—A Jew was observed noticing very intently a prodigiously fine ham. “What are you saying to that ham, Mr. Jacobs?” asked a bystander, “I was saying to it, thou almost persuadeth me to become a christian.” The Jew's appetite was making a fearful assault upon his religious scruples.

—An under-actor, who had a grudge against the great Macready, once had to personate Rosencranz to his Hamlet, and he siezed on the favorable opportunity of annoying him. In the scene where Hamlet, according to the correct edition of Shakspeare, hands Rosencranz a pipe and requests him to play upon it; there was some small confusion, the property man having neglected to furnish a “pipe.” Rosencranz seeing the dilemma of the noble Dane, reached down into the orchestra and brought up a bassoon. Hamlet was horror stricken, but the play must go on. With much dignity, mingled with mortification, he passed the unwieldy instrument over to Rosencranz and proceeded:

“Can you play upon this instrument?”

“No, my lord.”

“You have but to place your fingers upon these little ventages, and it will discourse most eloquent music.”

“I cannot play, my lord.”

“Do.”

“Well, my lord,” said Rosencranz, placing the instrumen to his lips, “if you insist upon it, I will. I'll give you Michael Wiggins; it's the only tune I ever learned.’ And to the horror of the great actor, and the merriment of the audience, the fellow went into the Irish jig of Michael Wiggins in downright earnest, creating a confusion that caused his discharge from the company, though he was gratified at having his revenge on Macready.

—The Rev. Mr. Cookman, who was lost in the ill-fated steamer President, once preached to a congregation in Baltimore which had an excellent choir to do their singing. The members of the Church, however, thought they had a right, and, in fact, that it was their duty to join in the choral services, and, consequently, gave their “powerful aid” to the trained choristers. On the occasion alluded to a congregational hymn was sung. The choir took the time that suited them, and the congregation chimed in smoothly enough at first; but at length began to drag, and finally every one seemed singing “on his own book.” When the hymn was brought to a chaotic close, the reverend gentleman arose and remarked:

“If the brethren of the choir will sing a leetle slower, and the bretheren of the congregation a leetle faster, I have not the least doubt but the music will be much more acceptable to God.”

—An old negro who was generally hired out to different masters, was once asked by a white sectarian, who wished to hire him, to what church he belonged? To this interrogatory he replied:

“When I is hired out to a marster dat is Presbyterian, I is Presbyterian. When I is hired out to a marster dat is Mefodis', I is Mefodis'. When I is hired out to a marster dat is Baptis', I is Baptis', too. De fac is I's whatever religion marster is.”

—A census-taker once called upon the mother of a family in California, and among other questions, asked her how many children she had. The mother replied that she really could not tell, but there was one thing of which she was certain—“that the measles got among the children once, but that there was not enough of it to go around.”

—Once, after this eccentric Virginian had been speaking in Congress several members arose in succession and attacked him. His reply was as prompt as it was witty. “Sir,” said he to the Speaker, “I am in the condition of old Lear,

“I'm clear grit,” as the grind stone said to the axe.

“I'll trouble you for your ear,” as the knife said to the oyster.

“Give me a shake of your hand,” as the ague said to the Wolvereen.

“You're a book keeper,” as the librarian said to the man who never returned a book.

Why is Arabia like an argument? Because it is a racy-hossy-nation, (ratiocination.)

Why is an absconding Irishman like the most southern portion of South America? Because he is Pat-a-going-away, (Patagonia.)

Why is an old-fashioned chimney like a swallow? Because it has a crooked flew.

Why is an extravagant wife like the sub-treasury bill? Because she has a specie claws.

When Sir John Falstaff was drunk, why did he rob the Churches? Because he was sack-religious.

The following scene is taken from the military farce of “The Prisoner of Menterey.” (Liza is seated at a work table, and, while sewing abstractedly, questions Sergeant Brusque, her guard, as to his ideas of courtship.)

Liza.—Sergeant Brusque.

Brus.—Senorita.

Liza.—Were you ever in love?

Bruz.—Bah! once Senorita.

Liza.—You military men are very strong headed. Let me question you a little as to your mode of courtship, for I may be courted some of these days, and I should like to have the benefit of your experience.

—A raw son of the Emerald Isle, just arrived, wore a pair of leather inexpressibles, with blue clocked stockings. A dress of such rare antiquity drew the attention of a smart, upper crust dandy, who thus accosted him:

“My good fellow; what time is it by your stockings?”

“Jist striking one!” replied the Irishman, giving him a rap over the sconce with his shillelah.

—A few years ago, in the northern part of Wisconsin, a preacher of a certain persuasion which denounces all associations outside of the Church as utterly uncanonical took for his text the sadly unheeded advice of St. Paul: “Let there be no schisms.” “Here, brethering,” said he, “we have the plain word of Scripture against schemes! It knocks on the head the Missionary Scheme; the Bible Scheme; the Tract Scheme; the Sunday School Scheme; and the Temperance Scheme; and all such like devices of the devil.”

“I may say to you, my brethring, that I am not an edecated man, an' I am not one o' them that beleeves edecation is necessary for a gospel minister, fur I beleeve the Lord edecates his preachers jest as he wants 'em to be edecated, and, although I say't that ought'nt to say it, yet in the State of Indianny, whar I live, thar's no man gits a bigger congregation nor what I gets.

There may be some here, to-day, my brethring, as do not know what persuasion I am uv. Well, I may say to you, my brethring, that I am a hard shell Baptist. Thar's some folks as dont like the Hard Shell Baptists, but I'd rayther hev a hard shell as no shell at all. You see me here, today, my brethering, dressed up in fine clothes; you mought think I was proud, but I am not proud, my brethering, and although I've been a preacher of the gospel for twenty years and although I've been captain uv that flat boat that lies at yonder landing, I'm not proud, my brethering.

I'm not gwoin ter tell you edzactly whar my tex may be found, suffice it tu say, it's in the leds uv the Bible, and you will find it somewhar 'tween the fust chapter uv the book of Generation, and the last chapter of the book of Revolutions, and ef you'll go and search the Scriptures, you'll not only find my tex thar, but a great many other texes, as will do you good to read, and my tex, when you shill find it you shill find it read thus:

‘And he played on a harp uv a thousand strings, sperits uv just men made perfeck.”

My tex, brethering, leads me to speak uv sperits. Now, thar's a great many kind of sperits in the world; in the fust place, thar's the sperits as some folks calls ghosts; then thar's the sperits uv turpen-time; and then thar's the sperits as some folks call liquor, and I've got as good artikel uv them kind uv sperits on my flat boat as ever was fetched down the Mississippi river, but thar's a great many other kinds of sperits, for the tex says. “He played upon a harp uv a thou-sand strings, sperits uv just men made perfeck.”

But, I'll tell you the kind uv sperits as is meant by the tex; it's fire. That is the kind uv sperits as is meant by tex, my brethering. Now, thar's a great many kinds uv fire in the world. In the first place, thar's the common kind of fire you light your cigars or pipes with, and then thar's camfire, fire before you're ready to fall back, and many other kinds uv fire, for the tex says, “He played upon a harp uv a thou-sand strings, the sperits uv just men made perfect.”

But, I'll tell you what kind of sperits is meant in the tex, my brethering, it's hell fire! and that's the kind uv fire as a great many uv you'll come to, of you dont do better nor what you have been doin', for “He played upon a harp uv a thou sand strings, the sperits uv just men made perfeck.”

Now, the different sorts uv fire in the world may be likened unto the different persuasions in the world. In the fust place, we have the 'Piscopalians, and they are a high sailin' and highfalutin' set, and they may be likened unto a turkey-buzzard, that flies up into the air, and he goes up and up till he looks no bigger nor your thumb nail, and the first thing you know, he comes down an' down and is fillin' himself on the karkiss of a dead hoss by the side uv the road, and “He played upon a harp of a thou-sand strings, the sperits uv just men made perfeek.”

And then there's the Methodis, and they may be likened unto a squirrel runnun' up into a tree, for the Methodis believes in gwoin' on from one degree uv grace to another and finally on to perfeeshun; and the squirrel goes up and up, and he jumps from limb to limb, and branch to branch, and the first thing you know he falls, and down he comes kerflummux! and that's like the Methodis, for they is allers a-fallin' from grace, ah! and “He played on a harp uv a thou-sand strings, sperits of just men made perfeck.”

And then, my brethering, thar's the Baptist, ah! and they have been likened unto a “possum on a 'simmon tree, and the thunders may roll, and the earth may quake, but that possom clings thar still, ah! and you may shake one foot loose, and the other's thar; and you may shake all the feet loose, and he laps his tail aroun' the limb, and he clings for ever; for “He played on a harp uv a thou-sand strings, the sperits of just men made perfeck.”

Let us join in a spiritual song—

—The renowned David Crocket, whom some good people of this period believe to be a fabulous character—a myth—was a great humorist. When he passed through Baltimore, on his return from a tour to the North, a number of his admirers invited him to a dinner party. At the dinner he was introduced to Colonel——, a man favored by no means with personal beauty, and who, in order to hide the defects of a blind eye, wore a pair of green spectacles. After the dinner, Crockett, with a party of gentlemen, took a stroll through the streets, during which his attention was drawn by the gambols of a monkey which, in obedience to his master, an organ grinder, performed a number of tricks. ‘Jocko,” said Crockett to the monkey, “you only want a pair of green spectacles to make you a perfect counterpart of Colonel——.”

The Colonel happened to be standing at Crockett's elbow, and the latter feeling himself called upon to make an apology, said:

—The following lines are extracted from an old journal. The lungs of the poet must have “bleeted like buttered peas,” when he made his lofty flight to the realms of the stars:

—As a military train was making its way from Augusta to Atlanta, a certain Major in the Quartermaster's Department, produced an elegant watch, which he exposed to the admiring gaze of a number of officers who sat near him: “Gentlemen,” said he, “I paid five hundred dollars for that watch, and dog cheap at that.”

—An itinerant preacher who delighted in distributing tracts among the “ungodly soldiers,’ recently gathered around him a large body of members of one of the Louisiana regiments, to whom he talked much of the “Ship of Zion;” how it braved the storms of this sinful world, and fought the good fight uninjured. At the end of his homily, a raw boned fellow stepped up to him and asked the following question:

“Mister preacher, that must have been a moughty good boat—wa'nt it a regular iron-clad?”

—An Irish conscript having been found to be too awkward, was placed in the “awkward squad,” where he was all alone by himself. The drill master commenced his labors:

“Squad! attention!”

Paddy stood erect, but looked indignant.

“Squad! front!”

He fronted, but being no longer able to smother his rage, exclaimed.

“Look here, mister, my name's Pat Mahoney, and by the mother of Moses, I won't be called “Squad” by any man.”

Why is a troublesome tooth like murder? Because its akin to kill.

Why is it like a scolding wife? Because it makes you hold your jaw.

Why is it like Jeff Davis when called upon by the crowd? Because it must come out.

What sort of capital punishment do most men suffer daily? The want of funds.

Why should an umbrella never be loaned? Because it is expected that every gentleman will follow the morals of society by stealing one wherever he finds it.

Why are tailors the laziest men? Because they always set down to work, and seam so pressed to get through with it.

Why are butchers never consumptive? Because they are so often picking up, and seldom lose flesh.

—Punch was told this anecdote of the gallant General.

During the recent fight on the Rappahannock, he saw a man rushing past him.

“Where are you going?” cried the General.

“To the rear,” replied the man. “I am a non-combatant.”

“Who are you?” demanded the General.

“I am a chaplain,” replied the runner.

“Well,” said the General, “here is consistency! For twenty years you have been wanting to get to heaven, and now that there is a chance, you run away from it.”

—A soldier of the “Wise Brigade,” relates to Punch, the following amusing anecdote of his gallant coommander.

During the battles around Richmond, Gen. Wise was ordered to take a position just outside a fence which en-closed a tract of land, that gradually rose until it attained a considerable elevation.

While the soldiers of the Brigade were eagerly watching an opportunity to distinguish themselves, one of the Generals' aids rode up and said: “General, I see a battery on you distant hill. The enemy must be there in considerable force.”

Looking steadily, for sometime, through the mist which enveloped the hill, the General discerned an object which he concluded was a battery. Riding along the line, and rising in his stirrups, he made one of those electrifying little speeches to the Brigade for which he is-so celebrated.

“Boys,” said he in conclusion, “the Yankees have planted a battery on yonder hill. They must be dislodged, Right shoulder shift! Over the fence! Give 'em h—ll, G—d d—m 'em!”

Over the fence, and up the hill, rushed the Brigade. The disappointment can be better imagined than described, when the so-thought battery turned out to be a hay-stack!

It is unnecessary to say that there was some tall profanity, over which the recording angel dropped a tear.

—“John, my young friend, do mond your conduct. You are in a fair way to bring your poor old father's gray hairs in sorrow to the grave.”

“That's impossible, the old chap wears a wig.”

—Jones says Smith is loose in his habits Smith says that Jones is always tight in his.

Miss Simpleton recently fainted upon being told that her betrothed had several engagements since the war began.

“Jimmy what do you think; old grand-dad is ninety years old to-day.” “Pshaw, that's northing,—if my grand-dad had lived till now, he would have been much older.”

Freddy is less than four years old. His sister, who is not quite a year old, was setting in her father's lap crying and fretting for her mother, who had gone out, when Freddy turned to her and said, in the easiest manner possible: “There, Alice, you've cried enough; there's no use fretting any more—Mother's gone away, and father don't keep the article you want!”

Mrs. Dowdy says that one of her boys don't know nothing, and the other does. The question is, which knows the most?

Two Marines, one Irish and the other Yankee, agreed reciprocally to take care of each other, in case of either being wounded in running the gauntlet at Vicksburg. It was not long before the Yankee's leg was shot off by a cannon ball; and, on his calling to Pat to carry him to the surgeon, according to their agreement, the other very readily complied; but he bad scarcely got his wounded comrade on his back when a second ball struck off the poor fellow's head. Pat, who, through the noise and confusion common in such engagements, had not perceived his friend's last misfortune, continued to make the best of his way to the surgeon. An officer observing him with a headless trunk upon his shoulders, asked where he was going.

“To the doctor,” said Pat.

“The doctor?” said the officer; “why, you blockhead, the man has lost his head.”

On hearing this he flung the body from his shoulders, and, looking at it very attentively exclaimed:

“By me soul, he has certinly lost his sinces, for he tould me it was his leg.”

Colonel E—says, in speaking with some Yankee prisoners a short time since, one of them remarked that he thought the Rebel officers were very fond of showing their marks of distinction:

“I have often wondered,” said he “where you get all those chicken guts you have so profusely sewed on your coat sleeves.”

“Business before pleasure, as the man said when he kissed his wife before he went out to make love to his neighbor's.

A plain-spoken woman lately visited a married woman and said to her, “How do you contrive to amuse yourself?” “Amuse!” said the other, staring; “do you know I have my housework to do?” “Yes,” was the answer. “I see you have it to do; but as it is never done, I conclude you must have some other way of passing your time.”

When does a man rob his wife? When he “hooks” her dress.

Adjutant E——, of the——Mississippi Regiment, loved a good joke so well that he would sacrifice a good friend rather than the joke, which would have been the case with his own Colonel one day, when camped near the Rappahannock, had it not been that Colonel S——was the best natured man alive.

The Colonel was reprimanding his Adjutant for some little pecadilloos of which he had been guilty, and told him he had a great mind to let him dig up a stump.

The Adjutant begged to be let off this time, and he would never be guilty of the like again. Said he “now, Colonel, you know you are a good man, and will do as much for your men as any Colonel in the army, and you can do more than any other that I know. Do you know, Colonel, that your father used to tell me about your good qualities. He said you always did as you were directed, and could do anything you undertook from plowing to cooking, etc.”

“Well, that's all very true,” said the Colonel, interrupting.

“Except one thing,” continued E——

“What was that?” asked the Colonel.

“It was picking up chips—your feet being of such proportions as to cover everything within your reach.”

Adjutant E—— got off.

—One day on the field, Gen. Lee's hat having fallen off, a young Lieutenant stepped forward picked it up, and presented it to him.

“Thank you, Captain,” said the General, inadvertently.

“In what regiment, sir?” inquired the Lieut, quick as lightning. The General smiled, and forthwith promoted the witty youth to a captaincy.

If you obsere a gentleman with his arm around the waist of a lady, it is morally certain that they are not married.

—“Hallo, stranger, you appear to be traveling?”

“Yes, I generally do when I'm on a journey.”

“Are you going down South very far?”

“Yes, or a shorter distance.”

“Havn't I seen you some where?”

“Perhaps you have—I've been there quite often.”

“Mightn't your name be Brown?”

“Yes, that or some other.”

“Have you been long in Virginia?”

“Yes, a pretty good length—about six feet.”

“Were you born in the Confederacy?”

“I don't recollect, but if I was not, I was born some where else.”

“Do you expect to stay down South long?”

“No longer than it suits me.”

“I suppose you're got plenty of money?”

“Well, I could carry more, if I had it.”

“Are you in favor of recognition by Napoleon?”

