own father. What non-nonthenths that iths! How co-could a bir-bird know iths own father? Iths a withe -iths a withe child-iths a withe child that geths the wom. T-that's not wite. What non-nonthenths that iths! No pa-pawent would allow hiths child to gagather woms. Iths a wyme. Iths fish of-of a feather. Fish of a fea- What non-nonthense! for fish don't have feathers. Iths a bir-bird-iths b-birds of a feather -b-birds of a-of a feather flock together. B-birds of a feather! Just as if a who-who-whole flock of b-birds had only one f-feather. They'd all catch cold, and only one b-bird c-could have that f-feather, and he'd fly sidewithse. What con-confounded nonthense that iths! Flock to-together! Of courthse th-they'd flock together. Who ever her-heard of a bird being such a f-fool as to g-go into a c-corner and flo-flock by himself? "I wo-wote you a letter thome time ago—' Thath's a lie; he d-didn't wi-wite me a letter. If he had witten me a letter he would have posted it, and I would have g-got it; so, of course, he didn't post it, and then he didn't wite it. Thath's easy. Oh, yeths, I thee: "but I dwopped it into the potht-potht-office forgetting to diwect it." I wonder who the d-dic-dickens got that letter. I wonder if the poth-pothman iths gwoin' awound inquiring for a f-fellow without a name. I wonder if there biths a f-fellow without any name. If there iths any felfellow without any name, how doeths he know who he iths himthelf? I-I wonder if thuch a fellow could get mawaid. How could he ask hiths wife to take hiths name if he h-had no name? Thath's one of thothse things no fellow can f-find out. "I have just made a startling dithcovery." Tham's alwayths d-doing thomthing. "I have dithcovered that my mother iths-that

m-my mother ith not my m-mother; that a-the old nurse iths my m-mother, and that you are not my b bwother, and a-tha-that I was changed at my birth.” How c-can a fellow be changed at hith b-birth? If he iths not himthelf, who ith he? If Tham's m-mother iths not hith m-mother, and the nurthse iths hith mother, and Tham ithn't my bwother, who am I? That's one of thothse things that no fel-fellow can find out. “I have p-purchased an ethstate som-somewhere" Dothn't the id-idiot know wh-where h-he has bought it? Oh, yeths: "on the bankths of the M-M-Mithithippi.” Wh-who iths M-Mithithippi? I g-gueths ith's Tham's m-mother-in-l-law. Tham's got mawaid. He th-thayths he felt v-vewy ner-nervous. He alwayths waths a lucky fellow getting th-things he didn't want, and hadn't any use for. Thpeaking of mother-in lawths, I had a fwiend who had a mother-in law, and he didn't like her pwetty well; and she f-felt the thame way towards him; and they went away on a st-steamer acwoths the ocean, and they got wecked, catht away on a waft, and they floated awound with their feet in the water and other amuthements, living on thuch things ath they could pick up— thardinths, itheweam, owanges, and other c-canned goodths that were floating awound. When that waths all gone, everybody ate everybody else. F-finally only himthelf and hiths m-mother-in-law waths left, and they pl-played a game of c-cards to thee who thould be eaten up-himthelf or hith mother-in law. A-a-the motherin-law lotht. H-he treated her handthomely, only he strapped h-her flat on her back, and c-carved her gently. H-h-he thays that waths the f-first time that he ever weally enjoyed a m-mother-in-law.

UNNOTICED AND UNHONORED HEROES.

1. When I see a man holding faster his uprightness in proportion as it is assailed; fortifying his religious trust as Providence is obscure; hoping in the ultimate triumphs of virtue more surely in proportion to its present afflictions; cherishing philanthropy amid the discouraging experience of men's unkindness and unthankfulness; extending to others a sympathy which his own sufferings need but cannot obtain; growing milder and gentler amid what tends to exasperate and harden, and, through inward principle, converting the very incitements to evil into the occasions of a victorious virtue, I see an explanation, and a noble explanation, of the present state.

2. I see a good produced, so transcendent in its nature as to justify all the evil and suffering under which it grows up. I should think the formation of a few such minds worth all the apparatus of the present world. I should say that this earth, with its continents and oceans, its seasons and harvests, and its successive generations, was a work worthy of God, even were it to accomplish no other end than the training and manifestation of the illustrious characters which are scattered through history.

3. When I consider how small a portion of human virtue is recorded by history; how superior in dignity, as well as in number, are the unnoticed, unhonored saints and heroes of domestic and humble life, I see a light thrown over the present state which more than reconciles me to all its evils.

CHANNING.

SCHOOL BEGINS TO-DAY.

I'M glad vacation's over, and school is called again! For thirteen weeks my romping boys have crazed their mother's brain;

For thirteen weeks I've counted the sultry days awayI'm glad vacation's over and school begins to-day.

They say that teachers cannot teach, that scholars cannot learn,

Thro' all the days of summer-the days that fairly

burn;

I wonder if they ever ask how mothers get along With romping boys who find their joys in doing something wrong.

There's John, and Joe, and Jimmy-their clothes were nearly new

When they come home from school that day, and said the term was through;

Now John, and Joe, and Jimmy, with sun-brown hands and feet,

Come in at night about the plight of beggars on the street.

There is no order in the house; I cannot find a thing; The drawers are tumbled upside down with six hands hunting string;

The chairs are always in a row; the whole house fairly

jars

With Jimmy jumping off and on, to run his train of

cars.

My bran-new carving knife, I found out in the grass,

here Joe

Had used it making arrows for Jimmy's little bow; And John came home from fishing—came whistling through the gate

With father's best tobacco box filled up with worms for bait.

The hens have had a frightful time the whole vacation through;

They could not hide a nest away, the best that they could

do;

I heard the rooster crow this morn; to me it seemed to

say

"I'm glad vacation's over and school begins to day!"

"All work," they say, "without some play, makes Jack a stupid boy."

Well, that's a good old adage, and gives the urchin joy; But if the man who wrote it lived now and owned a

son,

He'd sit up late and scratch his pate, to write a different

one.

There, there, I'm not complaining! Tho' weary of the

noise,

I love, as mothers only can, my rattling, romping boys; And I shall watch for four o'clock through every com

ing day,

When I can see my darlings out in the yard at play.

I've one dear boy now sleeping beneath the summer

sod:

He took a long vacation when he went home to God.