drummer emerge from a week's carousal, take a drink of plain soda, and write a long letter to his employers concerning the extreme dulness of trade.

But since the new hotel had been built the Half-Way House had waned, and its quiet was only invaded by an occasional straggling traveller or a runaway couple, and its walls resounded with nothing more clamorous than the orgies of a Sunday-school picnic.

It is, however, with the Ladies' Parlor only (that wretched abode of female discomfort in all country hotels) that we have to do.

The furniture of the room consisted of the articles usually found in a boudoir of this kind, to wit: a straight-backed sofa, much worn; the inevitable and horrid straw carpeting; that old Satanic piano, that never was in tune; an antique and rheumatic table, and three wheezy old chairs. The only present attempts at ornament were two in number. The first was a large engraving of the Presidents of the United States, which had formerly done duty in the bar-room, where the villagers were wont to gaze upon it in an awe-struck manner, being impressed with a vague idea that it was CHRISTY'S Minstrels. The second was a living statue, none other than ANN BRUMMET waiting for JEFFRY MAULBOY.

"Half-past three, and not come yet," said she. "Look out, JEFFRY MAULBOY, for if you do go back on me"----

She paused, for she saw a man coming towards the house.

"Well, if that ain't ARCHIBALD BLINKSOP," she added, "I'm regularly sold. What can he want here?"

Yes, it was ARCHIBALD sure enough, biting his finger-nails and breathing very short, while he cast furtive glances at the windows.

He went slowly up the steps and into the entry just as Mrs. BACKUP, the landlady of the House, came out of her sitting-room.

Now, Mrs. BACKUP was one of your eminently respectable females, who are always loaded to the muzzle with Beautiful Moral Essays, which they try to cram down everybody's throat, but never practise themselves. She formerly kept a boarding-house in the city, where, at table regularly after soup, she would regale those present with long dissertations on the shocking immorality of the present day, varying the monotony, perhaps, by allusions to the boarders who had just left. "Mr. SIMPSON was a pleasant-spoken young man as I want to see, and as good as the bank, but I'm afraid he was agettin' dissipated;" or, "Mr. FIELDING was quiet and mannerly, and never found fault with his vittles, but he had one DREADful habit;" and then she would sigh heavily. And when little Miss PINKHAM, who occupied the second floor back (and who, being a schoolma'am, was naturally debarred from the other sex), indulged in the smallest possible flirtation with the good-looking young man opposite, Mrs. BACKUP'S sharp eye not only saw her, but Mrs. BACKUP'S sharp tongue took occasion to berate her severely on a Sunday morning (for then the boarders are all in), at the top of the first landing (for then the boarders could all hear her). "I am saprised, Miss PINKHAM. Why, when I see that young man asittin' at his winder, and a blowin' beans. Yes, a blowin' beans, Miss PINKHAM, through a horrible tin pop-gun at your'n, and a winkin' vicious, and you a enjoyin' on it, Miss PINKHAM, I sot down; yes, I sot right down, and I shuddered. 'Sich doin's in my house,' says I, 'I am totilly congealed.'" When all the time, mind you, the virtuous Mrs. BACKUP was a woman who would bear any amount of watching, having already caused three husbands to frantically emigrate to parts unknown.

Seeing that ARCHIBALD hesitated, she said:—

"Well, young man, what's wanted?"

"I—I—want to see ANN BRUMMET," said ARCHIBALD.

"Oh, you do, do you?" rejoined Mrs. BACKUP, regally; "and who, may I ask, is ANN BRUMMET?"

"A young lady that I was—a—to meet here," replied ARCHIBALD, timidly.

Mrs. BACKUP immediately organized a virtuous tableau, and glared at him majestically.

"A young lady you was to meet here. In-deed. And do you think, young man, that my house is a place where young chaps can go a-roystorin' and a-gallivinatin' about, and a meetin' young women?"

"But I don't want to go oysterin'," said ARCHIBALD, "and I don't know how to galvinate. I only want to tell her something."

