drive in, and prepared to unload. Looking up to the lad-who, pitchfork in hand, was about to toss off the hay-she said, with great simplicity: "You may give me about enough for a hen's-nest; I've been wanting it for some time!" A PLAIN old farmer from the Valley of Virginia was elected in 1861 captain of a cavalry company. At his first drill the honest old fellow stationed himself in front of his company, straightened himself up, drew his sword, and wanting the technical command to get the line in motion, called out: "Now, boys, pull out your sabres. Horner" (to the bugler), "toot your horn. And all follow me." The company got under way, and followed him at a gallop, and was doing very well, when the problem of turning a street corner confronted him, and he yelled: "Swing round this corner-just like a gate." This happy thought got the company launched again, when the captain tried another manœuvre, 66 Form fours, and follow me," which so badly mixed up the line that the commander stopped, and screamed: "Whoa!-I mean halt. Now go in ones (single file); now divide yourselves (deploy). Oh, blazes! where are ye goin'? 66 دو دو And watching the inextricable confusion for a moment in despair, he cried out : "Here, I resign. You can all go to blazes. I'm goin' home." And home he went. NEAR Boston there lives an old whaling captain commonly known as Uncle Gurdon. To keep from getting rusty, he made his home on the river-bank, where he could keep a boat, and fish or paddle about as he liked. The place was about five miles from the city, and, as occasion required, Uncle Gurdon and his wife would journey townward for the purpose of shopping. Reaching town, the horse and waggon would be left secured on the Parade, and each would go in different directions, carrying their bundles to this common receptacle, the first to finish waiting for the other. On one of these shopping excursions Uncle Gurdon made several trips to the waggon, finding each time that additions had been made to the store of bundlesa sign that his wife was busy. Having completed his purchases, he thoughtfully unhitched his horse, and the ferry-boat having arrived, climbed into the waggon and drove on board. While crossing the river one of his acquaintances stepped up and asked how he was getting on. do some shopping, and I've forgotten a parcel I was to get," and the old gentleman scratched his head in a perplexed manner. "Well, I wouldn't worry. You will think of it next time," said the neighbour; and the boat having reached the landing, Uncle Gurdon drove ashore, and went on toward home. When nearly half-way there he was met by another friend, who stopped to have a chat. "How do you do to-day, Uncle Gurdon?" he asked. "God did, my son," replied the father. Well," said the little one, still looking after the negro, "I shouldn't have thought he'd have held still.” IN a New Hampshire town there lived an ignorant, irreligious, worthless family, Ransom by name, no member of which had been seen inside a church within the "memory of the oldest inhabitant." The village pastor, after years of failure, had at length "almost persuaded" two of the younger scions to promise attendance for one Sabbath; but the fear that they would be made the subjects of some personal remarks still deterred them. They were in "Why, is anything going wrong?" great terror lest they should be publicly "No, nothing special; but I came down to upbraided with their misdoings, and called "Well, I'm getting on nicely, but I'm bothered just now." to account for their wickedness. After brought his hand to a salute, bursting out much exertion their fears were quieted, and with, "Ah, Captain, thure a Yankee is on the following Sunday the eyes of the threwder than a fox." In his alphabet th good pastor's congregation were astonished had to stand for s. at the unwonted presence of the aforesaid Ransoms. All went pleasantly enough until the reading of the second hymn, which was the familiar "Blow ye the trumpet, blow!" etc. SOME fifty years ago; when a certain Western State was but sparsely settled, it was a work of no small difficulty to get a jury together, especially as the inhabitants were notoriously disinclined to the pleasures Imagine the effect when, at the end of the of litigation. The court had been forced to line "Return ye ransom'd sinners home," the older of the two seized his hat, and, with long strides towards the door, shouted: "Come along home, Bill! I knowed they'd be flinging at us if we came here!" was WHEN the division of General lying at Yorktown a great deal of trouble was occasioned by frequent cases of intoxication among the troops, and a strict order was issued to prevent liquor being brought them. As a result, the men would slip off to Fortress Monroe, and then return, fully supplied internally, and with a surplus for others. Early one morning Captain R―, the Provost Marshal, started for the fort on horseback, having some important business to transact. On the road he overtook a man in civilian's dress, whom he thought he recognised as having been repeatedly brought before him for excessive vinous hilarity. Instantly wheeling his horse he accosted the man, when the following conversation took place: "Where are you going, my man?" "Home." "What do you mean by home? What are you doing away from your regimint?" "I don't belong to any regiment, your Honour" Why, you infamous liar! haven't you been brought up before me half-a-dozen times for drunkenness? "Never, never, your Honour! I'm a poor man, and work hard for me living on me own land." 66 Why, you infernal rascal, I know your face well! Do you mean to say you don't know who I am?' "No, your Honour; I kape to me own home, and know nothing of any man round here." 66 'Do you mean to tell me that your name is not Malone, and that you don't belong to theth Vermont?" "Ah no, your Honour; I'm Pat Maloy, and I live at Bethel." At his wit's end for proof, and a little in doubt if he was not in error, Captain Rhesitated, when all at once a thought struck him "Say whisky," said he. Not a sound was uttered by the man. Say whisky," he again ordered. But the man's lips never moved. At the third repetition of the order the man drew himself straight up and adjourn many times, from day to day, because the Sheriff as often came in and reported an incomplete panel. Finally, things came to a crisis. The Judge fixed a day beyond which no further forbearance could be exercised. When that day arrived the enthusiastic Sheriff rushed into the courtroom, and exclaimed: "It's all right, your Honour! we'll have the jury by 12 o'clock. I've got eleven of them locked up in a barn, and we are running the twelfth with dogs!” CHATTING with one of her neighbours not long since, she related her experience when converted, many years ago, as follows: "I used to be very gay, and fond of the world and all its fashions, till the Lord showed me my folly. I liked silks and ribbons and laces and feathers, but I found they were dragging me down to hell-so I gave them all to my sister!" He GOVERNOR DUVAL was the most uncalculating of mortals in money matters. began to build a house in Florida, but his original design grew with wing on wing, until it flew away with all his cash capital, and more too. He was in debt to architects, carpenters, masons, and for everything about his new dwelling. One bright morning in March, as he leaned meditatively over the front fence looking in toward his Aladdin palace, a stranger passing by asked, "Sir, who does that handsome edifice belong to?" "That," said the Governor, with a sparkle in his eye, "is just what I am trying to find out!" NEW MONTHLY MAGAZINE. No. CCCXCVIII. JULY, 1883.-VOL. LXVII. A FAMOUS LONDON SUBURB. ́OU don't feel disposed, do you, to muffle your "Y seldom and start off with me for a good brisk walk over Hampstead Heath? I know a good house where we can have a red-hot chop for dinner and a glass of good wine." -Charles Dickens to John Forster. When the Londoner who has been away from his well-beloved city for a year or more comes back he finds so many changes that he feels like a stranger-old buildings that have stood for centuries replaced by new ones, and new buildings put up where old buildings never were; the lanes in which he has sweethearted blotted out by paved streets, and the fields where he has played crushed and obliterated, even to the last blade of grass, under piles of brick and mortar. It may be that he sees an analogy between the extinction of the sylvan haunts of the substantial and unbeautiful advance of the city, and the dreams and aspirations of his youth dissipated in the practical, experience of mature life. The suburbs of the metropolis, all of them full of historical and interesting associations, and most of them within the memory of living men full of historical mansions, are fast losing, with their fields and woods, the old and distinctive flavor. Kensington has long since been built over; there are no longer fields at Notting Hill Shepherd's Bush, in whose thickets the footpads used to lie in wait for those who had escaped the highwaymen of Hounslow Heath, is a labyrinth of mean streets and "jerry-built” houses. On the south side London has spread itself out for fifteen miles across the Surrey Hills: there is little left of the sweet rusticity of Dulwich; Clapham and Wimbledon have their commons still, but they are now great towns; Forest Hill has lost its forest, and Penge its hanging woods. On the west there are houses as far as Brent ford, Kew, and Richmond; on the east the old village of Stratford-on-the-Bow has become a great town of sixty thousand inhabitants, and the leafy little secluded villages which stand upon the southern edge of Epping Forest are united by rows of mean, hideous, monotonous terraces and villas. The way in which new suburbs spring up is like the dreams of a Western speculator whose imagination is let loose upon a plotting paper, and month after month the green fields and still villages become more distant from St. Paul's. The tavern which to-day stands in its own grounds, wrapped up in ivy and masses of flowers, where we may escape the noise of the city in rural privacy, may soon be transformed into a vulgar "public," serving pots of washy ale over the counter, and the bowers around it be swept away to make room for shops and cottages. It At one outpost of London is an Elizabethan mansion-real Elizabethan and real mansion-which has a dignity and genuineness about its grandeur not common in these days of veneer and affectation in buildings and nomenclature. has been the manor for generations, and up to last year it held a position of lofty isolation in its park, where the hawthorns and limes almost hid it from the outside world. But in twelve months it has become an anomaly. New homes, new shops, and a railway have surrounded it. What was country a year ago is now an integral part of the city, and the old manor-house, with its glory unimpaired, has suddenly become an anachronism. The magic that built Cheyenne and Denver is repeated on the borders of the English metropolis. But from the red brick lodge with its ivy shield at the gate Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1883, by Harper and Brothers, in the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. VOL. LXVII.-No. 398.-11 |