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""Do I look like a debauchee?" said Blifkins, as he came in the morning after the re-union of the Jolliboys at Parker's. We told him that we didn't think he did. We turned him round to the light, so that we could look into his eyes. They were as clear as a bell, and as full of laugh .is an egg is full of meat.

"Why do you ask ?" we said, as he sat down on the damask lounge in our back room, in front of the great mirror that had in the early days of the republic reflected the features of the Father of his Country. He looked up, with a very roguish expression, as he said, "Mrs. Blifkins." and broke out with a laugh that shook things. We took another look at him, to ascertain if our first impression wero not wrong, for it seemed to us that a sober man would not have acted thus. He cooled down, and then again attempted to explain the reason for his mirth. After several commencements he managed to tell his story.

"Mrs. Blifkins will have it that I was tight," said he, "though there isn't a Jolliboy that will not say I was right as a trivet. It was about three when I got home, and when I unlocked the door there stood Mrs. Blifkins in a spirit of patience, and a long flannel bed-gown, waiting for me.

"' So you've come,' said she as I entered.

"I assured her that such was the fact, and asked her if she wasn't afraid that getting up so early would be injurious to her health. Whereupon she informed me that her health was the last thing I cared for—that no man who cared for his wife's health would expose her to the danger of sitting up till three o'clock in the morning, and he away indulging in dissipation.

"' But,' said I,' my dear, there was no need of your sitting up. I was fully competent to take care of myself, f have that prudent regard for myself that never leads me over the bounds of sobriety, and to-night, in particular. I am wonderfully correct.'

"I attempted to salute her, but she drew back with a contemptuous and deprecating ' Faugh!' as though she detected odors of bacchanalian haunts in my breath. But I saw that a change was coming over her face, and she immediately assumed the patronizing and sympathetic.

"'Come, Mr. Blifkins,' said she; 'you had better go to bed, and sleep it off. Your head will ache fearfully in the morning, and serve you right, because a man with a family ought to know better than to make such a brute of himself.'

"' But, my dear,' said ^interrupting her,' I assure you your fears are groundless. See me walk that seam in the carpet.'

"I attempted it; but I stepped on a confounded marbla that one of the children had dropped on the floor, and came nigh falling down.

"' I knew so,' she sighed; 'what a pity! But I am used to it. I am glad the children are not up to witness their father's disgrace—little dears.'

"' But I'm not,' cried I, trying to save my credit.

"' Don't say another word,' she said: 'go to bed, and sleep

"I made no further parley, but walked up stairs, and in five minutes was enjoying the sleep that only the innocent know. When I awoke in the morning, Mrs. Blifkins was Btanding over me with the most severely virtuous face I ever knew her to wear.

"' Well,' said she,' I dare say your head aches finely this morning—good enough for you, and all such as indulge in such practices.'

"' Nary a headache,' said I, sitting up in bed; 'never felt better in my life. Give us a cup of chocolate, and I will

"' Chocolate!' said she; 'chocolate after a debauch! You mean a cup of strong tea.'

"I thought of Mrs. Joe Gargery's tar water, and said no more. She was determined, I saw, that I was 'an example,' although I assure you, on my word as a member of the Association for the Promotion of Universal Good, that I was as straight as a die. Isn't it strange?"

We assured Blifkins that the saying, " Once a rogue, always suspected," applied to him, and that he ought to be grateful for the never-tiring interest thus disposed to watch OTer his unguardedness; but he didn't see it.

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Partingtonian Patchwork.


Who'll buy tresses, bonnie brown tresses?

Maids and matrons come and buy! Here is one that was cut from a beggar

Crouching low down in a ditch to die. Look at it, countess! envy it, duchess I

Tislong and fine, and will suit you well; Hers by nature, yours by purchase,—

Beauty was only made to sell.

Who'll buy hair of lustrous yellow?
Maids and matrons, 'tis bright as gold,

Twas shorn from the head of a wretched pauper-
Starving with hunger, and bitter cold.

It brought her a supper, a bed, and a breakfast;
Buy it, fair ladies, whose locks are thin,

Twill help to cheat the silly lovers
Who care not for heads that have brains within.

Who'll buy tresses, jet black tresses?

Maids and matrons, lose no time! These raven locks so sleek and glossy,

Belonged to a murderess red with crime. The hangman's perquisite ;—worth a guinea!

Wear them, and flaunt them, good ma dame I They'll make you look a little younger;—

S^e was reality, you are a sham!

Who'll buy tresses, snow-white tresses?

Widows" and matrons whose blood is cold. Buy them and wear them, and show the scornere

The face and the wig should pull together,

We all decay, but we need not dye;
But age as well as youth needs helping,—
Snow-white tresses, come and buy!

Who'll buy hair of all shades and colors,
For masquerade and false pretence?

Padding, and make-believe and swindle
That never deceive a man of sense!

Tis art, not nature, wins the day—
False hair, false forms, false hearts, false faca«l
Marry them, boobies, for you may I



t know what it is to live in a cabin—a little log cabin, hid

under the trees,— And feel the long days pass away in the kitehen, with hardly

a chance for enjoyment and ease.

I know what it is to rise in the morning at five, or soon after, the milking to do,

And all through the day, free from frolic or laughter, to tend to my knitting or spinning for you.

I ktoow what it is to wait at the noonday my husband's return from a newly cleared field;

And when he related how much it would pay him I was happy and proud at the thought of such yield.

I know what it is to struggle with care,—to keep a warm hearth when the world looked so cold,—

And often in life I have asked it in prayer that time would return us some blessings when old.

I know what it is, when the wolf at the door howled grimly and loudly for bread,

To live upon meal till the meal was no more, then use something coarser instead.

I know what it is on a hot summer day to work like a man in the sun,

In gathering grain, or unloading the hay, and holding on late, till 'twas done.

I know what it is when our best years are past to move from

a cabin and live A few pleasant days in more modern ways;—but my life is

a half-empty sieve.

It seems like a dream in waking, a gleam of happiness covered with care,

How much of its joy is mixed with alloy; how little remains to my share!

I know what it is to have looked on my life as a rainbow of beautiful hue,

When the future of love, like the angels above, was painted so holy and true.

When a girl with my mother, I foretold my fate, and wondered how else it could be

Than a garden of ease, to live and to please, and to have everybody please me.

I know irHat it is to have married a youth that I loved for his heart and his face;

To have seen him work on till the battle was won arid poverty yielded to place.

I know what it is to see people grow rich and abundantly

?rosper in life;—
've noticed the man who gets rich as he can, too often
neglects his own wife.

I know what you mean by office and place,—by position,

and profit, and trust; But I learned, long ago, that it's sorrow to know, for they drag

a man down in the dust!

And when I look back on my girlhood once more the journey of life to review,

My happiest days were in the sun's blaze, when I was so busy with you.

To be sure, I am old; but my heart is not cold,—I'd see our

dear children do more; I'd lift up a land more noble and grand than nations have

known heretofore I

Away with deceit! and let us all meet as brothers, so free and content,

And all through the earth let's honor real worth, and save many millions misspent!

As mothers of toil, who helped clear the soil, I feel that our

mission and range Will be brought into play in a wonderful way to build Ud the

power of the grange.


Mrs. Centre was jealous. She was one of those discontented women who are never satisfied unless something goes wrong. When the sky is bright and pleasant, they are annoyed because there is nothing to grumble at. The trouble is not with the outward world, but with the heart, the mind; and every one who wishes to grumble will find a subject.

Mrs. Centre was jealous. Her husband was a very good tort of person, though he probably had his peculiarities

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