Change. Mr. Go-ahead, if I could instantly annihilate every stove, and all recollection of them, from the face of the earth, I would do so without hesitation. I verily believe, sir, they are one cause of the degeneracy of the human race. Airtight!—one of those diabolical contrivances, I suppose, that explodes, if you do not spend half your time in attending on it. Elihu. I assure you, sir

Change. Assure me not, for I have made up my mind not to believe you. Sir, a man who is so wedded to railroads, who invents air-tight stoves, is not deserving of credit. Mark me, sir, I say it is impossible that he should speak the truth. Truth and stoves I hold to be incompatible. When you find a man that warms himself by a good, roaring, cheerful, sparkling, hearty, old-fashioned hickory fire, trust him implicitly without further inquiry.

Elihu. Mr. Changeless, these are very strange opinionswould n't meet with the public approbation.

Change. Opinions!-I express my sincere conviction. Elihu. Then you decline interesting yourself in my scheme?

Change. Yes sir. Ten thousand times, yes. I would see you and your whole generation crammed into the mouths of your stoves, before I would condescend to interest myself in sheet iron and such like economical nonsense. Besides, it's a wicked plot-it's no better than manslaughter. Why, sir, the average of human life is shortened at least ten years by the prevalent use of stoves. To be sure there is economy in

that.

Elihu. Sir, you are behind the age-three hundred years at least public opinion, sir-spirit of the nineteenth centuryChange. Away, Beelzebub, prince of diabolical inventions! Vanish, spirit of the nineteenth century, or I shall do something I may be ashamed of. I can contain myself no longerI shall be obliged to put myself into a strait-jacket

(Advances furiously upon ELIHU.) Elihu. (Aside.) An escaped lunatic, as I'm a sinner.

(Exit in dismay.)

WHAT MR. ROBINSON THINKS.-BIGLOW Papers.

GUVENER B. is a sensible man;

He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks;
He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can,
An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes ;-
But John P.

Robinson he

Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.

My! aint it terrible? Wut shall we du?

We can't never choose him, o' course,-thet 's flat; Guess we shall hev to come round, (don't you?) An' go in fer thunder an' guns, an' all that; Fer John P.

Robinson he

Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B.

Gineral C. is a dreffle smart man:

He's ben on all sides thet gives places or pelf; But consistency still wuz a part of his plan,He's ben true to one party,-an' thet is himself So John P.

Robinson he

Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

Gineral C. he goes in fer the war;

He don't vally principle more 'n an old cud; Wut did God make us raytional creeturs fer, But glory an' gunpowder, plunder an' blood? So John P.

Robinson he

Sez he shall vote fer Gineral C.

We were gittin' on nicely up here to our village, With good old idees o' wut 's right an' wut aint; We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage,

An' thet eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint;

But John P.

Robinson he

Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.

The side of our country must ollers be took,
An' Presidunt Polk, you know, he is our country;
An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book
Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry ;
An' John P.

Robinson he

Sez this is his view o' the thing to a T.

Parson Wilbur he calls all these argimunts lies;
Sez they 're nothin' on airth but jest fee, faw, fum;
An' thet all this big talk of our destinies

Is half on it ignorance, an' t' other half rum;

But John P.

Robinson he

Sez it aint no sech thing; àn', of

course, so must we.

Parson Wilbur sez he never heerd in his life

Thet th' Apostles rigged out in their swaller-tail coats,

An' marched round in front of a drum an' a fife,

To git some on 'em office, an' some on 'em votes ;
But John P.

Robinson he

Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.

Wal, it's a marcy we've gut folks to tell us

The rights an' the wrongs o' these matters, I vow,—
God sends country lawyers, an' other wise fellers,
To drive the world's team wen it gits in a slough;
Fer John P.

Robinson he

Sez the world 'll go right, ef he hollers out Gee!

THE WIND IN A FROLIC-Howrrr.

THE wind one morning sprung up from sleep, Saying, "Now for a frolic! now for a leap! Now for a mad-cap galloping chase!

I'll make a commotion in every place!"

So it swept with a bustle right through a great town.
Creaking the signs, and scattering down

Shutters; and whisking with merciless squalls,
Old women's bonnets and gingerbread stalls;
There never was heard a much lustier shout,
As the apples and oranges tumbled about;
And the urchins, that stand with their thievish eyes
Forever on watch, ran off each with a prize.
Then away to the field it went blustering and humming
And the cattle all wondered whatever was coming;
It plucked by their tails the grave matronly cows,
And tossed the colts' manes all about their brows,
Till, offended at such a familiar salute,

They all turned their backs and stood silently mute.
So on it went, capering and playing its pranks,
Whistling with reeds on the broad river's banks;
Puffing the birds as they sat on the spray,
Or the traveller grave on the king's highway.
It was not too nice too bustle the bags
Of the beggar, and flutter his dirty rags :

"Twas so bold, that it feared not to play its joke
With the doctor's wig, and the gentleman's cloak.
Through the forest it roared, and cried, gaily, "Now,
You sturdy old oaks, I'll make you bow !"

And it made them bow without more ado,

And cracked their great branches through and through. Then it rushed like a monster on cottage and farm,

Striking their dwellers with sudden alarm,

And ran out like bees in a midsummer swarm.

There were dame with their kerchiefs tied over their caps, To see if their poultry were free from mishaps.

The turkies they gobbled, the geese screamed-aloud
And the hens crept to roost in a terrified crowd:
There was rearing of ladders, and logs laying on,
Where the thatch from the roof threatened soon to be gone.
But the wind has passed on, and had met in a lane
With a schoolboy who panted and struggled in vain :
For it tossed him, and twirled him, then passed, and he stood
With his hat in the pool, and his shoe in the mud.

THE ROAD TO A WOMAN'S HEART.-HALIBURTON.

As we approached the Inn at Amherst, the Clockmaker grew uneasy. It's pretty well on in the evening, I guess, said he, and Marm Pugwash is as onsartin in her temper as a mornin in April; it's all sunshine or all clouds with her, and if she's in one of her tantrums, she'll stretch out her neck and hiss, like a goose with a flock of goslings.

Now, Marm Pugwash is like the Minister's apples, very temptin fruit to look at, but desperate sour. If Pugwash had a watery mouth when he married, I guess it's pretty puckery by this time. However, if she goes to act ugly, I'll give her a dose of 'soft sawder,' that will take the frown out of her frontispiece, and make her dial-plate as smooth as a lick of copal varnish. It's a pity she's such a kickin' critter, too, for she has good points-good eye-good foot-neat pastern-fine chest a clean set of limbs, and carries a good But here we are, now you'll see what 'soft sawder' will do.

When we entered the house, the travellers' room was all in darkness, and on opening the opposite door into the sittingroom, we found the female part of the family extinguishing the fire for the night. Mrs. Pugwash had a broom in her hand, and was in the act (the last act of female housewifery) of sweeping the hearth The strong fickering light of the fire, as it fell upon her tall fine figure and beautiful face, revealed a creature worthy of the Clockmaker's comments.