fall;
Deuce take the wheelbarrow, my wife, and all.

The above lines were written when the author was quite advanced in years; when he had solved, in his humble way, the great problem of life, and discovered the futility of mundane things generally, and t undesirableness of an unsuccessful or unfortunate existence; when he could look back through a long vista of years, and see the follies of his youth and the mistakes of his manhood. It should have been placed at the end of his book, with only the word Finis after it; but somehow, either by mistake of the author or of the publisher, it was placed among the records of the simple events of the village, and thus loses half its force. However, let the history, placed as it is, be a warning to rash young men who contemplate matrimony; and let them give heed to it, lest they also have cause to repent of their doings and exclaim with the poet:—

Observe how pathetic and touching his reminiscence of his lost youth and the priceless boon of liberty. He commences in a quiet descriptive way, leaving one at a loss to know whether it is to be a joyful lyric a dirge he intends singing.

Here we have him alone, at peace with himself and the world; happy in the contemplation of his beloved muse; jotting down, now and then, the brilliant ideas that flash through his teeming brain; and munching in solitude his homely meal of bread and cheese. In telling us he laid his bread and cheese upon the shelf, he at once shows he had left his parental abode, and the ministering and watchful care of his maternal parent.

There must, of course, have been a cause for such a step. Some reason why the gentle being should have been wrought up to that pitch, when he daringly throws off all restraint, and steps into the world to act and think for himself. It may have been the want of sympathy that drove him to the act. They were plain folks, and didn't appreciate his peculiar turn of mind, and so only laughed at him, and ridiculed his pretensions. That there was a quarrel there is no manner of doubt, and it was probably caused by the mortifying act of his mother in fainting when he read her the poetry he had written at her request. That, in itself, was enough to break all ties between them. She was horrified and overwhelmed with dismay that a child of hers could be guilty of such atrocious rhymes; and he, in turn, was disgusted that a mother of his should be so unappreciative and earthly. And so, by mutual consent, they separated.

That accounts for his bachelor habit of laying his bread and cheese on the shelf that he might have it handy, and not forget where he had placed it. But as

he found that would never do. Something else must be thought of; and being an inventive genius, he tried putting it in his trunk, but it scented his Sunday jacket and trousers, and the girls all turned up their noses at the odd perfume. So, driven to extremity, he in an evil hour decided, as many another has since done, that the remedy for his ills was matrimony, and that it was not well for man to live alone.

A Prophet is without honor in his own country, and so ofttimes is a Poet. To his bashful supplication of "Wilt thou?" the young maidens if his village unhesitatingly refused to wilt, and thus it was that circumstances forced him

How fortunate that he should give us, inadvertently as it were, the information so necessary to the unlucky young men of this later day, the best place to go shopping for wives! No man after reading the above need say "he doesn't marry because he cannot, as no one will have him." He need not stop for that hereafter, but just go to London, pick out one to suit, pay the price, and bag the article. It can all be done in a day, and save time wonderfully.

He bought his wife—a cheap one undoubtedly—and gave his promise to pay; then started homeward, feeling his importance as a married man, and chuckling over the idea of the astonishment and dismay of the rats and mice when he should set his wife after them, and thereby deprive them of their daily rations. But while musing thus, he discovers his wile shows signs of fatigue, as

and not wishing to have her exhausted before commencing business, he gallantly determined to give her a ride, well knowing she would need all her strength for the battle he intended she should win.

So borrowing a wheelbarrow of a trusting neighbor, he seated her therein, and amid great rejoicing at his extraordinary "luck" he set forward. But now comes the sad part of the story:

And what a fall was there, my countrymen! Words are inadequate. The scene was indescribable, and we leave a blank that each may picture it to suit themselves.

