"You see," observed the traveler,
'Ere I can take a doze,
I'll have to ask a little help
In getting off my clothes;
For I'm a trifle crippled,

And can't pull off my hose."

"All right," replied the waiter,
Who was a generous elf;
"I pities any man," said he,
"As can't undress hisself.
I'll very soon unrig you, sir,
And lay you on the shelf."

"Tis well," resumed the traveler,
Who dropped into a chair,
"First, hang my wig upon yon peg
(And he took off his hair),

I'm like a case of glass," said he,
"And must be touched with care."

And as he spoke, he ope'd his mouth
As though it were a trap,

And thrust his fingers in the hole,-
The waiter heard a snap,

And out there rolled two sets of teeth,
And fell into his lap.

"Now, waiter, just unscrew my arm,

But don't look so alarmed;

I'm helpless as a sailing ship

Upon a sea becalmed;

And when my arm you've taken off
You'll see that I'm disarmed."

The waiter, in astonishment,

Upon the traveler gazed;

He thought so strange a stranger
Must certainly be crazed;

But when he saw the arm come off
He was still more amazed,

But fear held fast the waiter,
He merely stood and stared;
To see such soul-appalling sights
He hadn't come prepared,
While the traveler only laughed the more
To see the man so scared;

And, putting on a serious look,

In solemn accents said,

"There's one thing more to do

Before I get in bed;

Steady yourself against the wall

And just unscrew my head."

-Fowler Bradnack.

CLXXXV.-THE TEST OF PATIENCE.

A PARSON in a country town, while preaching,
The duty of long-sufferance was teaching
And so pathetically did exhort

His congregation, and, in short,

Discourse so much of Job, and how he bore,
With such exceeding patience, his many woes,
Faith 't was enough to make a man suppose
Job wanted more.

Meaning, I think, 't is very plain,

That, since we give ourselves unnecessary pain,
How would it be if man

Would try a different plan?

And not, when tortured by the gout,
To make wry faces, groan and shout,
But look agreeable and sprightly.
"And do you think, my dearest life,"
Exclaimed the parson's wife;.

"That 't is in human nature to endure

The extreme of woe

Which Job did undergo? 'Tis more than you

Or I could do, I'm sure."

Quoth he, "My dear, your diffidence

Shows, let me tell you, right good sense,
A virtue in your sex we seldom see;
But I may say, twixt you and me,
And that without much vanity,

I do conceive that I, myself, have shown
That patience and that strength of mind
Were not confined

To Job alone."

Thus spoke the modest priest,

And, doubtless, would have said much more
But for the sudden opening of the door;
When in stumps

His clownish servant Numps;

His eyes, wide open, on the parson gazing,

Just like the wight

That drew old Priam's curtains in the night,

To tell him Troy was blazing.

"Well, what's the matter, Numps?

Speak out, why look so pale?
Has any thing gone wrong?"
Quoth Numps, "The ale!"
"Well, has the ale gone sour?"

And then the parson's phiz began to lower.
"No, master, no; but, just now, d'ye see,

I chanced to touch the cask, and away rolled he,
And all the liquor's spilled about the cellar.”
Now, prithee, tell me how the priest behaved;
Did he pull off his wig, or tear his hair,
Or, like that silly fellow Job,

Throw ashes on his head and rend his robe?
Ah! no; with tranquil resignation

He to the man addressed this mild oration,

"You stupid fool, you brute, you bear!"

(The best of priests, 't is said, will sometimes swear,) "So you must meddle, must you,

With the cask? and be cursed to you!

I wish your fingers had been burnt, od rot 'em! Get down the stairs this instant, wretch,

Or else, by Jupiter, I'll kick you down From top to bottom!"

Nay, nay," exclaimed the dame,

“Where's all your patience? Fie, for shame!
I beg you'll not forget your text;

Remember Job was not so vexed,

Though he had sons and daughters to bewail.”

Plague take Job's sons and daughters, if you choose;
Answer me this, did Job e'er lose

A barrel of such ale?"

CLXXXVI. THE DIRECTOR'S VISIT; OR, A WARNING TO SCHOOL-MASTERS.

You know my darter Nancy is an uncommon smart gal; she takes to larnin' as nateral as a goslin takes to water, and she can git her lessons faster than I can chaw terbacker. I've been sendin' her to the new teacher we hired last term, and she was larnin' some new-fangled notions that's never been taught in these parts afore. One night she was a tellin' me that the teacher had been explainin' to her that the sun neither rose nor set. Then I thought it was time for me to go down to the school-house and find out about it.

So the next mornin' I went down afore school took up, and found the teacher a-standin' in the door. Says I, "Howd'ye?" He was very polite, and invited me into the school-house. So I went in; but when I thought of what he'd been teachin' it riled me up. So says I, "Mr. McQuillister, we've employed you to larn our young 'uns, haint we?" He said he would consent to that preposition. "Well," says I, "what's all this rigamarole about 'stronomy and stuff; about the sun not risin' nor settin'; about the yearth turnin' upside down every day, and sich like infidel stuff you've been puttin' into the heads of your scholars?” Then says he, "come to the blackboard, and I'll draw you a diaphragm of the solar cistern and explain it to you so that you can readily understand it." So he drew a big