"Oh, to tell her something, is it? Well, I'd have no objections, young man, if you said she was your wife. Then you'd have a right, but not now, for my cha-racter is precious to me, young man."

"But she ain't my wife," said ARCHIBALD; "I only—kind of know her, you see."

"Drat the man," said Mrs. BACKUP to herself; "he's a born fool that can't take a hint like that. TEDDY!" she cried to a seedy-looking, pimply man, who was sucking a forlorn-looking pipe on the back-door step, "you're wanted." She whispered a few words in his ear, and went up-stairs.

TEDDY MCSLUSH was the General Utility man of the Half-Way House. Born down East, of an Irish father and Scotch mother, he was eminently calculated to live by his wits. His natural talents were numerous and sparkling. He could tell more lies without notes than any man in the State, or make a beautiful prayer, all in the way of business. When a runaway couple were married at the Half-Way House, he would not only give the bride away in a voice broken by emotion, but he would bless the bridegroom with tears in his eyes, and he would do all this at the lowest market price. And every Sunday he dressed in a black suit and sung in the choir, and patted the little children on the head, and was generally respected.

He approached ARCHIBALD, and poked him in the ribs, facetiously.

"Ah!" he ejaculated; "and it's a cryin' shame, so it is, that a fine lad like yerself should be took with sich a complaint. It's modeshty what ails ye, man. And wasn't it Mester JOHN SHAKESPEER himself, him as writ the illegant versis, Lord luv his ashis, as says to me only jist afore his breath soured on him, 'TEDDY,' says he, wid much feelin', 'TEDDY, modeshty is a fine thing in a woman,' says he, 'but it's death to a man. Promise me now,' says he, 'for I feel as this clay is a coolin' fast—promise me, TEDDY, as you'll never hev nothink to do with it—no, not never, my boy.' I promised him, and Hevins knows as I've kep' my word. But, Lord alive, I'm a keepin' you all the time from yer own dear wife, as is a dyin' to see you—and a sweet dear it is."

He ushered ARCHIBALD into the Ladies' Parlor, closed the door, and applied his ear to the key-hole, with an air of the most respectful attention.

According to TEDDY'S way of thinking, ANN was not hankering for ARCHIBALD'S society.

"What do you want here?" said she, sharply.

"Oh, don't speak cross to me, Miss BRUMMET," said he, looking timidly around. Then he put his finger on his lip, and shook his head energetically.

"I know all about it, you see," said he; "JEFF told me. Oh my! wasn't I struck up, though? But I'll never tell. He couldn't come, you see. His mother sent for him, and----"

"You lie," she broke in fiercely; "it's a put up job between you two. But it won't do; do you hear? It won't do."

"Oh, don't look at me that way," said ARCHIBALD, backing toward the door; "I want to go home."

"I'd like to see you go home," she replied, placing her back against the door. "You must think I'm a fool, to let you off as easy as that. You've got to sit up with me this evening, anyhow."

"But what would folks say?" stammered ARCHIBALD. "Oh, think of my reputation, Miss BRUMMET, and let me go."

"Your reputation!" she sneered. "Humbug! Men don't have any reputation, except when they steal a woman's. Come," she added, in a more conciliatory tone, "we'll have some supper, and then we'll have a game of euchre."

"Euchre! Oh, don't ask me to play euchre," said he; "I'm so mixed up, Miss BRUMMET, I couldn't tell the King of Ten-spots from the Ace of Jacks. Oh, won't BELINDA grab hold of my hair when she hears of this!"

"Yes, she'll pull it till she makes her ARCHIE-bald," said ANN, laughing.

ARCHIBALD sat down, and looked at her in a supplicating manner.