After the excitement occasioned by the catastrophe was somewhat abated, he picked up the pieces and tried to put the wheelbarrow together again. But it was too far gone; it was un-put-togetherable, and so he, more in sorrow than anger, stood gazing at the wreck, while his wife, being a woman, could not resist the impulse to cry exultingly, "I told you so; I knew it." That on top of all the rest of his trouble was a little too much; and after fumbling over the pieces a while, "I told you so" ringing in his ears, he completely lost his temper, and vented his passion in the words:—

and then in a low voice, cautiously turning his head aside, he added:—

Together they trudged homeward. Fearful misgivings as to the wisdom of his step came swooping down upon him, and he almost wished he had not tried to mend matters, but had patiently borne with the rats, when suddenly—the vision of a cat swept athwart his mind, and he groaned aloud in bitterness of spirit.

Not even the ever after clean hearth-stone, with the dead bodies of his enemies, the rats, piled thereon, could make him forget that one moment of agonizing consciousness, when he realized for the first time that he had burdened himself with a wife when a cat would have answered as well.

HURLY-BURLY.

No wonder that the folks turn pale
And preachers talk of doom,
Since by each telegram and mail
Come words of awful gloom:


Explosions of N. glycerine;
Expulsion of the Pope;
Earthquakes along the Eastern line
And

THE PACIFIC SLOPE.

Surely the world is upside down,
Its framework out of joint;
At coming change all things of town
And country seem to point:


The very sea some day may try
To climb the mountain side,
And hill-folks yet be staggered by

THE MOANING OF THE TIED.

OUR PORTFOLIO.

By Diligence from Paris to Versailles—Fastest Time on Record—Happy Travelling Companions—Mud, Misery, and Malignity—Life on the Road.

NEAR ST. CLOUD, NINTH WEEK OF THE REPUBLIC, 1870.

It would have done you good to see us getting over that muddy, jagged, rutty old turnpike that leads off from the south of the Bois de Boulogne toward St. Cloud and Versailles. Since writing my last, I had been to Paris par ballon monté, and was now returning in the diligence that took five American ladies and a couple of war correspondents, all friends of WASHBURNE, away from the temptation of eating horse-flesh in the beleaguered city, to such edibles as the rapacity of the German appetite had left undevoured in the neighborhood of the old "stamping grounds" of Louis XVI. We were not a jolly party. It rained in torrents, and our little driver perched upon the box in front smoked the most infernal tobacco I ever smelt. Moreover, the horses were not lively steeds. They were rather safe than otherwise, and not given to running away. Although the driver addressed himself to their flanks, between each puff of smoke, with a pointed stick, they didn't rear and plunge so as to frighten the ladies, and that was a point gained, albeit we had leisure to count the pickets in the fences as we dragged toward our destination. One of our lady passengers came from Connecticut, and she talked with a nutmeg dialect that made her garrulity oftentimes quite spicy. We two sat back to back, and when the vehicle lurched heavily her chignon took me "amidships" (if I may be permitted the expression) with a concussion that felt like the impact of a muffled ball from a six-pound field howitzer. "Goodness gracious, dew git eout of the way and give me some room, man!" she would exclaim as our wagon plunged into a three-foot "gore" and the coachee plied his pointed ramrod with increased vigor to the attenuated haunches of the insensible beasts.

"My dear madam, you will perceive that I cannot 'git' any further without climbing upon the back of my companion in front." Lord knows I would have given a hundred francs to be out of her reach; but we had been all ticketed and labelled through under the same "pass," and there was no such thing as dissolving partnership now.

"Ugh!" she muttered, putting her handkerchief to her nose, "and that horrid smoke too!" But the imperturbable director of our flight took no heed, and drew away at his clay idol with unabated satisfaction. 'Twas thus we jogged on for five weary hours, "OLD CONNECTICUT" charging head foremost at my spinal column with a frequency and momentum that made me believe, finally, she did it on purpose. Three miles out from St. Cloud we found the road completely blocked up with artillery wagons, and saw large masses of troops moving through the fields on either side. It still rained incessantly, and the forlornness of the situation was no wise relieved by the distant booming of guns, and the sucking sound of the wheels in the mud.

"Oh, my!" sail a thin, squeaky voice on the back seat. "I believe they are coming this way. Do let us get out, SARAH. I would rather die on the road than be murdered in such a sepulchre as this."

