will cultivate my crops and tend my flocks and herds; and in the long evenings smoke the calumet with the worthy aborigines.  If I should find there some dusky maiden, like Palmer’s Indian girl, who has no idea of puns, polkas, crinoline, or eligible matches, I will woo her in savage hyperbole, and she shall light my pipe with her slender fingers, and beat for me the tom-tom when I am sad.  I will live in a calm and conscientious way; the Funny Fellow shall become like the dim recollection of some horrible dream, and”—­

Mr. Green seems not to have finished his interesting reflections, and I shall not attempt to complete them.  As well might I try to finish the Cathedral at Cologne.  But I heartily sympathize with the feelings he has expressed, and trust that his new home in the West will never be invaded by conversational garroters.

Sincerely your friend,

TOMPKINS.

—­The Pasha Papers.

CHARLES FARRAR BROWNE.

("ARTEMUS WARD.”)

(BORN, 1834—­DIED, 1867.)

* * * * *

THE TOWER OF LONDON.

MR. PUNCH,—­My Dear Sir:—­I skurcely need inform you that your excellent Tower is very pop’lar with pe’ple from the agricultooral districks, and it was chiefly them class which I found waitin at the gates the other mornin.

I saw at once that the Tower was established on a firm basis.  In the entire history of firm basisis I don’t find a basis more firmer than this one.

“You have no Tower in America?” said a man in the crowd, who had somehow detected my denomination.

“Alars! no,” I anserd; “we boste of our enterprise and improovements, and yit we are devoid of a Tower.  America oh my onhappy country! thou hast not got no Tower!  It’s a sweet Boon.”

The gates was opened after a while, and we all purchist tickets, and went into a waitin-room.

“My frens,” said a pale-faced little man, in black close, “this is a sad day.”

“Inasmuch as to how?” I said.

“I mean it is sad to think that so many peple have been killed within these gloomy walls.  My frens, let us drop a tear!”

“No,” I said, “you must excuse me.  Others may drop one if they feel like it; but as for me, I decline.  The early managers of this institootion were a bad lot, and their crimes were trooly orful; but I can’t sob for those who died four or five hundred years ago.  If they was my own relations I couldn’t.  It’s absurd to shed sobs over things which occurd during the rain of Henry the Three.  Let us be cheerful,” I continnered.  “Look at the festiv Warders, in their red flannil jackets.  They are cheerful, and why should it not be thusly with us?”

A Warder now took us in charge, and showed us the Trater’s Gate, the armers, and things.  The Trater’s Gate is wide enuff to admit about twenty traters abrest, I should jedge; but beyond this, I couldn’t see that it was superior to gates in gen’ral.