said she, looking up with an angelic smile, "why did you come home in that odd manner, upon a shutter?" "Because, _mon ange_," said he, "you see that these worthy gentlemen, all good men and true, _mon_ only _ange_, brought me home upon a shutter because they were not able to get any of the doors off of their hinges. (Hic.)"

This is almost _too_ funny.

The descendant of the Hamnisticorious sojourner in the ark knows what is good for him. For pungent proof, hear this: A young lady, a daughter of the venerable and hospitable General G-----, of Upper Guilford, Conn., was once catechizing a black camp-meeting, and when the exercises were over, a colored brother approached her and said:

"Look-a-yar now, 's MARY, jist gib dis nigger one obdem catekidgeble books."

"But what would you do with it, CUDJO, if I gave it to you?"

"Oh, _dis chile 'ud take it_!"

Ha! ha! ha! Our colored brother will have his wild hilarity.

Two septennialated youngsters of Boston. Mass, (so writes their gifted mother), thus recently dialogued:

"PERSEUS," said the younger, "why was the noble WASHINGTON buried at Mount Vernon?"

"Because he was dead," boldly answered his brother.

Oh! the tender-aged! How their sub-corrected longings curb our much maturer yearnings.

Here is an anecdote of a "four-year old," which we give in the exact words of our correspondent, an aged and respected resident of Oswego county, in this State:

"Well, now, ye see, I couldn't do nothing at all with this 'ere four-year old 'o mine, fur he was jist as wild an onruly as anything ye ever see; and so I jist knocked him in the head, and kep the hide and the taller, and got thirteen cents a pound for the beef, which wasn't so bad, ye see."

Strange, practical man! We could not do thus with all our little tid-toddlers of but four bright summers.

A correspondent in San Francisco sends the Drawer these epitaphs, which are entirely too good to be lost.

The first is from the grave of a farmer, much notorified for his "forehandidification," and who, it is needless to say, was buried on his own farm:--

"Here lies JOHN SIMMS, who always did Good farming understand; E'en now he's gratified to think He benefits his land."

Here is one upon a gambler, who died of some sort of sickness, superinduced by some description of disease:--

"His hand was so bad that he laid him down here; But up he will certainly jump, And quick follow suit for the rest of the game When Gabriel plays his last trump."

Here is one on a truly unfortunate member of the human race:--

"Here lies CORNELIUS COX, who, on account of a series of unhappy occurrences, the principal of which were a greatly increased rent and consumption of the lungs, Got himself into a tight box."

The ladies must not be neglected. Sweet creatures! even on tombstones we sing their praises. This is to the memory of a fashionable and lovely siren of society:--

"She always moved with distinguished grace, And never was known to make slips. At last she sank down into this grave With the neatest of Boston dips."

An old lady in Bangor, Maine, sends the following entertaining anecdote of one of our most distinguished fellow-citizens:--

The late Senator R-----, who, by the way, was a very portly man, was in the habit of riding over the fields to consult Judge B-----, his wife's cousin, on points of extra-judicial import. One morning, just as he was about to get down from his horse.--(NOTE BY ED.--The middle of this anecdote is so long, so dull, and has so little connection with either the head or the tail, that it is necessarily omitted.)

"Well," said the Judge, "what would you do then?"

"_I don't know_," said the Senator. "Do you?"

If our public men were, at all times, as thoughtful as these two, the