“Were he to recognize me, I should return his salutation.”

“Do you take snuff?”

“Yes, I am considered up to snuff.”

“Do you chew tobacco?”

“Not often, but I carry a piece to stop inquisitive mouths with.”

(Hands piece of tobacco.)

“Thank you, I'm done talking.”

—“Simkins, don't you wish the next Congress will do something to establish a hard currency among us?”

“Why as to that, it is thought by many that the currency is hard enough already, but for my part, I think it hard enough to get!”

—A male representative from the Emerald Isle enters hat in hand, with—.

“The top of the morning to ye, sir; an' I've got a bad tooth, an' the devil a bit o' comfort can I get short of a bottle of brandy, an' I've got one of Father Matthy's medals to keep me from all such evil spirits, shure. Now, sir, what'll ye be axin’to pull me a tooth?”

“Half a dollar,” says the doctor.

“Well,” says Pat, “what'll you pull two teeth for?”

“O,” replied the doctor, “I won't charge you anything for pulling the second one.”

Pat seated himself, turned up his mug, and the doctor took a peep at his grinders, and with a little assistance from Pat, soon found which were the ones he wanted out: says Pat—

—While Longstreet's corps was passing through Columbia, a soldier stepped into a store and called for a pair of boots. A pair was handed out and the price demanded.

“Sixty dollars,” said the merchant.

“Mighty high,” replied the soldier.

“Tell me of anything that is not high,” responded the merchant, “and I will make you a present of the boots.”

“Soldiers' Wages, sir,” promptly replied the soldier.

“Take the boots,” said the merchant, and the soldier marched off with them, leaving the merchant quite convinced that “the boot was on the right foot.”

Mirabeau thus wrote to a young lady who had fallen in love with his genius, and wished to know how he looked:

“Fancy his satanic majesty, after having had the small pox—and such am I.”

There is one redeeming trait about lazy people and that is, they are always good-natured. Show us a man who sleeps eight hours out of twelve, and we will show you an individual who will not swear. The only folks who lose their tempers and “take on” are your smart, enterprising fellows, who get up “corners” on stocks.

We can see no reason in the world why the capital of Ireland should not increase, since it is always—Dublin.

A pickpocket, who had been ducked for his malpractices, accounted to his brethren for the derangement in his appearance, by coolly observing that he had not been able to change his dress since his return from a celebrated watering place.

Artemas Ward sends a circular to the Boston Post which is as luminous, if not as voluminous, as those of the immortal Fry:

—While the congregation were collecting at church, on a certain occasion, an old lark, a hard featured, skin and bone individual, was seen wending his way up the aisle, taking his seat near the pulpit. The officiating minister was one of those who detested written sermons, and as for prayers, he thought that they ought to be natural outpourings of the heart. After the singing was concluded, the house as usual was called to prayer. The genius we have introduced did not kneel, but leaned his head devotionally on the back of the pew. The minister began by saying:

“Father of all, in every age, by saint and savage adored,”—“Pope,” said a low, but clear voice; continued, “whose throne sitteth on the adamantine hills of Paradise,”—“Milton,” again interrupted the voice. The minister's lips quivered for a moment, but recovering himself, began, “we thank thee most gracious Father, that we are permitted to assemble once more in thy name, while others equally meritorious but less favored, have been carried beyond that bourne from which no traveler returns,”—“Shakespeare,” interrupted the voice. This was too much; “put that impudent rascal out,” shouted the minister. “Original,” ejaculated the voice, in the same calm but provoking manner.

—Among the humorous incidents recited to Punch, connected with the capture of New Orleans, is the following:

Just before General Lovell, in company with an aid, is reported to have turned the head of his horse toward the Yankee gunboats steaming up the Old Father of Waters, and exclaimed with a classical burst of despair, “Well, the jig's up!” great preparations were made to give the enemy a warm reception on the famous field of Chalmette.

The historic field was, however, abandoned, but not before the Yankee gunboats distributed a few shells over its surface.

Among the last to retire was the witty reporter of the Daily Delta, Major McKnight, better known as “Asa Hartz,” who had with him a body servant, named Sam, by no means a warlike kinsman of the King of Dahomey.

Presently, a shell, screaming through the air, burst within a hundred yards of Sam, fortunately doing no damage.

Sam had never heard nor seen one of the screamers, and the explosion caused him to dip low and his eyes to grew unusually big.

Cautiously approaching an oblong piece of the exploded shell, rough on one side, smooth on the other, Sam picked it up, curiously surveying the latter side.

“What do you think of it, Sam?” inquired the Major.

“Great King, Massa George! who ebber seed de likes before! Dey's shootin smoothin irons at us!”

—A person looking over the catalogue of professional gentlemen of the bar, with his pencil wrote against the name of one who is of the bustling order:

“Has been accused of possessing talents.”

Another, seeing the accusation, immediately wrote under the charge:

“Has been tried and acquitted.”

“Mr. Snowball, I want to ask you one question, disebening.”

“Well, succed, den.”

“S'pose you go to the tabbern to get dinner, and don't hab noffin on de table but a big beet, what should you say?”

“I gib dat up afore you ax it. What should you say?”

“Why, under de circumstances ob de case, I should say, dat beet's all!

......A schoolmaster in Ohio advertises that he will keep a Sunday school twice a week, Tuesdays and Saturdays.

—Here is what the celebrated Major Jack Downing said several years ago, on the subject of fighting. True as preaching, isn't it? “In the matter of fighting, there is one thing I always keep my eyes on, and I found Gen. Jackson of the same way of thinking, and that is, to depend less on folks who say they are ready to shed the last drop of their blood, than on folks who are ready to shed the first drop. Give a man eight dollars a day to make speeches in Congress, with the right of free postage, and you hear enough of last drop matters; when it comes to camp duty, then the first drop folks have to stand the rack at eight dollars a month!

