boarding-house, which seemed to be just on the point of honouring
the demands of the earthquake upon its resources. The last shock had
subsided, but the building was slowly and composedly settling into
the ground. As the third story came down to my level, I observed in
one of the front rooms a young and lovely female in white, standing
at a door trying to get out. She couldn't, for the door was locked-I
saw her through the key-hole. With a single blow of my heel I opened
that door, and opened my arms at the same time.

"Thank God," cried I, "I have arrived in time. Come to these arms."

The lady in white stopped, drew out an eye-glass, placed it
carefully upon her nose, and taking an inventory of me from head to
foot, replied:

"No thank you; I prefer to come to grief in the regular way."

While the pleasing tones of her voice were still ringing in my ears
I noticed a puff of smoke rising from near my left toe. It came from
the chimney of that house. Johnny.

Johnny is a little four-year-old, of bright, pleasant manners, and
remarkable for intelligence. The other evening his mother took him
upon her lap, and after stroking his curly head awhile, asked him if
he knew who made him. I grieve to state that instead of answering
"Dod," as might have been expected, Johnny commenced cramming his
face full of ginger-bread, and finally took a fit of coughing that
threatened the dissolution of his frame. Having unloaded his throat
and whacked him on the back, his mother propounded the following
supplementary conundrum: