Into the horison, near the bank where repos'd Calmly in slepe the Alegaiter before spoken of,

About 60 feet was his Length (not the 'gaiter) And he was aperiently a well-proportioned snaik.

When he was all ashore he glared upon

The iland with approval, but was soon "Astonished with the view and lost to wonder' (from Wats) (For jest then he began to see the Alegaiter)

Being a nateral enemy of his'n, he worked hisself

Into a fury, also a ni position. Before the Alegaiter well could ope His eye (in other words perceive his danger)

The Snaik had enveloped his body just 19

Times with foalds voluminous and vast' (from Milton) And had tore off several scails in the confusion,

Besides squeazing him awfully into his stomoc.

Just then, by a fortinate turn in his affairs,

He ceazed into his mouth the careless tale

Of the unreflecting water-snaik! Grown desperate

He, finding that his tale was fast squesed

Terrible while they roaled all over the iland.

It was a well-conduckted Affair: no noise Disturbed the harmony of the seen, ecsept

Onet when a Wilow was snaped into by the roaling.

Eeach of the combatence hadn't a minit for holering.

So the conflick was naterally tremenjous!

But soon by grate force the tale was bit complete

Ly of; but the eggzeration was too much

For his delicate Constitootion: he felt a compression Onto his chest and generally over his body;

When he ecspress'd his breathing, it was with

Grate difficulty that he felt inspired again onct more.

Of course this State must suffer a revolootion.

So the Alegaiter give but one yel, and egspired. The water-snaik realed hisself off, & survay'd

For say 10 minits, the condition of His fo: then wondering what made his tail hurt,

He sloly went off for to cool." GEORGE H. DERBY.

THE DEACON'S MASTERPIECE, OR THE WONDERFUL “ONEHOSS-SHAY."

A LOGICAL STORY.

HAVE you heard of the wonderful one-hoss-shay,

That was built in such a logical way It ran a hundred years to a day,

FIRST OF NOVEMBER,
quake-day.
There are traces of age in the one-
hoss-shay,

A general flavor of mild decay,
But nothing local as one may say.
There couldn't be, -for the Dea-
con's art

Had made it so like in every part That there wasn't a chance for one to start.

For the wheels were just as strong as the thills,

And the floor was just as strong as the sills,

And the panels just as strong as the floor, And the whippletree neither less nor

the Earth

more, And the back-crossbar as strong as the fore,

And spring and axle and hub encore. And yet, as a whole, it is past a doubt

In another hour it will be worn out!

First of November, Fifty-five! This morning the parson takes a drive.

Now, small boys, get out of the way! Here comes the wonderful one-hossshay. Drawn by a rat-tailed, ewe-necked bay. "Huddup!" said the parson. — Off went they.

The Parson was working his Sunday's text,

Had got to fifthly, and stopped perplexed

For she was jes' the quiet kind
Whose naturs never vary,

Like streams that keep a summer mind

Snowhid in Jenooary.

The blood clost roun' her heart felt glued

Too tight for all expressin', Tell mother see how metters stood, And gin 'em both her blessin'.

Then her red come back like the tide
Down to the Bay o' Fundy,
An' all I know is they was cried
In meetin' come nex' Sunday.
LOWELL: Biglow Papers.

HER LETTER.

I'm sitting alone by the fire,
Dressed just as I came from the dance,
In a robe even you would admire, -
It cost a cool thousand in France;
I'm bediamonded out of all reason,
My hair is done up in a cue:
In short, sir, "the belle of the sea-

son"

Is wasting an hour on you.

A dozen engagements I've broken;
I left in the midst of a set;
Likewise a proposal, half spoken,
That waits on the stairs- for me
yet.

They say he'll be rich, when he
grows up. -
And then he adores me indeed.
And you,sir,are turning your nose up,
Three thousand miles off, as you read.

But goodness! what nonsense I'm writing!

(Mamma says my taste still is low,)
Instead of my triumphs reciting,
I'm spooning on Joseph, -heigh-ho!
And I'm to be finished" by travel,
Whatever's the meaning of that, —
O, why did papa strike pay gravel
In drifting on Poverty Flat?

Good-night, here's the end of my
paper;
Good-night,
please, -

- if the longitude

For maybe, while wasting my taper, Your sun's climbing over the trees. But know, if you haven't got riches, And are poor,dearest Joe, and all that, That my heart's somewhere there in the ditches,