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"Jones pondered a minute, but he couldn't see it,' and shaking his head musingly, he slowly dispersed."-p. 19.

Mr. Bowers mentioned to me as deserving the commiseration of the charitable and benevolent, the distressing case of a journeyman shoemaker who had lost his little awl.-p. 31, vol. 2.

The following smacks, to us, slightly of "Jeems: "

.

"It was on a lovely morning in the sweet spring time, when 'two horsemen might have been seen' slowly descending one of the gentle acclivities that environ the picturesque village of San Diego. It was a bright and a sunny day, and the shrubbery and trees around were alive with the harmonious warbling of the feathered songsters of the grove. And oh!' sighed the younger of the twain, 'would that my existence might be like that of these fair birds-one constant, unwearying dream of love.' 'Aye,' responded the elder, a man of years and of experience, known to the readers of this history as Joseph Bowers the elder, 'Aye, my brave youth, they are indeed a happy race, and the spring is to them their happiest season, for they are now engaged in pairing."

"And where, my father,' inquired the curious youth, 'do they go to pair?'

"Up into the pear-trees, probably,' rejoined old Joe, with a quaint smile.

The son, with the air of one who has acquired a curious and useful piece of information, rode quietly on, and the silence that ensued was unbroken, but by his asking his parent for the tobacco, until they arrived at the village."-p. 47.

Young Bowers was reading to the author of his existence, some passages from Lickspittle's life of General Pierce, of whom (the general, not the author) old Joe is a great admirer.

On arriving at that affecting anecdote of the liberality of the General in bestowing a cent upon a forlorn boy to enable him to purchase candy like his playmates, Bowers commanded his offspring to pause. Young Joe reverently obeyed.

“‘The General,' said Joseph dogmatically, 'should never have mentioned that circumstance, never."

“And why, my father?' asked his son.

"Because,' replied the philosopher, 'Silence gives a cent, or I've read my Bible to very little purpose.'

“And acknowledging the application of Scripture by a concurring nod, young Joe resumed his literary labors, and his father the pipe, which he had withdrawn for the enunciation of his sentiments.”—p. 81, vol. 2.

With the following exquisite morceau from the pen of old Joe Bowers himself, it being the commencement of a tale, which concludes the book, we must conclude our extracts.

The tale is entitled "The Dun Filly of Arkansas, or Thereby Hangs a Tail."

66 Many a long year ago, when the 'Child's Own Book' was all true—when fairies-peopled every moonlit glen, and animals enjoyed the power of conversation, in a sequestered dell, beneath the shadow of a mighty oak, upon a carpet of the springiest and most verdant moss, disported a noble horse of Arabian blood, and his snow-white bride,' The Lily of the Prairie.'

"And oh !. my noble lover,' said the Lily, as in playful tenderness she seized and shook between her teeth, a lock of his coalblack mane, 'may I indeed believe thy vows? Hast thou forgotten for aye, the dun filly of Arkansas? And wilt thou ever, ever be faithless to me again?'

"Nay, dearest,' he replied.
“And she neighed."

From these extracts, the reader will get an idea of the nature of the forthcoming work, which we trust will find a place on their centre-tables, in their libraries and readingrooms. We subjoin a few notices from the southern press, handed us by Mr. Bowers; the marks in the margin of each having been made with a pencil, probably by himself:

"The most elegant book of the season-with greater attractions for the eye of taste and the enlightened mind than any other."— Vallecitos Sentinel. $1,25, pd.

"These volumes will have a permanent and increasing value, and will adorn the libraries and centre-tables of American families as long as American literature continues to be read."-San Isabel Vaquero. $3 pd. for two insertions, and another notice for two bottles of whiskey.”—J. B.

"This superb and elegant affair is the book of the season unquestionably.-Penasquitas Picaron. 4s. two drinks, and invited him to dinner.”—J. B.

"The typography of these volumes is all that could be desired. Nothing superior to it has been issued from the American Press, Bowers will be among American classics, what Goldsmith is among those of Fatherland. It is an elegant edition of the works of our foremost writer in the belles lettres department of literature."—Soledad Filibuster. $5, drink, string of fish, and half-pig when I kill.—J. B.

PHOENIX AT BENICIA.

BENICIA, Cal., 10th June, 1855.

I OBSERVED your pathetic inquiry as to my whereabouts. I'm all right, sir. I have been vegetating for two or three weeks in this sweet (scented) place, enjoying myself, after a manner, in "a tranquil cot, in a pleasant spot, with a distant view of the changing sea." Howbeit, Benicia is not a Paradise. Indeed, I am inclined to think that had Adam and Eve been originally placed here, the human race would never have been propagated. It is my impression that the heat, and the wind, and some other little Benician accidents, would have been too much for them. It would have puzzled them, moreover, to disobey their instructions; for there is no Tree of Knowledge, or any other kind in Benicia; but if they had managed this, what, in the absence of fig-leaves, would they have done for clothing? Maybe tulé would have answered the purposethere's plenty of that. I remarked to my old friend, Miss Wiggins, the other day, in a conversation on Benicia, its advantages and its drawbacks, that there was not much society

here. "Wal,” replied the old lady, "thar's two, the Methodists and Mr. Woodbridge's, but I don't belong to nuther." "I don't either," said I, and the conversation terminated.

I hardly know what to write to you; I remind myself of the old Methodist Elder, way down on the French Broad, in Tennessee, who was unexpectedly called upon to address a Camp-Meeting. He slowly rose and ejaculated, “Brutherin,” —here an idea struck him—" Brutherin," said he, "the term Brutherin arose from an old custom of the Apostles, who used to go up to the tabernacle and breathe therein! Hence the term, Brutherin. But my brutherin," he went on, “I'm not a going to take my text from any particular part of the Bible to-night. I'll tell you," said he, with a pleasant smile, as he warmed to his work, "I'll tell you all about old brother Paul-who went down to Corinth and got into an all-fired scrape—and was knocked down-and drug out— and left thar for dead-all of which is written by Hellicarnassus, up the Archipelago-bless-ed be the Lord!" Now, like this "ancient worthy," who by the way went on and made a very effective speech of it, I'm not going to take my text from any thing in particular, but I will commence this rambling epistle by an anecdote of "old Brother" Tushmaker, which I think extremely probable has never yet been published.

Dr. Tushmaker was never regularly bred as a physician, or surgeon, but he possessed naturally a strong mechanical genius and a fine appetite; and finding his teeth of great service in gratifying the latter propensity, he concluded that he

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