Altho I hankered intensly arter the objeck of my affecshuns, I darsunt tell her of the fires which was rajin in my manly Buzzum. I'd try to do it, but my tung would kerwollup up agin the roof of my mowth & stick thar, like deth to a deseast African or a country postmaster to his offiss, while my hart whanged agin my ribs like a old-fashioned wheat Flale agin a barn door.

All

'Twas a carm still nite in Joon. nater was husht end nary zeffer disturbed the screen silens. I sot with Betsy Jane on the fense of her farther's pastur. We'd been romping threw the woods, killin flours & drivin the woodchuck from his Nativ Lair (so to speak) with long sticks. Wall we sot thar on the fense, a swingin our feet two and fro, blushin as red as the Baldinsville skool-house when it was fust painted, and lookin very simple, I make no doubt. My left arm was ockepied in balinnsin myself on the fense, while my rite woundid luvinly round her waste.

I cleared my throat and tremblinly sed, "Betsy, you're a Gazelle."

I thought that air was putty fine. I waitid to see what effeck it would have upon her. It evidently didn't fetch her, for she up and sed:

You're a sheep!"

Sez I, Betsy, I think very muchly of

She bowd her hed down and commenst chawin the strings to her sun-bonnet.

"Ar, could you know the sleeplis nites I worry threw with on your account, how vittles has seized to be attractiv to me & how my lims has shrunk up, you wouldn't dowt me. Gase on this wastin form and these 'ere sunken cheeks- ``

I should have continnered on in this strane probly for sum time, but unfortnitely I lost my ballunse and fell over into the pastur ker smash, tearin my close and seveerly damagin myself ginerally.

Betsy Jane sprung to my assistance in

BRAVE OLD SOLDIER.

He was quite an old man, and he had quite a bad limp, and he remarked as he touched his hat, "All I want is money enough to get to Savannah. I feel that I have not long to live, and I want to be buried in that nice, cool graveyard just outside of Savannah.

That appeal didn't open a single wallet. He was talking to three men who had found a shady spot under a grocery awning, and he seemed a little disappointed. Pulling a new string, he remarked: "Gentlemen, won't you do something for an old soldier?" "Were you a soldier in the last war?" asked one of the group. "I was," was the prompt reply. branch of the service?" The heavy artillery. "Where were you stationed?

"What

"Well," slowly replied the stranger, as if he hadn't expected such a question, "we were sometimes here and sometimes there. The fact was, our artillery was so heavy that we generally kept it on a hill. The Confederate Government didn't seem to expect that us three or four men were going to drag a big cannon all over the country and whip the Yankees to boot. Yes, I was wounded in the left leg."

66

In what action?" was asked.

"I never knew what they named it; my business was to get up and hump and knock thunder out of a whole Union regiment at once, and you just bet I didn't have any time to fool around and ask what they were going to name the battle. I went into the war to fight, and didn't I just throw myself, though!"

"Did you throw yourself under a wagon?"quietly asked one of the three.

Sometimes I did, and sometimes I didn't. They used to let me fight any way to win. I've fit from under a wagon

"Be honest, now, old man, and tell us if you didn't get that leg hurt in a mill or around machinery?"

Great guns! do you doubt my word?" gasped the man, starting back.

We do!" they replied in chorus. He closely scanned each face, and was indulging in gestures to show how he deplored such conduct toward one who had fought bravely, when one of them said:

“Come, now, speak the truth, and we'll raise you thirty cents." The old man turned to go, halted, hesitated, and then replied, "I suppose, gentlemen, that I fell off a building in Atlanta and hurt my leg, but it happened so mighty close after a battle that I could never really tell whether the fall or the fight hurt me the most. Now, please pass in your ten cents!"

RALEIGH SENTINEL.

DR. ABERFORD AND HIS PRESCRIPTION.

[CHARLES READE, born near Oxford, 1814, died 1880. From this celebrated novelist we make the following extract from "Christie Johnstone." His "Christie Johnstone," 1853, is a tale of fisher-life in Scotland, the scene being laid at Newhaven on the Forth. A young

lord, Viscount Ipsden, is advised by his physician, as

2 cure for ennui and dyspepsia, to make acquaintance with people of low estate, and to learn their ways, their minds, and their troubles. He sails in his yacht to the Forth, accompanied by his valet. Dr. Aberford is evidently meant for a picture of Dr. Abernethy.

