the hall. Quick, Mortimer dear; we are almost safe. Oh, dear, I do believe we are going to be saved, at last!”

Our little summer establishment stands on the top of a high range of hills, overlooking a valley. Several farm houses are in the neighborhood, — the nearest some three or four hundred yards away.

When I, mounted on the chair, had been clanging that dreadful bell a matter of seven or eight minutes, our shutters were suddenly torn open from without, and a brilliant bull's eye lantern was thrust in at the window, followed by a hoarse inquiry:

"What in the nation is the matter here?"

The window was full of men's heads, and the heads were full of eyes that stared wildly at my night-dress and my warlike accoutrements.

I dropped the bell, skipped down from the chair in confusion, and said:

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There is nothing the matter, friends, — only a little discomfort on account of the thunder-storm. I was trying to keep off the lightning.

"Thunder-storm? Lightning? Why, Mr. McWilliams, have you lost your mind? It is a beautiful starlight night; there has been no storm."

I looked out, and I was so astonished I could hardly speak for awhile. Then I said:

"I do not understand this.

We distinctly saw the glow of the flashes through the curtains and shutters, and heard the thunder."

One after another those people lay down on the ground to laugh, and two of them died.

marked:

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One of the survivors re

'Pity ycu didn't think to open your blinds and look over

to the top of the high hill yonder. What you heard was cannon; what you saw was the flash. You see, the telegraph brought some news, just at midnight: OUR man's nominated, - and that's what's the matter."

CONVERSATIONAL STYLE.

["Mrs. Caudle Urging the Need of Spring Clothing."— Douglas William Jerrold.]

1. If there's anything in the world I hate — and you know it it is asking you for money. I am sure, for myself, I'd rather go without a thing a thousand times and I do, the more shame for you to let me !

2. What do I want now?" As if you didn't know! I'm sure, if I'd any money of my own, I'd never ask you for a farthing-never! It's painful to me, gracious knows!

one

3. What do you say? "If it's painful, why so often do it!" I suppose you call that a joke of your club jokes. As I say, I only wish I'd any money of my own. If there is anything that humbles a poor woman, it is coming to a man's pocket for every farthing. It's dreadful!

4. Now, Caudle, you hear me, for it isn't often I speak. Pray, do you know what month it is? And did you see how the children looked at church today?—like nobody else's children!

5. What was the matter with them? Oh, Caudle! how can you ask? Weren't they all in their thick merinoes and beaver bonnets?

What!

6. What do you say? What of it?" You'll tell me that you did't see how the Briggs girls

And

in their new chips turned their noses up at 'em? you didn't see how the Browns looked at the Smiths, and then at our poor girls, as much as to say, "Poor creatures! what figures for the first of May!

7. You didn't see it?" The more shame for you! I'm sure those Briggs girls—the little minxes! — put me into such a pucker, I could have pulled their ears for 'em over the pew.

8. What do you say? "I ought to be ashamed to own it?" Now, Caudle, it's no use talking; those children shall not cross over the threshold next Sunday, if they haven't things for the summer. mind—they sha'n't; and there's an end of it!

Now

9. "I'm always wanting money for clothes?" How can you say that? I'm sure there are no children in the world that cost their father so little; but that's it the less a poor woman does upon, the less she

may.

10. Now, Caudle, dear! What a man you are! I know you will give me the money, because, after all, I think you love your children, and like to see 'em well dressed. It's only natural that a father should. 11. How much money do I want?" Let me see, love. There's Caroline, and Jane, and Mary Anne, and

Susan, and

12. What do you say? "I needn't count 'em! You know how many there are!"

way you take me up!

That's just the

13. Well, how much money will it take? Let me see I'll tell you in a minute. You always love to see the dear things look like new pins. I know

that, Caudle; and, though I say it-bless their little hearts! they do credit to you, Caudle.

14. "How much?" Now don't be in a hurry! Well, I think, with good pinching—and you know, Caudle, there's never a wife who can pinch closer than I can-I think, with pinching, I can do with twenty pounds.

15. What did you say? "Twenty fiddle-sticks?" 16. What! "You won't give half the money!" Very well, Mr. Caudle; I don't care. Let the children go in rags; let them stop from church, and grow up like heathens and cannibals; and then you'll save your money, and, I suppose, be satisfied.

17. What do you say? "Ten pounds enough? Yes, just like you men; you think things cost nothing for women; but you don't care how much you lay out upon yourselves.

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How

18. They only want frocks and bonnets?" do you know what they want? How should a man know anything at all about it? And you won't give more than ten pounds? Very well. Then you may go shopping with it yourself, and see what you'll make of it! I'll have none of your ten pounds, I can tell you-no, sir!

19. No; you've no cause to say that. I don't want to dress the children up like countesses! You often throw that in my teeth, you do; but you know it's false, Caudle; you know it! I only wish to give 'em proper notions of themselves; and what, indeed, can the poor things think, when they see the Briggses, the Browns, and the Smiths - and their father don't make

the money you do, Caudle-when they see them as fine as tulips? Why, they must think themselves nobody. However, the twenty pounds I will have, if I've any, or not a farthing.

20. No, sir-no! I don't want to dress up the children like peacocks and parrots! I only want to make 'em respectable.

21. What do you say? "You'll give me fifteen pounds?" No, Caudle-no! Not a penny will I take under twenty. If I did, it would seem as if I wanted to waste your money; and I'm sure, when I come to think of it, twenty pounds will hardly do!

78.

["The Inquisitive Man." — Poole.]

Doubledot. Here comes Mr. Paul Pry! I wish he was further. He is one of those idle, meddling fellows, who, having no employment, are perpetually interfering in other people's affairs. He doesn't scruple to question you about your most private concerns. Then he will weary you to death with a long story about the loss of a sleeve-button, or some such idle matter. But I'll soon get rid of him. (Enter PRY.)

Pry. Ha! how d'ye do, Mr. Doubledot?

Doub. Very busy, Mr. Pry, and have scarcely time to say "Pretty well, thank you."

Pry. Well, since you're busy, I won't interrupt you; only, as I was passing, I thought I might as well drop in. Doub. Then you may as well now drop out again. London coach will be in presently, and

The