A Dutch millingtery company visited Skeensboro a few years since, for a target shoot, bringin’ a car lode of lager-beer and a box of sardeens for refreshments.

I, bein’ at that time Gustise, was on hand to help perserve the peece.

Lager, they told me, wasen’t intoxicatin.  I histed in a few mugs.  I woulden’t just say that I got soggy, but I felt like a hul regiment of Dutch soljers on general trainin’ day.

It suddenly occurred to me that Mrs. GREEN had been puttin’ on rather too many airs lately, and I would go in and quietly remind her that I was boss of the ranch.

Pickin’ up a hoss-whip, I “shouldered arms,” and entered the kitchen as bold as the brave FISK of the bully 9th.

“MARIAR,” said I, addressin’ Mrs. GREEN, and tippin’ over her pan of dish-water so she coulden’t wet my close, “yer ’aven’t (hic!) tode the mark as ’er troo (hic!) wife orter.  I can’t (hic!) ’ave any more of yer (hic!) darn foolin’.  Will yer (hic!) ’bey yer ’usband like a (hic!) man, in the futer?”

I raised the hoss-whip to give her a good blow.  She caught it on a fly with both hands, as I lade down on the floor to convince my wife I was in earnest in what I said.

Well, LEWIS, I remember feelin’ as if I was put into a large bag with a lot of saw logs, and was bein’ viteally shoot up.  I could also distinguish my wife, flyin’ about as if she had taken a contract for thrashin’ a lot of otes, and haden’t but a few minnits to do it in, and somehow I got it into my head that I was the otes.

I went to sleep in a cloud of hosswhips—­hair and panterloon buttons rapt up in a dilapidated soot of close.

When I awoke, I looked as if that Dutch millingtery Company had been usin’ me for a target, substitootin’ my nose for the bull’s eye.

I imejutly come to the conclusion, that to successfully buck agin Lager-beer, was full as onhealthy as tryin’ to get a seat in H. WARD BEECHER’S church on Sunday mornin’s, afore all the Pew-holders had got in.

When you want an asilum to flee to, come to Skeensboro.

Altho’ you have got the ship of State stuck in the mud, I think I can get you a canal bote to run, where you can earn your $115.00 a month, provided your wife will do the cookin’ for the crew.

This is better than bein’ throde onto the cold, cold charities of the world, especially where a man has got the gout, for anything cold in apt to bring on the pain and make him pe-uuk.

Hopin’ that in the futer, as you grow older, you may lern wisdom by cultivatin’ my acquaintance—­and with kind regards to UGEEN and bub BONYPART, in your native tung I will say: 

Barn-sure, noblesse Pea-cracker.

Ewer’n, one and onseperable,

HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

* * * * *

Bunsby’s War Paint.

    Napoleon’s chances are not great
    If German facts are true;
    But if he finds not Paris Green
    Hell make the Prussian Blue.