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"Hey, there!" said she, "you Monsher Powder-man ! Escape my clutches now, sir, if you can!

I'll let you dirty thieving Frenchmen know,
That decent people won't be cheated so."

Then spoke Monsieur, and heaved a saintly sigh,
With humble attitude and tearful eye.

“Ah, Madam! s'il vous plait, attendez-vous—
I vill dis leetle ting explain to you.

My poudare gran! magnifique! why abuse him?
Aha! I show you how to use him.

First, you must wait until you catch de flea;
Den, tickle he on the petite rib, you see;
And when he laugh-aha! he ope his throat;
Den poke de poudare down!—BEGAR! HE CHOKE.

PAT AND HIS MUSKET.

I've heard a good joke of an Emerald Pat,
Who kept a few brains and a brick in his hat.
He was bound to go hunting; so, taking his gun,
He rammed down a charge-this was load number one;
Then put in the priming, and when all was done,
By way of experiment, thought he would try,
And see if, perchance, he might hit the "bull's-eye."
He straighten'd himself till he made a good figure,
Took deliberate aim, and then pulled the trigger.
Click! went the hammer, but nothing exploded;
"And sure," muttered Paddy, "the gun isn't loaded!
So down went another charge, just as before,
Unless this contained just a grain or two more;
Once more he got ready, and took a good aim,
And pulled on the trigger-effect quite the same.
"I wonder can this be still shootin'?" said Pat;
"I put down a load now I'm certain of that;
I'll try it again, and then we shall see!"

So down went the cartridge of load number three!
Then trying again with a confident air,

And succeeding no b. tter, gave up in despair.

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Just at that moment he happened to spy

His friend Michael Milligan hurrying by.

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Hollo, Mike! come here, and just try on my gun:
I've been tryin' to shoot till I'm tired and done!"
So Mike took the gun, and pricked up the powder,
Remarking to Pat, "it would make it go louder;'
Then placing it firmly against his right arm,
And never suspecting it might do him harm,
He pointed the piece in the proper direction,
And pulled on the trigger without more reflection—
When off went the gun! like a country election,
And Michael "went off" in another direction!
"Hold on!" shouted Pat, "hold on to the gun!
I put in three loads, and you've fired off but one!
Get up, and be careful, don't hold it so livel,
Or else we are both of us gone to the divil!"
"I'm going," says Michael, "it's right that I wint,
I've got myself kicked, and it's time for the hint."

MULROONEY.

"Mulrooney, come here; I want you to put about two doublehands-full of bran into a bucket of warm water, and after stirring the mixture well to give it to the black fillies. That's what we call a bran mash in this country. Now do you understand me?" "Good luck to yer honor, and what 'ud I be good for if I didn't? an' shure its the ould country mash afther all."

"I thought as much, so now away with you and be sure you don't make any mistake."

""Tisn't at all likely I'll do that, sir; but about the warm wather and the nagur, shall I tell her 'tis yer 'onor's ordhers?" "Certainly!" Away he went. About ten minutes after, Mrs. Stanley entering the room remarked, "I do wish you would go into the kitchen. I am afraid there is something wrong between that Irishman and Phillis; they are quarrelling about orders he says you gave him.”

"Oh! it is nothing, my dear, I sent Mulrooney into the kitchen to get some water that he might feed the horses, and

I presume Phillis has refused to let him have any." All at once we heard a distant crash like sound of plates and dishes. Mrs. Stanley started in alarm. "Do go and see what the matter is, I am sure there is something wrong, that Irishman will be the death of Phillis one of these days." I now passed through the hall, and as I approached, the noise increased. First of all came the shrill voice of Phillis, "Ha' dun, I say; I tell ye I won't hab nuffin to do wid de stuff no way; go way, you poor white trash; I tell yer I won't."

"Yer stupid an' contrary old nagur, don't I tell ye tish the master's ordhers?"