"Dr. Aberford, my Lord." This announcement, made by Mr. Saunders, checked his Lordship's reverie. 'Insults everybody, does he not, Saunders?"

"Yes, my Lord," said Saunders, monotonously.

"Perhaps he will me that might amuse me," said his Lordship.

A moment later, the doctor bowled into the apartment, tugging at his gloves as he ran.

The contrast between him and our poor rich friend is almost beyond human language.

Here lay on the sofa, Ipsden, one of the most distinguished young gentlemen in Europe; a creature incapable, by nature, of a rugged tone or a coarse gesture; a being without the slightest apparent pretension, but refined beyond the wildest dream of dandies. To him, enter Aberford, perspiring and loud. He was one of those globules of human quicksilver one sees now and then for two seconds; they are, in fact, two globules; their head is one, invariably bald, round and glittering; the body is another in activity and shape, totus teres atque rotundus; and in fifty years they live five centuries; Horum Rex Aberford of these our doctor was the chief. He had hardly torn off one glove, and rolled as far as the third flower from the door on his Lordship's carpet, before he shouted,

This is my patient, lolloping in pursuit of health. Your hand," added he. For he was at the sofa long before his Lordship could glide off it.

"Tongue.-Pulse is good.-Breathe in my face."

Breathe in your face, sir! how can I do that?" (with an air of mild doubt.)

66

By first inhaling, and then exhaling in the direction required, or how can make acquaintance with your bowels?" "My bowels!"

"The abdomen, and the greater and lesser intestines. Well, never mind, I can get at them another way. Give your heart a slap, so.-That's your liver.And that's your diaphragm.

His Lordship having found the required spot (some people that I know could not) and slapped it, the Aberford made a circular spring and listened eagerly at his shoulder-blade. The result of this scientific pantomime seemed to be satisfactory, for he exclaimed, not to say bawled,

'Hallo! here is a Viscount as sound as a roach! Now, young gentleman,' added he, "your organs are superb, yet you are really out of sorts; it follows you have the maladies of idle minds, love perhaps, among the rest; you blush, a diagnostic of that disorder. Make your mind easy; cutaneous disorders, such as love,

etc., shall never kill a patient of mine with a stomach like yours. So, now to cure you!" And away went the spherical doctor, with his hands behind him, not up and down the room, but slanting and tacking, like a knight on a chess-board. He had not made many steps before, turning his upper globule, without affecting his lower, he hurled back, in a cold, business-like tone, the following interrogatory:

What are your vices?" "Saunders," inquired the patient, "which are my vices?"

66

M' Lord, Lordship hasn't any vices," replied Saunders, with dull matter-of-fact solemnity.

"Lady Barbara makes the same complaint," thought Lord Ipsden.

"It seems I have not any vices, Dr. Aberford." said he, demurely.

66

That is bad; nothing to get hold of. What interests you, then?"

"I don't remember. "What amuses you?"

I forget.

"What! no winning horse to gallop away your rents?"

No, sir.'

No Opera Girl, to run her foot and ankle through your purse?"

"No, sir! and I think their ankles are not what they were."

"Stuff! just the same, from their ankles up to their ears, and down again to their morals; it is your eyes that are sunk deeper into your head. Hum! no horses, no vices, no dancers, no yacht; you confound one's notions of nobility, and I ought to know them, for I have to patch them all up a bit just before they go to the deuce.

But I have, Dr. Aberford." 64 What?"

"A yacht! and a clipper she is, too." "Ah!-(Now I've got him.)"

"In the Bay of Biscay she lay half a point nearer the wind than Lord Heavyjib.

"Oh! bother Lord Heavyjib, and his Bay of Biscay."

"With all my heart, they have often bothered me."

'Send her round to Granton pier, in the Firth of Forth."

'I will, sir."

"And write down this prescription." And away he walked again, thinking the prescription.

66

'Saunders," appealed his master. "Saunders be hanged."

"Sir," said Saunders, with dignity, "I thank you.'

"Don't thank me, thank your own deserts," replied the modern Chesterfield. Oblige me by writing it yourself, my Lord; it is all the bodily exercise you will have had to-day, no doubt.

The young Viscount bowed, seated himself at a desk, and wrote from dictation: "DR. ABERFORD'S PRESCRIPTION."

