JONES. That would be a journey sure enough. If I were he, I should prefer the railroad.

PAT. I know you favor the railroad, but I don't like to travel on the railroad, for you have to get off when the cars come along. I'd rather take the cars and walk, for when you get tired of walking you can get off and walk. That's a rail good joke, if it don't hurt your tender feelings and make your head light, but you must be car-full; but as you seem to be ingin it, and I find there is a tie between us, I will send you a copy of it by freight. O, you are afreight I will forget it; but as we have pursued this train of thought long enough, suppose we switch off and put on the breaks, or we will have to shovel snow. O, I'ce you think that's snogood; but let me tell you snow's a soft thing, while it lasts, and I advise you to freeze to it. I thawed of doing so myself, but it melted on my hand.

BILL NYE ON CHILDHOOD.

Childhood is the glad springtime of life. It is then that the seeds of future greatness or startling mediocrity are

sown.

If a boy has marked out a glowing future as an intellectual giant, it is during these early years of his growth that he gets some pine knots to burn in the evening, whereby he can read Herbert Spencer and the Greek grammar, so that when he is in good society he can say things that nobody can understand. This gives him an air of mysterious greatness which soaks into those with whom he comes in contact, and makes them respectful and unhappy while in his presence.

Boys who intend to be railroad men should early begin to look about them for some desirable method of expunging two or three fingers and one thumb. Most boys can do

this without difficulty. Trying to pick a card out of a job press when it is in operation is a good way. Most job presses feel gloomy and unhappy until they have eaten the fingers off two or three boys. Then they go on with their work cheerfully and even hilariously.

Boys who intend to lead an irreproachable life and be foremost in every good word and work, should take unusual precautions to secure perfect health and longevity. Good boys never know when they are safe. Statistics show that the ratio of good boys who die, compared to bad ones, is simply appalling.

There are only thirty-nine good boys left as we go to press, and they are not feeling very well, either.

The bad ones are all alive and very active.

The boy who stole my coal shovel last spring and went out into the graveyard and dug into a grave to find Easter eggs, is the picture of health. He ought to live a long time yet, for he is in very poor shape to be ushered in before the bar of judgment.

When I was a child I was different from other boys in many respects. I was always looking about to see what good I could do. I am that way yet.

If my little brother wanted to go in swimming contrary to orders, I was not strong enough to prevent him, but I would go in with him and save him from a watery grave. I went in the water thousands of times that way, and as a result he is alive to-day.

But he is ungrateful. He hardly ever mentions it now, but he remembers the gordian knots that I tied in his shirts. He speaks of them frequently. This shows the ingratitude and natural depravity of the human heart.

Ah, what recompense have wealth and position for the unalloyed joys of childhood, and how gladly to-day, as I sit in the midst of my oriental splendor and costly magnificence and thoughtfully run my fingers through my infrequent bangs, would I give it all, wealth, position and

fame, for one balmy, breezy day gathered from the mellow haze of the long ago when I stood full knee-deep in the luke-warm pool near my suburban home in the quiet dell, and allowed the yielding and soothing mud and meek-eyed polly-wogs to squirt up between my dimpled toes.

TRUTH IN PARENTHESIS.

I really take it very kind,

This visit, Mrs. Skinner;

I have not seen you such an age,

(The wretch has come to dinner!)
Your daughters, too, what loves of girls!
What heads for painters' easels!

Come here, and kiss the infant, dears!
(And give it, p'rhaps, the measles!)

Your charming boys, I see, are home,
From Reverend Mr. Russell's;
'Twas very kind to bring them both,
(What boots for my new Brussels !)
What! little Clara left at home?
Well now, I call that shabby!
I should have loved to kiss her so,
(A flabby, dabby babby!)

And Mr. S., I hope he's well;

But, though he lives so handy,
He never once drops in to sup,
(The better for our brandy!)
Come, take a seat; I long to hear

About Matilda's marriage;

You've come, of course, to spend the day,

(Thank Heaven! I hear the carriage !)

What! must you go? Next time, I hope,
You'll give me longer measure.

Nay, I shall see you down the stairs,
(With most uncommon pleasure!)

T. HOOD.

Good-bye! good-bye! Remember, all
Next time you'll take your dinners;
(Now, David, mind, I'm not at home,
In future, to the Skinners.)

A JERSEY BOY'S COMPOSITION.
(Verbatim et Literatim.)

"i wunst sor a man frum York he was visitin in hour plas i bleve at his brotherinlors who mared his sister a fishin he cum to fish for fish but yudathorte he cum to show his cloas he dident ketch a darned fish tho he cum a fishin he fished all day thout ketchin a darned fish he sot on a brige a tryin to fish and dident ketch a darned fish he was to affrad of a dirtiin his cloas and he dident ketch a darned fish tho he kum apuppis to fish and all the men and boyes laghed at him a fishin when he dident ketch a darned fish father sed he sene him afishin of the brige all da and dident ketch a darned fish all da but jus set thar afishin and dident ketch a darned fish all da if he did it was unbenone to father."

་

THE TRUE TALE OF WILLIAM TELL.

BILL NYE.

William Tell ran a hay ranch near Bergelen about 580 years ago. Tell had lived in the mountains all his life, and shot chamois and chipmonks with a cross-gun till he was a bad man to stir up.

At that time Switzerland was run principally by a lot of carpet-baggers from Austria, and Tell got down on them about the year 1307. It seems that Tell wanted the government contract to furnish hay at $45 a ton for the year 1306, and Gessler, who was controlling

the patronage of Switzerland, let the contract to an Austrian who had a big lot of condemned hay further up the gulch.

One day Gessler put his plug hat up on a telegraph pole, and issued order 236, regular series, to the effect that every snoozer who passed down the toll road should bow to it.

Gessler happened to be in behind the bush when Tell went by, and he noticed that Bill said "Shoot the hat," and didn't salute it, so he told his men to gather Mr. Tell in and put him in the refrigerator.

Gessler told him that if he would shoot a crab apple from the head of his only son, at 200 yards, with a crossgun, he would give him his liberty.

Tell consented, and knocked the apple higher than Gilroy's kite. Old Gessler, however, noticed another arrow sticking in William's girdle, and he asked what kind of a flowery break that was.

Tell told him that if he had killed the kid instead of busting the apple, he intended to drill a hole through the stomach of Mr. Gessler. This made Gessler mad again, and he took Tell on a picnic up the river in irons.

Tell jumped off when he got a good chance, and cut across a bend in the river, and when the picnic party came down he shot Gessler deader than a mackerel.

A COLORED PREACHER'S RELIGIOUS EXPERI

ENCE.

lorida Letter to Springfield Republican.

Just over the river from Augustine is a black village called "Africa." Last Sunday as I was walking out I fell in with an old grizzled darkey shambling along, his legs rather forward of the centre of his feet, and asked him where he was going. He replied, "I'se goin' to de church,