brogan, and there was a scientific dog fight, with odds in favor of the dog, for he had an awful hold for such a small animal.

Smith afterwards married the girl, and lived happily about two months. At the end of that time he told a confidential friend that he would willingly take more trouble, and undergo a million more dog bites-to get rid of her.

WHAT I SAW.-J. MILTON AKERS.

I saw a pretty cottage stand

In grounds that were both trim and neat,
Where graveled walks and charming flowers,
Solicited the wandering feet.

A very Paradise it seemed,

With virgin joys and glories crowned;

A spot upon this sin-cursed earth

Which yet the serpent had not found.

I saw a woman, pure and good,

Upon whose cheek the roses bloomed;
Who deep inhaled the atmosphere
Her dearest husband's love perfumed.
A calm and happy life was hers,

No grief upon her spirits pressed;
And hope, the darling angel bright,
Sat monarch in her loving breast.

I saw a happy family,

With ruddy cheeks and faces bright, Whose joyous hearts expression found

In eyes that danced with pure delight.
The maids were modest, chaste, and fair,
The boys were brave and noble, too;
The families as blest as this

The sun shines on, I trow, but few.
I saw a man with form erect,
And with a calm, expressive face,
Upon the lineaments of which

It was not hard for one to trace
The workings of a noble soul;

A sympathetic friend, and kind; More ardent, constant, firm than whom "Twas ne'er my privilege to find.

I saw that cottage once again;

But ah! 'twas sinking to decay;

The window lights were broken in,

The shutters had been wrenched away, The grounds were overgrown with weeds; No hand had trained the vines of late, And want dwelt now where wealth had been; 'Twas blighted, cursed, and desolate.

I saw that woman once again;

Her face was thin, her cheek was pale; And from old Care's deep chiseled lines, I read, with pain, her sorrow's tale. Within her heart, where hope had reigned When all was joyous, bright, and fair, A monarch crowned with ebon sat, Whose name I've learned to call Despair.

I saw that family again;

But oh! the change, how very sad.
They wandered forth, to virtue lost,
In filthy, tattered garments clad.
Their eyes no longer danced with joy,
Nor could they longer happy be,
For sin and poverty and shame
Had overwhelmed that family.

I saw that man but once again,

With blood-shot eyes and bloated face, Upon the lineaments of which

It was not hard for one to trace

The workings of a fallen soul,—
A vicious, prostituted mind,

More wretched and depraved than whom
May God forbid I e'er should find!

A man, a family, a wife,

Once good and happy, young and fair,
Have fallen from the heights of hope
Far down the starless gulf, despair.
The cottage, too, the home of peace,
Has been surrendered up to fate,
And now its many tongues repeat
“Behold, I, too, am desolate.”

What agency, or arm so strong,
What evil genius, or spell
Can so bring down the human race,
From heaven's gate, so near to hell?
In one short word of letters three,
Of human ills we find the sum,
The with ring, blighting, damning scourge,
Which bears the simple name of RUM.

MY NEIGHBOR'S BABY.

Across in my neighbor's window, with its drapings of satin and lace,

I see, 'neath its flowing ringlets, a baby's innocent face;
His feet, in crimson slippers, are tapping the polished glass;
And the crowd in the street look upward, and nod and smilo
as they pass.

Just here in my cottage window, catching flies in the sun,
With a patched and faded apron, stands my own little one;
His face is as pure and handsome as the baby's over the

way,

And he keeps my heart from breaking, at my toiling every day.

Sometimes when the day is ended, and I sit in the dusk to rest,

With the face of my sleeping darling hugged close to my lonely breast,

I pray that my neighbor's baby may not catch heaven's roses all,

But that some may crown the forehead of my loved one as they fall.

And when I draw the stockings from his little weary feet, And kiss the rosy dimples in his limbs so round and sweet, I think of the dainty garments some little children wear, And that my God withholds them from mine so pure and fair.

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