ing the means to repair the Lord's smoke-house!" Something like a smile lit up the countenance of the assembly, and the necessary funds were forthwith contributed.

ONE of the "juvenile bibers," who probably does like lager, and doesn't like to "save" at the loss of his pleasures, thinks the Drawer has been "sold" in the story of the German porter. The "juvenile" is mistaken. The Drawer can introduce him to a man who owns now a large share in one of the largest hotels in New York city. Less than twenty years ago this man was a porter, and the secret of his success was just that of the German porter, that when he wanted a glass of lager "so bad that he couldn't do without it," he just didn't get it. There is an old proverb, "A penny saved is two-pence earned." Try it, and see if it's true.

An old subscriber in Wisconsin, who has appeared in the Drawer before, sends the following item, of special interest, we imagine, to the internal revenue collector of "Thad's" district:

We have here a fixture, “an old resident," called Thad S, who is something of a philosopher. The other night he awoke from a troubled sleep and began saying, "Death and Taxes!" intimating there could be no escape from either. His moaning and groaning awoke his wife, who said, "Mr. S, what is the matter?" All the reply she could get was, "Death and Taxes!" She says, "Mr. S, you are prepared to die, I trust." The reply was, "Yes, I'm prepared for death, but not for the taxes!"

ONE who tells many good stories has sent a couple to the Drawer from Indiana. They have not lost their flavor by transmission through the mails, as some of the local jests seem to do:

Old S, who died a few years since, was one of the earliest settlers in Southeastern Indiana. He lived in a little hovel, on the Great Miami "Bottoms," with only one room, hogs and chickens inhabiting the same room with himself and wife. Though very ignorant, he was very kind-hearted and hospitable. A Yankee "tin peddler" once stopped at his house near dinner-time and inquired if he could get his dinner? "Certainly," replied S―. He ate dinner on a flour-barrel head, and then asked what was to pay? "Nothing." The peddler insisted, saying, "You are too poor to give me a dinner for nothing." S-positively refused, and the peddler left, thanking them kindly for their hospitality, and expressing his sympathy for their "poverty-stricken lot." He traveled through the Bottoms, disposing of his ware, and at evening got his supper a little farther on. He asked who those poor people were with whom he took dinner; and wanted to know "if his host and the neighbors could not help them a little?" The answer came from the "guidwife:" "Hora, man, Bire S could buy you, and a hundred more like you, if you was black! He's worth hundreds of thousands!" The peddler was astonished, never having seen wealth in that shape before.

Swas the owner of nearly two thousand acres of the rich alluvial at the junction of the Ohio and Great Miami rivers, and the old lady did not at all exaggerate his wealth.

A SIMILAR anecdote used to be told, when I was a boy and lived on Long Island, of old Smith, one

of the early settlers. Old Smith went up to New York some eighty or ninety years ago. Strolling along the then fashionable thoroughfare of Broad Street, he was attracted by a new jewelry store, and stopped to look in the window. The jeweler seeing such a shabby fellow staring in at his goods walked to the door and kept a sharp eye on the stranger. Smith, having finished his survey, walked into the store and accosted the proprietor: "I say, Mister, what are them there buckles worth?" pointing to a pair of handsome gold knee-buckles displayed in the window. The jeweler took a survey of him, and now concluded that he was some farm laborer, who had a desire to shine on Sundays, but was ignorant of the quality and value of the coveted article. He replied, "They are solid gold.” “I didn't ax what they were; I axed the price," replied Smith. "Do you think you have money enough to pay for them?" said the jeweler, in a bantering tone. "If I haven't, I guess I could soon borrer it," replied Smith, somewhat "riled." The jeweler laughed. "If you will stand outside and find some one who will lend you the money on your own security, I will give you the buckles," said he. Smith assented, and went out. In a few minutes he looked in and said, “Here comes a man'll lend me the money!" The jeweler stepped to the door and looked out. One of the city bankers was approaching, who was well known to the jeweler. Curiosity to ses the result kept him quiet. As soon as the banker came up Smith coolly addressed him: "I say, friend, can you lend me $40 or $50 if I want 'em?" In an instant the banker's wallet was out: "Yes, Mr. Smith, $500 if you want them." The jeweler was astonished, and still more so when the banker introduced "Mr. Smith, his particular friend, one of the richest men on Long Island!" Like the above tin peddler, he had never seen wealth in that shape before.