—The following verses were written by a distressed husband, who cheated his wife, in uniting the praises of matrimony, by so arranging the lines that, to get at the sentiment of the writer, we must alternate them—reading the first and third, then the second and fourth.

Coming down from Chattanooga on the Western and Atlantic train a few days ago, the passengers were consulting Hill & Swayze's Rail-Road Guide, and discussing the subject of Hotels in Atlanta, and selecting which they should stop at;

“Let's go to McGinley's, he's one of the old brotherhood of Know-Nothings.”

“Oh,” said another. “I shall stop at Sasseen's, he knows little enough for me!”

A Young lawyer was asked by a judge, whether, in the transmigration of souls, he would prefer being turned into a horse or an ass?

“An ass,” quickly replied the lawyer.

“Why? asked the judge.

“Because I have heard of an ass being a judge, but never a horse.”

“Why is it” asked a Yankee of a Rebel, “that you Rebels are always fighting for Liberty, while we Federals only fight for honor?”

“I suppose,” said the Rebel, “that each are fighting for what they most lack.”

—A paper says many ludicrous chapters might be written on the scenes that are of every day occurrence in churches where the congregations are all negroes, and the preachers are untaught and unsophisticated Ethiopes.

In New Orleans, just before the war broke out, having heard that a revival was going on in the Fourth District African Church, I attended.

In company with a friend I entered the church, and the seat nearest the door being vacant, we quietly occupied it, Preaching had already commenced, and we did not learn what portion of scripture the revered minister had selected as a text. The Holy Book was spread out before him, though it was evident that he did not know how to read, but depended altogether on his memory for his scriptural quotations and references, most of which were so horribly mixed up and garbled as to render it difficult to decide what particular scripture he was trying to recite.

Whenever he mentioned the Saviour, he used the expression “Massa Jesus;” but when he referred to one of the disciples he spoke of him as “Brudder Peter,” “Brudder Matthew,” &c.

In the course of his sermon, he related the following, which he said could be found “In de third book of Brudder Matthew, on de right hand side ob de page”:

“Den, when de people all up dar on de top ob de mountain, Massa Jesus tell Brudder Peter to go down to de ribber an catch a fish. Now Brudder Peter had no bate; but he had faith in de Lord—dat what he hab. An now you see a part ob de miraculus. He go down and frow in de line, an de hook no soonor touch de water dan he hab a bite, an he pull out a great big shad. Den he take de shad up to Massa Jesus, an Massa Jesus pull out his knife an cut de shad open an take out a piece ob money; an he say to Brudder Peter, whose hed am dis on dis penny? An Brudder Peter answer an say unto him, dat am Caesar's hed. Den he say, gib unto Caesar de things dat am Ceasar's. So, ob course, Peter go an gib de penny to Caesar. But he take de shad an feed de great multitude; an dey gather up de fragments; more dan enuf for dar supper an breakfast next morning. Dar, my brudders and sisters, you see de hole ob de miracalus!”

The sermon being ended, the congregation struck up the hymn commencing

They sung the hymn in different voices. For instance when those who led off had sang the words, “O, for a man—” other voices would commence at the first, while the first voices would keep on. The third line of the verse reads.

“How rapidly they build houses now, where they build at all,” said Robinson, to an old acquaintance, as he pointed to a two story house in the suburbs of Atlanta. They commenced that building only last week and they are already putting in the lights.”

“Yes” rejoined his friend, and next week they will put in the liver.

Well, here I am in the chimney corner darning stockings! Pleasant occupation for my birth-day, truly Twenty-nine years ago since I came into the world. But it won't do to let that be known; I told Miss Snap to-day that I was twenty-three—I didn't tell her how much older I was!—she said indeed! in a very emphatic tone, as if she did'nt believe it; and then the wretch had the impudence to tell me that I had six months the advantage of her, She's thirty if she's a day! it's strange how some people will lie! If I'd lost all my front teeth and was obliged to wear false curls, I would'nt try to pass myself off for twenty-two.

I wonder whether I was always cut out for an old maid! Net but I'd rather be an old maid ten times over than marry some folks. There's Sally Snap! I verily believe she'd give up all chance of a seat in the kingdom of Heaven, if she could get an offer from John Smith, the wood-sawyer, and be glad of the chance! It's strange what some people would be willing to do for the sake of a husband! for my part, I would'nt take John Smith if he'd go down on his knees before me, and threaten to shoot himself if I didn't.

Heigh ho! its rather dismal sitting here alone in the evening, with nothing but a cat to keep you company. To be sure it's better than to have your life worried out of you by a parcel of children, with a brute of a husband, that will storm like a house a fire, if a button happens to come off his shirt and you don't sew it on directly. Heaven preserve me from such a fate!

Hark, there's the bell! Goodness gracious! if it isn't John Smith himself, and I've got my morning dress on, and my hair isn't combed. I wonder what he wants? What if he has come to make me an offer! I think, on the whole, if he should that I would take compassion on him—just to spite Miss Snap. Would not she feel like tearing my eyes out—that's all.

Why are the Confederate rams, unfit for the opening of the blockade? Because seized by Russell, they have drifted to seaward (Seward.)

Why is it that the Yankees in Tennessee are always overreached? Because they have some one to cheat 'em (Cheatham.)

When is a pair of horses well matched? When one is willing to do all the work and the other is willing he should.

What letter in the alphabet is the most disagreeable one to an old maid? Letter B.

Why are some women like horses? Because the gayer their harness is, the better they feel.

Punch met a friend anxiously looking for “concentrated lye.” Strange that he did not see the Yankee dispatches.

Biddy says the best way to make iced cakes, is to bake them in a freezing even.

It is all nonsense to suppose that money can't buy happiness; any man who has money can keep in good spirits, if he wants to, as there is a plenty in town.

