When we were eight hours out from Salt Lake City, a Mormon preacher got in with us at a way-station, a gentle, soft-spoken, kindly man, and one whom any stranger would warm to at first sight. I can never forget the pathos that was in his voice as he told, in simple language, the story of his people's wanderings and unpitied sufferings. No pulpit eloquence was ever so moving and so beautiful as this outcast's picture of the first Mormon pilgrimage across the plains, struggling sorrowfully onward to the land of its banishment, and marking its desolate way with graves, and watering it with tears. His words so wrought upon us that it was a relief to us all when the conversation drifted into a more cheerful channel, and the natural features of the curious country we were in came under treatment. One matter after another was pleasantly discussed, and at length the stranger said,

"I can tell you a most laughable thing indeed, if you would like to listen to it. Horace Greeley went over this road once. When he was leaving Carson City he told the driver, Hank Monk, that he had an engagement to lecture in Placerville, and was very anxious to go through quick. Hank Monk cracked his whip, and started off at an awful pace. The coach bounced up and down in such a terrific way that it jolted the buttons all off of Horace's coat, and finally shot his head clean through the roof of the stage; and then he yelled at Hank Monk, and begged him to go easier, - said he warn't in as much of a hurry as he was a while ago. But Hank Monk said, 'Keep your seat, Horace, and I'll get you there on time;' and you bet you he did, too, what was left of him!"

Ten miles out of Ragtown we found a poor wanderer who had lain down to die. He had walked as long as he could, but his limbs had failed him at last. Hunger and fatigue had conquered him. It would have been inhuman to leave him there. We paid his fare to Carson, and lifted him into the coach. It was some little time before he showed any very decided signs of life; but by dint of chafing him, and pouring brandy between his lips, we finally brought him to a languid consciousness. Then we fed him a little; and by and by he seemed to comprehend the situation, and a grateful light softened his eye. We made his mail-sack bed as comfortable as possible, and constructed a pillow for him with our coats. He seemed very thankful.

Then he looked up in our faces, and said in a feeble voice that had a tremble of honest emotion in it,

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Gentlemen, I know not who you are, but you have saved my life; and, although I can never be able to repay you for it, I feel that I can at least make one hour of your long journey lighter. I take it you are strangers to this great thoroughfare, but I am entirely familiar with it. In this connection I can tell you a most laughable thing indeed, if you would like to listen to it. Horace Greeley

I said, impressively,

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Suffering stranger, proceed at your peril. You see in me the melancholy wreck of a once stalwart and magnificent manhood. What has brought me to this? That thing which you are about to tell. Gradually but surely, that tiresome old anecdote has sapped my strength, undermined my constitution, withered my life. Pity my helplessness. Spare me only just this once, and tell me about young George Washington and his little hatchet, for a change." We were saved. But not so the invalid. In trying to retain the anecdote in his system, he strained himself, and died in our arms. MARK TWAIN.

DER SHOEMAKER'S POY.

DER meat-chopper hanged on der vhitevashed vall,
For no gustomers comed to der putcher's shtall;
Der sausage masheen was no longer in blay,
And der putcher poys all had a holiday.
Der shoemaker's poy comed dere to shlide

On der door of der zellar, but shtealed inside:

Mit der chopping masheen he peginned to make free,
Un he cried, “Dere ish nopody looking at me.”
O der shoemaker's poy,

Un, O! der shoemaker's poy!

Der day goed avay, un der night comed on.
Ven der shoemaker vound dat his poy vas gone,
He called up his vrow, un der search pegan
To look for der poy, un vind him if dey can.
Dey seeked un asked for him at efery door,
At der putcher's, der paker's, un groshery shtore;

At der lager-pier cellar, der shtation-house;
But der answer dey getted vas, "Nix cum arous."
O! der shoemaker's poy,

Un, O! der shoemaker's poy!