"Make acquaintance with all the people of low estate, who have time to be bothered with you; learn their ways, their minds, and above all, their troubles.

"Won't all this bore me?" suggested the writer.

"You will see. Relieve one fellowcreature every day, and let Mr. Saunders book the circumstances.

"I shall like this part," said the patient, laying down his pen. "How clever of you to think of such things; may not I do two sometimes?"

"Certainly not; one pill per day. Write, Fish the herring! (that beats deerstalking.) Run your nose into adventures at sea; live on ten-pence, and earn it. Is it down?"

A bagpipe melody from the Gaelic.

At the wedding of Shon Maclean
Twenty Pipers together

Came in the wind and the rain
Playing over the heather;
Backward their ribbons flew,

Bravely they strutted and blew,
Each clad in tartan new,

Bonnet, and blackcock feather;
And every Piper was fu',

Twenty Pipers together.

He's but a Sassenach blind and vain
Who never heard of Shon Maclean-
The Duke's own piper,called "Shon the Fair,"
From his freckled skin and his fiery hair.
Father and son, since the world's creation,
The Macleans had followed this occupation,
And played the pibroch to fire the clan
Since the first Duke came and the Earth
began.

Like the whistling of birds, like the humming of bees,

Like the sough of the south-wind in the trees, Like the singing of angels, the playing of shawms,

Like Ocean itself with its storms and its calms,

Were the pipes of Shon, when he strutted and blew,

A cock whose crowing creation he knew!
At last in the prime of his playing life,
The spirit moved him to take a wife-
A lassie with eyes of Highland blue,
Who loved the pipes and the Piper too,
And danced to the sound with a foot and a
leg

White as a lily and smooth as an egg.
So, all the Pipers were coming together
Over the moor and across the heather,

All in the wind and the rain;
All the Pipers so bravely drest
Were flocking in from the east and the west,
To bless the bedding and blow their best

At the wedding of Shon Maclean.

At the wedding of Shon Maclean,
'Twas wet and windy weather!
Yet, thro' the wind and the rain
Came twenty Pipers together!
Earach and Dougal Dhu,
Sandy of Isla too,
Each with the bonnet o' blue,

Tartan, and blackcock feather;
And every Piper was fu',
Twenty Pipers together.

The knot was tied, the words were said,
Shon was married, the feast was spread,

Strong Sandy of Isla, age fourscore,
Whisker'd, gray as a Haskeir seal,
And clad in crimson from head to heel.
Beneath and round him in their degree,
Gathering the men of minstrelsie,
With keepers, gillies, lads and lassies,
Mixing voices, and jingling glasses.
At soup and haggis, at roast and boil'd,
Awhile the happy gathering toil'd,-
While Shon and Jean at the table ends
Shook hands with a hundred of their friends,-
Then came a hush. Thro' the open door
A wee bright Form flash'd on the floor,-
The Duke himself, in the kilt and plaid,
With slim soft knees, like the knees of a
maid,

And took a glass, and he cried out plain

I drink to the health of Shon Maclean! To Shon the Piper, and Jean his wife, A clean fireside and a merry life!" Then out he slipt, and each man sprang To his feet, and with "hooch the chamber rang!

"Clear the tables," shrieked out one-
A leap, a scramble, the thing was done!
And then the Pipers all in a row
Tuned their pipes and began to blow

While all to dance stood fain:
Sandy of Isla and Earach More,
Dougal Dhu from Kilflannan shore,
Played up the company on the floor

At the wedding of Shon Maclean.
At the wedding of Shon Maclean!
Twenty Pipers together
Stood up, while all their train

Ceased their clatter and blether,
Full of the mountain-dew,
First on their pipes they blew,
Mighty of bone and thew,

Red-cheek'd with lungs of leather;
And every Piper was fu',

Twenty Pipers together.