Why should a dealer in “bivalves” be usually serious? Because he is an austere man. (Oyster man.)

—Wit, like every power has its boundaries. Its success depends upon the aptitude of others to receive impressions, and as some bodies, indissoluble by heat, can set the furnace and crucible at defiance, there are minds at which the rays of fancy may be pointed without effect, and which no fire of sentiment can agitate or exalt.—Johnson.

The following equivocal notice is said to swing out on a sign-board, somewhere in the Western country; “Smith & Huggs—Select School—Smith teaches the boys, and Huggs the girls.”

What class of mechanics are the most regular in their business? The carpenters, because they live mostly by rule.

—Who is that glittering officer whom I have seen every time I came to Richmond, and who is so devoted to the fair sex and to mint juleps, inquired a veteran of a citizen?

“Why he is on parole,” was the reply.

“Well,” said the veteran, “I suppose he must be on a pay roll, judging from appearances.”

—Looking over an old book, one sometimes comes suddenly upon a rare production. The following ingeniously constructed line is familiar to the antiquarian, and perhaps to others; but few know this, it is from the works of John Taylor, the Water Poet. Thus it runs:

“This,” observes Taylor, “is the same backwards as forwards, and I will give any man five shillings who will produce another line equal to it.”

That would be rather a difficult task.

Our “devil,” however, is after the shillings;

Why is a Yankee dispatch like the product of ashes? Because it is the essence of ley.

Wool has been placed on the retired list by Lincoln. This article was discarded before the war.

Why is Vallandigham like a disconsolate lover? Because he continually sighs O-hi-o.

A yankee editor speaking of the rule of Butler the Beast in New Orleans, says that he was drawn there because of his capacity to manage rebels. If we catch him, he will be quartered here.

Why is a wee drink of the ardent going down the threat of the Irish renegade, General Meagher, like the falling of the top of Vesuvius? Because it is a drop of the crater.

—The Marechal d'Etrees, aged one hundred and three, heard of the death of the Duke de Tresme, at the age of ninety-three. “I am very sorry for it,” said the Mareshal, “but not surprised, he was a poor, worn out creature, I always said the man could never live long.”

While Governor S——was President of the University of North Carolina, walking on the Campus one day, he observed an unlawful assemblage of students. He proceeded towards them with his head down, his eyes fixed on the tip of his shoes, as was his wont. In the meantime all but one of the students left, and by the time the Governor reached the place of assembly they were no where to be seen. He lifted his eyes upon the place where the boys ought to have been, or rather where they ought not to have been, and issued the following singular order to the single student left;

“Sir, instantly disperse to your several places of abode.’

Foote was acquitted from a certain charge preferred against him by the instigation of the Duchess of Kingston, by proving an alibi. When the trial was concluded, and the perjury evident, Lord Mansfield observed. “This is a very providential alibi; it has baffled the most infamous conspiracy ever set on Foot.”

An Arkansas ex-Judge and great orator, said once in a murder case; “For was net Moses, the strongest of men, struck dead by a thunder bolt from the hand of Sampson on the top of Mount Tabor, for slaying an Egyptian at the foot of the pyramid of Cyrus, King of Athens.”

Recently a man was digging some worms for my birds. A bright eyed, golden haired, three year old pet of his was standing by. Maggie watched the little creepers trying to escape from the basin into the ground, when she suddenly exclaimed:

“Oh, just look! they want to go to their mother.”

He told her he did not know they had a mother. She immediately replied: “The earth's their mother.”

And she was right. They were earth-worms.

Old Squire Jack, as he was familiarly called, was for many years a Justice of the Peace in——, and in addition to issuing warrants and executions, was frequently called upon to perform the marriage ceremony.

One bitter cold winter night, about twelve o'clock, he was aroused from his sleep by a knock at the door. In no very amiable mood he jumped from his warm bed, and throwing up the window, called out,

“Who's there?”

“Holloa, squire!” was the reply, “we want to get married.”

“You're one, and now be off with you!” roared the Squire, and bringing down the window with a crash, he hopped into bed again.

“They are living man and wife to this day,” the Squire always added, when he told the story.

Sergeant K—— having made two or three mistakes while conducting a cause, petulantly exclaimed, “I seem to be inoculated with dullness to-day.” “Inoculated, brother” said Erskine, “I thought you had it in the natural way.”

Complaint having been recently made in a Yorkshire hospital, that an old Hibernian would not submit to prescribed remedies, one of the committee proceeded to expostulate with him, when he defended himself by exclaiming, “Sure, your honor, was'nt it a blister they wanted to put on my back? and I only tould 'em it was altogether impossible, for I've such a mighty dislike to them blisters that put 'em where you will, they are sure to go agin my stomach.”

Mathew's attendant, in his last illness, administered to the patient some medicine; but a few moments after, it was discovered that the medicine was nothing but ink, which had been taken from the vial by mistake, and his friend exclaimed:

“Good heavens, Matthews, I have given you ink.”

“Never mind, my boy, never mind,” said Matthews, faintly, “I'll swallow a bit of blotting paper.”

The Grand Jury in the Criminal Court of Baltimore City not long since, had quite a dispute with Judge Bond, and a good deal of bickering among themselves: They were finally reminded by the Judge that it was highly improper for them to publicly disclose what had transpired in their room, and requested them to retire. Whereupon Bob B—— remarked, “The whole proceeding was what might be properly classed as a racy specimen of Grand Jury's prudence (jurisprudence.)

The same Bob B——, on learning of a fight that had taken place between two members of the bar, in which an umbrella, thrown up by one of the combatants to fend off the blows of the other, suffered most, said, “He had'nt much sympathy for either of the parties, but he felt for the umbrella.”

“Why so,” said a by-stander.

“Because it was under a reign of terror.”

