has a drunken sound, JOHN MCLAUGHLIN, like one of Sir WALTER SCOTT'S
characters disguised in liquor."

"Never you mind about that," says MCLAUGHLIN. "I carry the keys of the
Bumsteadville[1] churchyard vaults, and can tell to an atom, by a tap
of my trowel, how fast a skeleton is dropping to dust in the pauper
burial-ground. That's more than they can do who call me names." With
which ghastly speech JOHN MCLAUGHLIN retires unceremoniously from the
room.

Judge SWEENEY now attempts a game of backgammon with the man of taste,
but becomes discouraged after Mr. BUMSTEAD has landed the dice in his
vest-opening three times running and fallen heavily asleep in the middle
of a move. An ensuing potato salad is made equally discouraging by
Mr. BUMSTEAD'S persistent attempts to cut up his handkerchief in it.
Finally, Mr. BUMSTEAD[2] wildly finds his way to his feet, is plunged
into profound gloom at discovering the condition of his hat, attempts to
leave the room by each of the windows and closets in succession, and at
last goes tempestuously through the door by accident.

[_To be Continued._]




Wanted for the Lecture-Room.

Beloit, in Wisconsin, boasts a wife who has not spoken to her husband
for fifteen years. Fifteen long years! Happy man!--happy woman! No
insanity, no divorce, no murder, but Silence. Why isn't this wondrous