Who led the dance? In pomp and pride!
The Duke himself led out the Bride.
Great was the joy of each beholder,

For the wee Duke only reach'd her shoulder: And they danced, and turned, when the reel began,

Like a giantess and a fairy man!
But like an earthquake was the din
When Shon himself led the Duchess in!
And she took her place before them there,
Like a white mouse dancing with a bear.
How the little Duchess, so slim and sweet,
Her blue eves watching Shon's great feet,
With a smile which could not be resisted,
Jigged and jumped and twirl'd and twisted!
Sandy of Isla led off the reel,
The Duke began it with toe and heel,

Then all joined in full fain;

Twenty Pipers ranged in a row,
From squinting Shamus to lame Kilcroe,
Their cheeks like crimson, began to blow,
At the wedding of Shon Maclean.
At the wedding of Shon Maclean
They blew with lungs of leather,
And blithesome was the strain

Those Pipers played together!
Moist with the mountain dew,
Mighty of bone and thew,
Each with a bonnet o' blue,

Tartan, and blackcock feather;
And every Piper was fu',
Twenty Pipers together!

Oh, for a magic tongue to tell
Of all the wonders that befell!

Of how the Duke, when the first stave died,
Reached up on tiptoe to kiss the Bride,
While Sandy's pipes, as their mouths were
meeting,

Skirl'd and set every heart a-beating.
Then Shon took the pipes! and all was still,
As silently he the bags did fill,
With flaming cheeks and round bright eyes,
Till the first faint music began to rise.
Like a thousand laverocks singing in tune,
Like countless corn-craiks under the moon,

Like the smack of kisses, like sweet bells ringing,

strain

Like a mermaid's harp, or a kelpie singing,
Blew the pipes of Shon; and the witching
Was the gathering song of the Clan Maclean!
Then slowly, gently, at his side,
All the Pipers around replied,

And swelled the glorious strain;
The hearts of all were proud and light,
To hear the music, to see the sight,

And the Duke's own eyes were dim that night,

At the wedding of Shon Maclean.

So to honor the Clan Maclean
Straight they began to gather,
Blowing the wild refrain,

"Blue bonnets across the heather!"

They stamp'd, they strutted, they blew;
They shriek'd; like cocks they crew;
Blowing the notes out true,

With wonderful lungs of leather;
And every Piper was fu',

Twenty Pipers together!

When the Duke and Duchess went away The dance grew mad and the fun grew gay;

Man and Maiden, face to face,

Leapt and footed and scream'd apace!
Round and round the dancers whirl'd,
Shriller, louder, the Pipers skirl'd

Till the soul seem'd swooning into sound,
And all creation was whirling round.
Then, in a pause of the dance and glee.
The Pipers, ceasing their minstrelsie,
Draining the glass in groups did stand,
And passed the snuff-box from hand to hand-
Sandy of Isla with locks of snow,
Squinting Shamus, blind Kilmahoe,
Finlay Beg, and Earach More,
Dougal Dhu of Kilflannan shore-
All the Pipers, black, yellow, and green,
All the colors that ever were seen.
All the Pipers of all the Macs,
Gather'd together and took their cracks.
Then (no man knows how the thing befell,
For none was sober enough to tell,)
These heavenly Pipers from twenty places
Began disputing with crimson faces;
Each asserting, like one demented,
The claims of the clan he represented.
In vain gray Sandy of Isla strove
To soothe their struggle with words of love,
Asserting there, like a gentleman,
Then finding to reason is to despair,
The superior claims of his own great clan;

The gathering tune of his clan-and tries
He seizes his pipes and he plays an air-

To drown in music the shrieks and cries.
Heavens! Every Piper, grown mad with
Seizes his pipes with a fierce desire,
ire,

And blowing madly, with flourish and squeak,
Up and down the gamut they go,
Begins his particular tune to shriek!
Twenty Pipers, all in a row,

Each with a different strain,
Each tries hard to drown the first,
Each blows louder till like to burst.
Thus were the tunes of the Clans rehearst
At the wedding of Shon Maclean!
At the wedding of Shon Maclean,
Twenty Pipers together,

Blowing with might and main

Thro' wonderful lungs of leather:

Wild was the hullabaloo!

They strutted, they scream'd, they crew!

Twenty wild strains they blew,

Holding the heart in tether;

And every Piper was fu',
Twenty Pipers together.

A storm of music!

Like wild sleuth-hounds

Contending together were the sounds.
At last a bevy of Eve's bright daughters
Pour'd oil-that's whiskey-upon the waters,
And after another glass went down

The Pipers chuckled and ceased to frown.
Embraced like brothers and kindred spirits,
And fully admitted each other's merits.
All bliss must end! For now the Bride
Was looking weary and heavy-eyed,