She referred to a battalion of the Landwehr that had just denied into the road, not a hundred yards in front of us.

"Stop your sniffling back there!" peevishly exclaimed "OLD CONNECTICUT." "It would serve you right if they bayonetted you;" and she added emphasis to her expostulation by planting her chignon between my shoulder-blades with terrific force.

I felt at once that either my back or my gallantry would have to give way; so I took a bond of fate, and sacrificed the latter on the spot.

"That'll do—that'll do," I remonstrated. "No more of that; if you want to knock the brains out of that haystack on the back of your head, why, knock away; but spare my bones, if you please."

I looked around, and she looked around with such suddenness as to bring her nose in contact with the brim of my hat, and force the tears from her eyes. She started to her feet, and I verily believe would not have postponed hostilities a moment, had not the door of the diligence just then been opened, and a Prussian officer demanded to see our papers. I paraded the "documents," and he said they were "good;" but he also said that we must make up our minds to halt here until the following morning, as there was a movement of the troops, and no vehicles would be permitted to pass this point.

Gaudeamus! I could have sworn, but my wrath sailed away when I saw what a volcano was working in the bosom of "OLD CONNECTICUT." She didn't strike the officer, or utter a single complaint in his hearing, but sat down as if she had been a spile driven through the top of the coach, and let the vinegar run out of her eyes in pure impotency of speechless rage.

"SARAH'S" companion on the back seat broke forth afresh, and again wanted to know as to the probability of our being charged upon and put to the sword. I couldn't hear "SARAH'S" answers to these harrowing questions, but it seemed to me as if she were trying to throttle her timid friend into a perfect sense of security. Whatever she did had the desired effect, and I heard no more from the "back seat."

It was nightfall ere the several members of our little colony composed themselves to await in such tranquillity as they could command, the ordeal of sleeping, sitting bolt upright in a French diligence, upon a dark, tempestuous night, and surrounded on all sides by the dreadful presence of "red-handed war." The last thing I remember ere the drowsy god "MURPHY" sent his fairies to weave their cobwebs about my eyelids, was "OLD CONNECTICUT." She didn't look like the battering-ram that she was. She had taken that chignon for a pillow, and fastened it to the back of the seat. Her head was thrown back; her chin had fallen, and at the extreme tip of her thin red nose a solitary tear glistened like a dew-drop on a beet. Once, about midnight, she awoke me by her snoring, but I gave the old gal's chignon a hitch, and it was all right again.

Yours, somniferously,

DICK TINTO.

THOSE COUNTRY COUSINS AGAIN.

Celia (just arrived from the country). "JUST THINK, JANE, COUSIN JOHN IS TO BE MY ESCORT TO THE FRENCH BAZAAR AND THE NILSSON CONCERTS, AND BOOTH'S AND WALLACE'S, AND THE OPERA BOUFFÉ, AND LOTS OF OTHER FIRST-CLASS SHOWS!"

FACTS ABOUT THE ENGLISH MISSION.

It is not true that I ever accepted the English Mission; and if any man says I did, I now deliberately brand him as a Liar and Villain.

I am not going to deny that the place was offered me, but I do unhesitatingly, say that I never absolutely consented to take it.

Gen. GRANT may have construed my note on the subject as an unqualified acceptance, but that was owing entirely to his devouring desire to get the thing off his hands, and not to any ambiguity in my language.

"No, Mr. PRESIDENT," I said in the note, "far be it from me to stand between my friend, Mr. GREELEY, and the gratification of his noble desire to wear military things at receptions abroad. Moreover your Excellency, I would not for the world deprive our cousins and other relations in England of an opportunity to cultivate the grand old art of swearing under the instruction of so eminent a professor as HORACE."

This is the sort of language I used, and I don't see how any man except Gen. GRANT could get hold of it the wrong way.

Of course I had some reasons besides those stated in my note for declining the Mission, but I did not want to hurt the President's feelings by going over the whole ground.

It was not unknown to me that the situation had been offered to about five thousand persons before it came round to