"I'll do anything you say," said he, "if you please won't get off any more puns. It's awful. I knew a fellow once who had it chronic. He doubled every word that he could lay his tongue to. When he was going to a party, he'd take the dictionary and pick out a lot of words that could be twisted, and set 'em down and study on 'em, so he could be ready with a lot of puns, and when he got 'em off folks would laugh, but all the time they'd wish he'd died young. And that's the way he'd go on. He finally drove his mother into a consumption, and at her funeral, instead of taking on as he ought to, he only just looked at the body, and said, 'Well, that's the worst coffin-fit the old lady ever had.' And then he turned round and began to get off puns on the mourners. Wasn't it dreadful?—But what's that?"

Somebody was knocking at the door.

"What's wanted?" said ANN.

"It's your minister as has come, mum," said TEDDY, from the outside. "What word shall I give him?"

"Tell him I shan't want him," said ANN.

In a few minutes TEDDY came back.

"He says, mum, as he won't go without marryin' somebody, or a gittin' his pay anyway, for it's a nice buryin' job as he's lost by comin'."

"But," said ANN, "I can't—" She hesitated, and seemed to form a sudden resolution. "Tell him," she continued, "tell him—"

(To be continued.)

BIOGRAPHICAL.

THE FITTEST PLACE FOR A "PRESERVER" OF THE PEACE. A "Jam" on Broadway.

DR. HELMBOLD TO J.G. BENNETT, Jr. "Boo-shoo! fly."

A BRIGHT IDEA.

Customer. "WAITER, BRING ME SOME FROZEN CLAMS."

Waiter (lately caught). "YES, SIR; WILL YOU HAVE 'EM ROASTED OR BILED?"

WORDS AND THEIR USES.

Nothing, except counting your stamps, can be more pleasant and exciting than tracing out the origin of words by the aid of a second-hand dictionary. It's the next funniest thing to grubbing after stumps in a ten-acre lot. Dentists make capital philologists—: they are so much accustomed to digging for roots. It's rather dull work to shovel around in the Anglo-Saxon stratum, but, as soon as you strike the Sanscrit, then you're off, and if you don't find big nuggets, it's because—well, it's because there are none there. Sometimes you dig down to about the time when NOAH went on his little sailing excursion, and strike what seems to be a first-class sockdolager of root, but what is the use? Unfortunately the philology business is overdone; it's chock full of first-class broken down pedagogues and unsuccessful ink-slingers, and, as soon as you offer a curious specimen in the way of roots, they write a book to prove that the root don't exist, or, if it does, that it should not.

However, there is an advantage in knowing the roots of words, and the use to which they were put in former years. Everybody, you know, is very anxious to read CHAUCER and SPENSER. Now, after you have studied this subject about forty-two years, you will be able to read CHAUCER with the aid of an old English dictionary and an Anglo-Saxon grammar.

Many so-called philologists, who have preceded me, have ignorantly derived words from improper sources. Thus, the compound word, shoofly, has been traced by some to the Irish word shoe, meaning a hoof-covering, and the French word fly, meaning an insect, when it is apparent to even the casual observer that it comes from the Guinea word shoo, meaning get out, and the English word fly, meaning a tripe destroyer. I propose, therefore, to show you the origin of a few words, in order that you may use them properly, and in order that you may subscribe freely for my book on this subject, which will shortly be placed before an admiring public.

Theatres. When the players were servants of the king, they were compelled to be proficient in reading, riting, rithmetic, rhyming, riddling, reciting, rehearsing, and romping. These accomplishments were grouped together and called the 8 r's, which name naturally enough was soon applied to the play-houses. This example shows how simple the whole subject is, and how easily the philology business could he run by a child six years of age.

Country. The origin of this word is, to say the least, odd. City people were accustomed to visit the rural districts at about the time when rye was ripe, and they were generally amused by the farmer's pereginations around his rye. Farmers always count rye-stacks in the morning, in order to discover whether any of them have been lifted during the night. When, upon their return to the City, the visitors were asked where they had been, they facetiously replied, "To count rye." This soon became a favorite expression; the "e" was dropped for euphony, and the rural districts were called country.