Sully, the painter, was a man distinguished for refinement of manners, as well as his success in art. At a party one evening, Sully was speaking of a belle who was a great favorite.

“Ah,” says Sully, “she has a mouth like an elephant.”

“Oh! oh! Mr. Sully, how can you be so rude?”

“Rude, ladies, what do you mean? I say she's got a mouth like an elephant, because it is full of ivory.”

A person asked a Grecian philosopher what he thought was the proper time to dine.

“Sir,” said the ancient, “the proper time for dinner with the opulent is when they choose; with the poor man when he can.”

“Can I show you anything more to-day, sir?” asked the civil gentleman, behind the counter of his worthy customer. “Yes sir,” was the reply, “will you be good enough to show me the silk umbrella I left here three weeks ago.”

“There's no humbug about these sardines,” said Brown as he helped himself to a third plateful from a newly opened box, “they are the genuine article, and came all the way from the Mediteranean.” “Yes,” replied his economical wife, “and if you will only control your appetite, they will go a great deal further.” Brown did not ask for any more.

—Some years ago we attended a camp meeting in Fairfax county, Va. While we were sitting one afternoon in the tent of our friend, old Squire Briggs, chatting agreeably with his interesting family, a man with a voice like the “bulls of Bashan,” commenced in a tent immediately adjoining the one we were in, a noisy exhortation, which, of course, abruptly finished our conversation. We placed ourselves in an attitude for listening, out of respect for the worthy Squire, who was a leading man in the Church.

The roaring speaker, with more zeal than knowledge, loudly extolled the superiority of the Methodist religion, “For,” said he, “it has already spread Urope, Asha, Afrik and 'Merica. Yes,” he continued, “it will spread from the North Pole to the South Pole, and from the East Pole to the West Pole.”

While we were endeavoring to maintain our gravity, which was done with the utmost difficulty, all the decorum and propriety we could command was scattered to “the poles” by our worthy host exclaiming, in his peculiarly fine voice,

“Why, brother Bange has got in two more poles thar than I ever heard of before.”

When General Houston was President of the Republic of Texas, in 1842, Commodore Moore, who commanded the Texas navy, disobeyed the instructions of the President, and crippled and almost destroyed the Mexican fleet in an engagement off Yucatan. So signal was the victory, that the object of the Mexican Government to destroy the sea-port towns of Texas was entirely frustrated; and the almost unanimous voice of the people of Texas screened their naval commander from the punishment that the ire of the hero of San Jacinto would otherwise have meeted out to him, for daring to disobey his instructions issued through the Navy Department. But ever after this circumstance, Houston and Moore became implacable foes; and the former—who was constantly retained in high office by the people, as an earnest of the high appreciation in which they held his revolutionary services—failed not to improve every opportunity to injure the Commodore all in his power.

The result of these repeated injuries was, that Moore sent Houston a challenge. Now Sam, (peace to his ashes) has been often branded with cowardice by his political enemies, but, though we never believed him to be a coward, it is evident that with him prudence was often “the better part of valor;” and so on this occasion.

The challenge was handed him by Gen. McLeod. Gen. H. deliberately opened and read the message; drew from his coat pocket a large memorandum book, which he opened, and several pages of which he scanned for some moments, seemingly engaged in solving some difficult arithmetical problem; then, placing the challenge in the book, and returning the same to his pocket, he drew himself up to his full height (6 feet 4 inches,) looked disdainfully down upon the Liliputian figure (5 feet 2 inches) of Gen. McLeod, and cooly replied, verbally, to the challenge as follows:

“Tell him I'll fight him. Yes, I'll fight him. I've got seventeen challenges already on my list. These insolent fellows must first be dispatched. Give the Commodore my compliments, and tell him he shall come on in his regular turn. Make a note of it, little Mack, he's No. 18.” And the hero of San Jacinto strode into the Houston House for a drink.

Commodore Moore often afterwards repeated the challenge; but he never could provoke Houston to fight him.

In the winter of 1850, the Legislature of Texas being in session, Houston and Moore were in the city of Houston at the same time, awaiting conveyance to the Capitol. The protracted and unusually copious rains had rendered the roads almost impassable, and many a fine stage-horse was left to perish, bogged in the Brazos bottom. For this cause, during several weeks the stage came and went with the mails, but invariably carried few or no passengers. The stage always left Houston at midnight, and the custom was to drive around the city, when the driver warned passengers that the stage was about to start, by blowing a trumpet before the doors of the principal hotels. Gen. H. was stopping at the Houston House, while Commodore M. put up at the old Capitol Hotel.

The night was dark and rainy, and when the stage stopped in front of the Houston House, Gen. H, muffled up to the eyes in his Mexican blanket, entered and took his seat in silence—the only passenger. At the Old Capitol Hotel, another passenger appeared in reply to the driver's call, and closely wrapped in the ample folds of an old fashioned cloak, took a seat immediately opposite his unknown traveling companion. These two were the only passengers; and as each supposed the other to be a stranger, they communed with their own thoughts, or slept until daylight. But with daylight came the discovery. Each saw the hideousness of the other, and with one accord they called to the driver to stop. The stage stopped, and Houston frantically bolted out, and proposed to the driver that he would ride with him upon the box. The General continued to ride with the driver until the stage stopped to change horses, when, chilled with the cold, he entered the stage and took his old seat. It was now the Commodore's turn to “bolt,” so he climbed upon the box, and rode with the driver. And thus they alternated, changing places whenever the stage stopped to change horses. Finally, finding the driver a very companionable sort of a man, the General confidingly placed his arm around him, and said—

“Driver, are you aware that you are carrying in your stage this trip, although you have but two passengers, the heaviest load of sin, rescality, guilt, infamy and corruption that you have ever carried over this road before in your life?”

“Why, yes sir,” replied the driver; “that's just what the man inside told me a short time ago!”

Houston asked the driver no further questions.

