"I expect I did."

"And what did you value her at ?"

Every baby knows by instinct that its mouth was intended to put its big toe in; the only difficulty is how to get it there.

Incredible Generosity.-The Abbé Regnier, secretary of the French Academy, was collecting in his hat from each member a contribution for a certain purpose. The president, Roses, one of the forty, was a great miser, but had paid his quota, which the abbé not perceiving, he presented the hat a second time. Roses, as was to be expected, said he had already paid. "I believe it," answered Regnier, “though I did not see it." "And I," added Fontenelle, who was beside him, "I saw it, but do not believe it."

perfection of form, and strives to realize its ideal externally, in its own bodily shape. Adam, poor fellow! and good mother Eve are the only human beings who have not enjoyed this luxury. It's a great consolation in this hard world to feel that, during one period of life at least, you are able to make both ends meet.

Many poets have tried their hand—and possibly their lips also at a kiss; but has any one of the later tribe surpassed old John Dryden in his description of it? Ilear what he said :

"I felt the while a pleasing kind of smart;
The kiss went tingling to my very heart.
When it was gone, the sense of it did stay-
The sweetness clinged upon my lips all day,
Like drops of honey loth to fall away."

An amusing anecdote is related of General Washington, illustrative of the difference between true and false dignity. The corporal of a little company was giving orders to those under him relative to a piece of timber, which they were endeavoring to raise up to the top of some military works in process of repairs.

The timber went up with difficulty, and on this account the voice of the little-great man was often heard in regular vociferations of "Heave away! There she goes! Heave ho!"

An officer, not in military costume, was passing, and asked the non-commissioned officer why he did not take hold and render a little aid.

The latter, astonished, turning round with all the pomp of an emperor, said, "Sir, I am a corporal!"

"You are, are you?" replied the officer; "I was not aware of that," and taking off his hat and bowing, the officer said, "I ask your pardon, Mr. Corporal," and then dismounted and lifted till the perspiration stood in drops on his forehead.

When the work was finished, turning to the commander, he said, "Mr. Corporal, when you have another such job, and have not men enough, send for your commander-inchief, and I will come and help you a second time."

The corporal was thunderstruck! It was none other than Washington who thus addressed him.

Wit has been the instrument of much good in many cases, but no better use can be found for it than turning threatened tragedy into comedy, as in the case of Judge Thatcher, a member of the United States Congress in its early days, who was once challenged to a duel by an angry opponent in debate, and refused to accept. The bearer of the challenge asked him if he chose to be branded as a "coward." "Yes, sir," said he promptly; "I was always a coward, and he knew it, or he wouldn't have challenged me." The general laughter, when the reply got out, of course spoiled the duel, and it completely cured the fighting man's wrath too.

It is said of Judge Dooly, of Georgia, that he laughed himself out of duels with an audacious wit that compelled even the admiration of his enemies. You remember he said, when

they threatened that if he didn't fight, his name would fill the columns of a newspaper, that he would rather fill ten newspapers than one coffin. Once he went on the field with a man who had St. Vitus's dance.

His opponent was standing at his post, his whole frame jerking nervously from his malady. Dooly, in the soberest manner, left his post, and cutting a forked stick, stuck it in the ground in front of his opponent.

"What does this mean ?" asked his opponent.

To the rural minister, who depends largely upon the bounty of his congregation, it is often a hard matter to exist, since many think his wants are few, and regulate their contributions accordingly.

An amusing story is told of how a certain member of the church in a certain town, which shall be nameless, being somewhat close, was induced to become more generous.

It was the custom every winter for such of the men who had wood lots to give the parson a cord of hickory wood each, and thus make up to him a winter's supply of fuel. Squire McClellan, in particular, was always punctual in December with his cord of nicely-prepared hickory.

In that parish there was a man who had the reputation of being "snug," niggardly, and apt to shirk his due share of the burden of paying the minister. Indeed, his remissness in this matter had been a standing grievance in the place for many years.

One autumn there was a revival of religious interest in the place, and many members of the church were stimulated to earnest labor, and to live more strictly. Among these was the penurious man above alluded to, whom we may conveniently designate as Brother Z.

Not a little to the astonishment of his neighbors, who had had ample experience of his miserly dealings, he arose in prayer-meeting one night and exhorted to liberal givings, not only to the parson, but to all benevolent objects. Waxing exceedingly earnest in language and tone, he declared, among other things, that he would that winter give the minister a load of wood. Yea, brethren," he exclaimed, the Lord has opened my heart! I will give him a load of wood, and a big one. I will give him the biggest load you can draw from my woods to his yards!"

This unexpected outburst from so drouthy a source was the parish wonder for a week. Many thought that Brother Z must be near his end.

"Truly," said Squire McClellan at the deacons' meeting, "the Lord must have opened Brother Z――'s heart; but," he added with characteristic Scotch shrewdness, "it may soon close and may never open again. It behooves us, in the parson's interest, to avail ourselves of it. Let us build a sled that will carry ten cords-and do it at once."

So thought the others. The monster sled was privately but expeditiously framed in a back yard, and early one snowy morning in December Brother Z- was amazed to

see drive to his door apparently all the ox teams in town, drawing the titanic sled, accompanied by a shouting throng of teamsters, and all the small boys in the parish.

The Squire was riding on the sled. "We've come for the parson's load of wood, Brother Z-," he called out. "You bade us haul the biggest load we could, and I am glad to hear that you have lately had a fine lot of hickory chopped."

Brother Z

however, seeing the magnitude of the sled,

tried to explain and to demur, but in vain. The crowd roared him into acquiescence, and with a wry face he finally led the way across the snowy fields to his freshly-corded tiers of hickory in the lot.

It is said that fully ten cords of wood were loaded upon the big sled, under the squire's supervision, and then, to the tune of a most vociferous gee-hawing, the enormous load was successfully sledded to the parson's doorway.

The worthy minister, equally amazed, but more agreeably so, issued forth to learn the cause of the uproar.

Good people, good people," he cried, "what meaneth this? Have the windows of heaven opened ?"

"Nay, nay, parson!" exclaimed the squire; "but the Lord has opened Brother Z-'s heart, and that so great a gift could have issued from so small a receptacle is one of the wonders of saving grace. Question not, but take it, and keep ye warm."

The minister had roaring fires that winter, but it was long before Brother Z recovered his equanimity.

Many incidents have been cited to describe the character of the early Californians, but few succeed so well as the following:

A few years ago a steamer drew into the Bay of Naples with a lot of passengers, among whom were a small party of Americans. The night had been rough and the ship was behindtime. It was ten o'clock already, and no breakfast. The stingy captain had resolved to economize. A stout, quiet man, with a stout hickory stick, went to the captain and begged for a little coffee, at least, for the ladies. The captain turned his back, fluttered his coat-tails in the face of the stout, quiet man, and walked up his deck. The stout, quiet man followed, and still respectfully begged for something for the ladies, who were faint with hunger. Then the captain turned and threatened to put him in irons, at the same time calling his officers around him.

The stout man with the stout stick very quietly proceeded to thrash the captain. He thrashed him till he could not stand, and then thrashed every officer that dared to show his face, as well as half the crew. Then he went down and made the cook get breakfast. This was an old Californian, "Dave Colton," as he was called when at home in the mines.

Of course, an act like that was punishable with death almost. "Piracy on the seas," and all that sort of offense was charged; and I know not how much gold it cost to heal the wounded head and dignity of the captain of the ship. But this Californian neither knew the law nor cared for the law. He had a little party of ladies with him, and he would not see them go hungry. He would have that coffee if it cost him his head.