“Tain't no such thing, I tell yer I won't; who eber heerd of a cullerd wooman a-takin' a bran mash afore, I'd like to know?"

"You haythin ould nagur, don't I tell ye 'tish the masther's ordhers?"

"Taint no such thing, I'll call missus, dat I will."

I thought the joke had proceeded far enough, so I flung open the door. The floor was strewn with broken dishes, tables were overturned, and in the midst was Phillis seated on a broken chair sputtering and gasping as Mulrooney had at this moment seized her. Her head was under his left arm while with his right he was conveying a tin-cup of the warm bran-mash to her up turned mouth. "An' sure, sir, what'ud I be doin' but given' black Phillis the bran mash accordin' to yer orders?" "Oh! you stupid Irishman.'

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He walked away muttering, "An' if they calls horses Phillis, an' Phillis horses, I'd like to know how I'm ever to find out the difference."

EARLY RISING.-John G. Saxe.

"God bless the man that first invented sleep!"
So Sancho Panza said, and so say I;
And bless him, also, that he didn't keep

His great discovery to himself; or try
To make it as the lucky fellow might-
A close monopoly by 66
patent right!

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Yes-bless the man who first invented sleep,

(I really can't avoid the iteration ;)

But blast the man with curses loud and deep,
Whate'er the rascal's name, or age or station,
Who first invented, and went round advising
That artificial cut-off-early rising !

"Rise with the lark, and with the lark to bed;" Observes some solemn, sentimental owl. Maxims like these are very cheaply said;

But e'er you make yourself a fool or fowl, Pray, just inquire about the rise—and fall,

And whether larks have any bed at all.

The "time for honest folks to be in bed,"
Is in the morning, if I reason right;
And he who cannot keep his precious head
Upon his pillow till 'tis fairly light,
And so enjoy his forty morning winks,
Is up to knavery; or else-he drinks!

Thomson, who sung about the "Seasons," said
It was a glorious thing to rise in season;
But then he said it-lying-in his bed

At 10 o'clock A. M.--the very reason

He wrote so charmingly! The simple fact is,
His preaching wasn't sanctioned by his practice.

'Tis, doubtless, well to be sometimes awake-
Awake to duty, and awake to truth--

But when, alas! a nice review we take

Of our best deeds and days, we find, in sooth, The hours that leave the slightest cause to weep, Are those we passed in childhood, or-asleep.

'Tis beautiful to leave the world awhile,

For the soft visions of the gentle night;
And free, at last, from mortal care or guile,
To live, as only in the angel's sight,
In sleep's sweet realm so easily shut in,

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Where, at the worst, we only dream of sin.

So let us sleep, and give the maker praise.
I like the lad who, when his father thought
To clip his morning nap by hackneyed phrase
Of vagrant worm by early songster caught,
Cried, "Served him right! it's not at all surprising;
The worm was punished, sir, for early rising!"

SHORT EXTRACTS ARRANGED FOR

SPEAKING.

ELOQUENCE.

With gifts which raise man far above the brute creation, God has coupled powers of expression which are equally pre-eminent, and without which, those gifts would have been all but useless. But, until duly trained, they are crude, irregular, and impulsive. As an art, eloquence would cultivate all the capacities of the soul with reference to its own specific object. It teaches how the orator is to deal with his powers, and by what means he is to train them to their perfect matuaity; how he is to discipline judgment, enrich and yet chasten imagination, refine taste, and strengthen those generous sentiments which assure him access to the hearts of others. aims to give him, too, a high idea of the power and dignity of his art, and to inspire him with an ambition for its greatest achievments. All this is inculcated, not in precept merely, but by noble examples of the art, and also by frequent exercises ; and when, by such means, the faculties of the orator are unfolded, this art strives to subject them to his complete control, so that, when he bids, they shall come forth obediently, and do their appropriate work. The eloquence of the uncultivated is called forth by occasions and emergencies. It is not at com

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