oder a shtep-mudder-out-law. Den she says mit herself, "I efen vish dot I vas dead a little.

Now if a Chermans goes dead, dot don't make a pit of tifference. Nopody vould hardly know it, except maype himself.

His vife goes mit de peesness on shust like notings has happened to somepody.

American vomans und Cherman vomans vas a tifferent kind of peobles. For inshtinct, last year dot same feller, Mr. Brown, goes mit me in te putcher peesness togeder. He vas American man-so vas his vife. Vell, many time vhen efery peobles has got te panic pooty bad, dot vomans comes to her huspant und says she moost have money. Den she goes out riding mit a carriages.

Vonce on a time, Brown says to me, "Bender, I vouldn't be henshpecked." So he vent off und got himself tightshust pecause his vife tells him, blease don't do dot. Den he sits down on his pack mit de floor, und if I am not dere dot time he nefer vould got home.

Vell, dot night, me und my vife, ve had a little talk apout sometings; und de next tay I says to Brown, "Look here vonst! My vife she makes sausages, und vorks in dot shtore; also my taughter she vorks py de shtore und makes headskeeses; und your vife vos going out riding all de times mit de horses-car, und a patent-tied-pack-cardinal shtriped shtockings. Now, your vife moost go vork in de shtore und cut peefsteaks, und make saurkraut, or else ve divide not equally any more dot profits."

Vell, Brown goes home und he tells his vife apout dot. Den she comes pooty quick mit Brown around, und ve had a misundershtanding apout sometings, in which eferypody took a part, including my leetle dog Kaiser. Pooty soon up comes a policesmans und arrests us for breeches of promise to keep de pieces, und assaulting de battery, or sometings. Den de firm of Bender & Brown vas proke up. I go apout my peesness, und Brown goes mit his peesness. My vife she helps in de shtore. His vife goes riding mit de horses-car, und efery night she vas py de theater.

Vot's de gonsequences? Along comes dot Centennial panic. Dot knocks Brown more higher as two kites, py Chimminy! My income vas shtill more as my outcome. But Brown he goes 'round dot shtreets mit his hands out of his pockets, und he don't got a cent to his back.

VON BOYLE,

1

PROGRAMME NO. 4.

MARC ANTONY'S ADDRESS TO THE ROMANS.

Friends, Romans, countrymen! lend me your ears; I come to bury Cæsar, not to praise him. The evil that men do lives after them; The good is oft interred with their bones: So let it be with Cæsar.

The noble Brutus

Hath told you, Cæsar was ambitious;

If it were so, it was a grievous fault,
And grievously hath Cæsar answered it.
Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest,-
For Brutus is an honorable man,

So are they all, all honorable men,-
Come I to speak in Cæsar's funeral.

He was my friend, faithful and just to me : But Brutus says he was ambitious,

And Brutus is an honorable man.

He hath brought many captives home to Rome,
Whose ransoms did the general coffers fill :

Did this in Cæsar seem ambitious?

When that the poor have cried, Cæsar hath wept ;
Ambition should be made of sterner stuff:

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,

And Brutus is an honorable man.

You all did see, that, at the Lupercal,

I thrice presented him a kingly crown,

Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition?

Yet Brutus says he was ambitious,

And, sure, he is an honorable man.

I speak not to disprove what Brutus spoke,

But here I am to speak what I do know,

You all did love him once, not without cause:

What cause withholds you then to mourn for him?

O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts,

And men have lost their reason! - Bear with me;
My heart is in the coffin there with Cæsar,
And I must pause till it come back to me.

But yesterday the word of Cæsar might
Have stood against the world; now lies he there,
And none so poor to do him reverence.
O masters! if I were disposed to stir

Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage,
I should do Brutus wrong, and Cassius wrong,
Who, you all know, are honorable men.
I will not do them wrong; I rather choose
To wrong the dead, to wrong myself and you,
Than I will wrong such honorable men.
But here's a parchment, with the seal of Cæsar;
I found it in his closet; 'tis his will.
Let but the commons hear this testament,-
Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read,-
And they would go and kiss dead Cæsar's wounds,
And dip their napkins in his sacred blood;
Yea, beg a hair of him for memory,

And, dying, mention it within their wills,
Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy,

Unto their issue.

If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.
You all do know this mantle; I remember
The first time ever Cæsar put it on;

'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ;
That day he overcame the Nervii.—

Look! In this place ran Cassius' dagger through ;
See what a rent the envious Casca made;

Through this, the well-beloved Brutus stabbed,
And, as he plucked his cursed steel away,
Mark how the blood of Cæsar followed it!
As rushing out of doors, to be resolved
If Brutus so unkindly knocked, or no;
For Brutus, as you know, was Cæsar's angel;
Judge, O ye Gods, how dearly Cæsar loved him!
This was the unkindest cut of all;

For when the noble Cæsar saw him stab,

Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms,
Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart;
And, in his mantle muffling up his face,

Even at the base of Pompey's statue,

Which all the while ran blood, great Cæsar fell.
Oh, what a fall was there, my countrymen !
Then I, and you, and all of us fell down,
Whilst bloody treason flourished over us.
Oh! now you weep; and I perceive you feel
The dint of pity;- these are gracious drops.
Kind souls! What, weep you when you but behold
Our Cæsar's vesture wounded? Look ye here!
Here is himself, marred, as you see, by traitors.

Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up
To such a sudden flood of mutiny.

They that have done this deed are honorable!
What private griefs they have, alas! I know not,
That made them do it. They are wise and honorable,
And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you.

I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts;

I am no orator, as Brutus is;

But as you all do know, a plain, blunt man,

That loves my friend; and that they know full well
That gave me public leave to speak of him.

For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth,
Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech,
To stir men's blood;

I only speak right on;

I tell you that which you yourselves do know;

Show you sweet Cæsar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths,
And bid them speak for me. But were I Brutus,

And Brutus Antony, there were an Antony
Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue
In every wound of Cæsar, that should move
The stones of Rome to rise and mutiny!

SHAKSPEARE.