Dey seeked him all night, un dey seeked him next tay,
Un for more as a mont vas der duyvil to pay,

In der alleys, der houses, un efery place round,
In der Toombs, in der rifer, un in der tog-pound.
Dey seeked him in vain undil veeks vas bast,
Un der shoemaker goed to his awl at last ;
Un ven he'd passed py, all der peeples vould cry,
"Dere goes der shoemaker vot losed his poy!"
O! der shoemaker's poy,

Un, O! der shoemaker's poy!

At lenkt der meat-chopping masheen vas in need:
Der putcher goed to it, un dere he seed

A pundle of pones; un der shoes vas dere
Vot der long-lost shoemaker's poy did vear.
His jaws were still vagging, un seemed to say,
"Ven no one vas here, I got in to blay:

It closed mit a shpring, un der poy so green
Vas made sausage-meat by der chopping masheen."
O! der shoemaker's poy,

Der last of der shoemaker's poy!

Where his company was quartered?
Turning to his comrades four,
He made answer, "Pardon, general,
Shot and shell have left no more.

"These the mitrailleuse has spared us,
Five poor wounded, these alone;
Sharp and fierce the shock of battle,
But the enemy are gone!"
"Then return to your battalion,
Comrades brave," the general said.
"Pardon, general, here you see them:
On the crimson sod are laid

"All the rest!" The general murmured,
Gnawing at his moustache gray,
"Sorely my poor boys are beaten :
Cursed be their task to-day!
Still we took those murderous cannons:
To your regiment repair."

With low voice replied the sergeant,
Pardon, general, they are here."

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Seizing with his hand the sergeant's,
Tears dissolved the general's pride:
"God avert more such misfortunes!"'
In a quivering voice he cried :
"Friends, the eagle which we followed,
And the flag
are they lost too?"

"Never!" and the bloody tatters
From his breast the soldier drew.

THE FAN DRILL.

WOMEN are armed with fans, as men with swords, and sometimes do more execution with them. To the end, therefore, that ladies may be entire mistresses of the weapon which they bear, I have erected an academy for the trainingup of young women in the exercise of the fan according to the most fashionable airs and motions that are now practised at court. The ladies who carry fans under me are drawn

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up twice a day in my great hall, where they are instructed in the use of their arms, and exercised by the following words of command. Handle your fans!" "Unfurl your fans!" "Discharge your fans!" "Ground your fans! "Recover your fans!" "Flutter your fans!" By the right observation of these few plain words of command, a woman of a tolerable genius, who will apply herself diligently to her exercise for the space of but one half-year, shall be able to give her fan all the graces that can possibly enter into that little modish machine.

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But, to the end that my readers may form to themselves a right notion of this exercise, I beg leave to explain it to them in all its parts. When my female regiment is drawn up in array, with every one her weapon in her hand, upon my giving the word to handle their fans," each of them shakes her fan at me with a smile, then gives her right-hand woman a tap upon the shoulder, then presses her lips with the extremity of her fan, then lets her arms fall in easy motion, and stands in readiness to receive the next word of command. All this is done with a close fan, and is generally learned in the first week.

The next motion is that of unfurling the fan, in which are comprehended several little flirts and vibrations, as also gradual and deliberate openings, with many voluntary fallings-asunder in the fan itself, that are seldom learned under a month's practice. This part of the exercise pleases the spectators more than any other, as it discovers, on a sudden, an infinite number of cupids, garlands, altars, birds, beasts, rainbows, and the like agreeable figures, that display themselves to view; whilst every one in the regiment holds a picture in her hand.

Upon my giving the word to "discharge their fans," they give one general crack, that may be heard at a considerable distance when the wind sits fair. This is one of the most difficult parts of the exercise; but I have several ladies with me, who at their first entrance could not give a pop loud enough to be heard at the farther end of the room, who can now discharge a fan in such a manner, that it shall make a report like a pocket-pistol. I have likewise taken care (in order to hinder young women from letting off their fans in wrong places or on unsuitable occasions) to show upon what subject the crack of a fan may come in properly. I have likewise invented a fan with which a girl of sixteen, by