General Houston, like the Scribes and Pharisees of old, was an oracle of truth and conscientiousness, however little he practiced those estimable qualities himself.

When the writer of these incidents was a youth, he one day had on a new pair of boots that were a little too small—too low in the instep —and was in the act of dropping warm water from a sponge upon them, and working his feet with the object of stretching the leather and rendering his feet more comfortable, when General Houston entered the office. Observing what was doing, and divining the cause, the General placed his hand upon our head, and, with the air and tone of a patriarch said: “Young man—remember, that in threading the intricate labyrinths and devious meanderings of this life, a tight boot and a guilty conscience are the two worst things a young man can possess.”

—A traveller from Virginia, as his appearance indicated, stopped at a comfortable wayside inn, in Kentucky, one night years ago. The landlord was a jovial whole-souled fellow, as landlords were in those days, and gave the stranger the best entertainment his table and bar could afford, as well as his own merry company to make him glad.

—Make up yer beds arly in the morning, sew buttons on yer husbands shirts, and do not rake up gravances, protect the young and tinder branches of yer family, plant a smile of good timper on yer face, and be careful to root out all angry phaling, and then you may expict a good crop of happiness.

—Said landlady Prim to a boarder, “help yourself to the butter; don't be backward, there's a plenty of it.”

“Thank you marm, but I'm a temperance man now, and have pledged myself to withstand temptation and partake of nothing strong.”

—The brave man at home, but a coward from home.”

In the—— Circuit is a Scotch Judge. A convicted felon—a deplorably hard looking and unmistkable Paddy was brought in to be sentenced.

Judge—“What have you to say?”

Pat—“I crave mercy, yer Honor!”

Judge—“What countryman are you?”

Pat—“A Scotchman, an plaze yer honor, dale gently wi' the likes o' me!”

A perceptible smile spread over the Court room and the poor fellow got the full term.

A little bright-eyed four-year old came running up to me one lovely day in summer, exclaiming, “Oh, auntie, I feel as if I wanted to hug the morning, it is so beautiful.”

—Miss Fanny Morant was, at last accounts counts, playing in New York. Once upon a time, this historian suddenly broke her engagement at the St. Charles, New-Orleans, and went to California with Mr. James Anderson, the Tragedian. Whereupon, these lines were penned.

One having occasion to rise early, bid his man look out, and see if it was day; the man replied, it was dark; you, logger-head, says he, why don't you take a candle and hold it out of the window, how do you think to see without?

A fellow going to sleep, put a brass pot under his head and finding it hard, stuffed it with feathers, and so lay on it with confidence of softness.

A beggar-woman petitioned a young buck very hard, to bestow a single half penny upon her; at the same time assuring him it was lending to the Lord. Indeed, woman, answered the buck, I'll not lend the Lord a farthing; for if I should happen to go to hell, I should never see him to demand my debt.

A citizen's wife being in the country, and seeing a goose that had many goslings; how is it possible, said she, that one goose should suckle so many goslings?

A gentleman, who had been very silly and pert in a lady's company, at last began to grieve at remembering the loss of his child, lately dead. A bishop sitting by, advised him to make himself easy, because the child was gone to heaven. I believe, my lord, said the lady, 'tis that which makes him grieve, because he is sure never to see his child there.

A gentleman asked a shepherd, whether that river might be passed over or not? Yes, says he; but upon trying, he flounced over head and ears; why, you rogue, says he, did you not tell me it might be passed over? Indeed, sir, says he, I thought so, for my geese go over and back again every day, and I did not doubt but you was as wise as a goose.

“Our children will have the immense tax on their hands,” said an American gentleman.

“Oh, horrible!” exclaimed an elderly lady, “what a blessing it is we have nails on ours.”

A gentleman being at church, had his pocket picked of his watch, and complaning of it to a friend of his, he replied, had you watched as well as prayed, your watch had been secure; but the next watch you carry about you, remember these lines;

A person asked an Irishman, why he wore his stookings the wrong side outwards? He answered, because there was a hole on the other side.

A simple fellow was making a great moan and said, he had got such a pain in his feet, that he was not able to lift up his hand to his head.

A West-end tradesman, who for two years has vainly tried to get paid for a dozen of cravats which a young fop, suspected of living a little at the expense of confiding tradesmen, had bought of him, at last sent his bill for “A dozen fancy satin policemen.” “What does this mean?” asked the fop. “What are satin policemen?” “They are doubtless your cravats,” was the reply, “because they take a thief by the throat every morning.”

A lawyer was once pleading a case in court before the full bench. The chief justice whispered in his neighbor's ear, but loud enough to be heard by others, “I'll wager he lies.” The lawyer, not in the least disconcerted, drew his purse from his pocket, and laying it on the bar, exclaimed, “Put down your money—I take the bet!”

A poor son of the Emerald Isle applied for employment to an avaricious hunk, who told him that he should employ no more Irishmen, “for the last one died on my hands, and I was forced to bury him at my own charge.” “Ah, yer Honor,” said Pat, brightening up, “and is that all? Then you'll give me the place, for sure I can get a certificate that I never died in the employ of any master I iver served.”

“What,” asked the schoolmaster, “is the term applied to the crime of possessing two wives at one time?”

“Bigamy,” replied the scholar.”

“And if there be more than two, what should you call it?”

The scholar reflected a moment, then chancing to cast his eyes upon a map of Utah that decorated the wall, he smiled, and confidently answered,

“Brighamy, sir!”

A young man, rather verdant and very sentimental, while making himself interesting to a young lady, the other evening, by quoting from the poets, to the other choice and rare extracts he added, “There is no place like home.” “Do you really think so?” said the young lady. “Oh, yes,” was the reply. “Then,” said muslin, “why don't you stay there?”

The following laughable affair is from a book entitled Fisher's River Scenes and Charac