THE Drawer has received a pome entitled "The Soul's Last Sight." Whether it is original or selected the Drawer, in spite of its extensive reading and classical attainments, is unable to decide. It contains the history of a young lady who became enamored of a certain John Smith, who was faithful until he heard of a former Down-East flame living in "York State," when, it appears, he took the steam-boat line to pay a visit before yielding himself up to his engagements. Lucy, cast down by this apparent desertion, thus gives vent to her grief: He's gone! across the sudzy see He's crost the lakey watter ! To sea Jerushey Anjyline,

Ben Smither's oldest dawter.

Mi heart is broak! I soon shall di,
Oh cruel, cruel John!
And when I'm ded and berrayed
I hope you'll look upon

The gras that grose upon my tume, Down in the woods so dark, Where all is sad and silent glume And streeked skwirrels bark.

And when your out at nite as late
As eleven o'clock or later,

And heer the wind whine thro' the tall popped pine,
Oh!!! think uv Lucy Baker.

And ef ye marry that Jerushey Yuve crost the laix to get, Remember that your deerist Lucy Died in konsekwence uv it.

EXPECTANCY.

operations about Ball's Bluff had died away, the truth of this proverb was painfully realized. The "ninety-day" theory was completely exploded. Those who had flattered themselves that the conflict would be "sharp and short," that a single victorious and glorious campaign would crush the rebellion, were now disenchanted. My own hopes had controlled my judgment on that subject, and made me visionary. I had hoped for myself to be able speedily to return to congenial pursuits and my domestic circle. I had hoped for the Southern people that a speedy collapse of their frenzy would save them from the inevitable ruin which must result from a protracted war. I had hoped for my coun

ently be changed by the "returning good sense of the people:" a phrase often used by disappointed parties, but rarely realized by those of certain opinions.

The results of the late campaign had dissipated all these hopes. The war which had burst upon many like a thunder-clap from a cloudless sky, without any apparent adequate cause, a surprise, a concatenation of accidents, was now developing into a reality whose proportions and consequences it was bewildering to estimate. The peace-loving people who had no interest in the war, who voted against it, who abhorred it, were nevertheless fighting as fiercely and determinately as those who initi

VOL. XXXIII.-No. 197.-0 o

ated the quarrel and blew the trumpets. The certaminis gaudia had got possession of the sections. The hurrah for our side had now completely drowned the voice of reason, interest, or policy. An interminable and gloomy vista began to open before us. That the American people would prevail in the end who could doubt?-but at what a cost! Their best blood must flow in rivers; their accumulated wealth wasted like water, their mild and paternal government embittered, and hardened perhaps into an iron despotism. All that, perhaps, and Well, let it come! "The Federal

worse.

Union-it must and shall be preserved!" Let this fair land, from the Potomac to the Gulf, become a howling wilderness, so that the Right prevail and the Nationality is established. War to the last man and the last dollar!

The mind easily resigns itself to the inevitable. War, with its fatigues, privations, and fearful hazards, has its compensating glories and rewards.

"Still, still, forever

Better though each man's life-blood were a river That it should flow, and overflow, than creep Through thousand lazy channels in our veins Dammed like the dull canal, with locks and chains.

TOPOGRAPHICAL ENCAMPMENT, MAGRUDER'S.

Better be

Where the extinguished Spartans still are free, In their proud charnel of Thermopyla, Than stagnate in dishonorable peace; Better one current to the ocean add, One spirit to the souls our Fathers had, One freeman more, America, to thee!" Henceforth I begin to pay more attention to the details of a soldier's profession; to calculate distances, take bearings, study fortifications and tactics, read treatises on grand strategy, and dream of feats of arms and future campaigns. I was but a globule of the blood of the Great Nation which was warming up to the subject in hand.

Oct. 27. Having surveyed the roads and topography in the vicinity of Edwards's Ferry we broke camp to-day, and followed our division back to its position near Darnestown. We found the locality of head-quarters changed from the old place in the pines to Magruder's Farm, about two miles below the village. The General and staff occupied the farm-house; the topographers established themselves among the ruined chimneys of an old mansion which had been burned some time ago. The tents were pitched under the trees in the grass-grown inclosure; while the kitchen and mess-room were established in the cellar walls. We had news