Miss F.B.

  My horse was a speck on the pampas’ verge, for I dropped the rein in
      my haste to stoop;
  Then I pressed my ear to the baking soil—­and caught—­ah, horror—­the
      Indian whoop!

Soc.  Chat. Some say it isn’t infectious, but one can’t be too careful, and, with children in the house, &c., &c.

Miss F.B.

  I rose to my feet with quivering knees, and my face turned white as a
      fresh-washed towel;
  I had heard a war-cry I knew too well—­’twas the murderous band of
      Blue-nosed Owl!

Soc.  Chat. Nice fellow—­I’m very fond of him—­so fresh—­capital company—­met him when I was over there, &c.

Miss F.B.

  “What? leave you to face those fiends alone!” she cried, and slid from
      her horse’s back;
  “Let me die with you—­for I love you, CLEM!” Then she gave her steed a
      resounding smack,
  And he bounded off; “Now Heaven be praised that my school six-shooter
      I brought!” said she. 
  “Four barrels I’ll keep for the front-rank foes—­and the next for
      you—­and the last for me!”

Soc.  Chat. Is it a comic piece she’s doing, do you know?  Don’t think so, I can see somebody smiling.  Sounds rather like SHAKSPEARE, or DICKENS, or one of those fellahs ...  Didn’t catch what you said.  No Quite impossible to hear oneself speak, isn’t it?

Miss F.B.

  And ever louder the demons yelled for their pale-faced prey—­but I
      scorned death’s pangs,
  For I deemed it a doom that was half delight to die by the hand of
      LOBELIA BANGS! 
  Then she whispered low in her dulcet tones, like the crooning coo of
      a cushat dove!
  (At the top of her voice).  “Forgive me, CLEM, but I could not bear
      any squaw to torture my own true love!”
  And she raised the revolver—­“crack-crack-crack!”

[To the infinite chagrin of the Unsophisticated Guest, who is intensely anxious to hear how Miss BANGS and her lover escaped from so unpleasant a dilemma—­the remaining cracks of her revolver, together with the two next stanzas, are drowned in a fresh torrent of small-talk—­after which he hears Miss F.B. conclude with repressed emotion: 

  But the ochre on Blue-nosed Owl was blurred, as his braves concluded
      their brief harangues;
  And he dropped a tear on the early bier of our Prairie belle, LOBELIA
      BANGS!

    [Which of course leaves him in a state of hopeless
    mystification.

Soc.  Chat. Is that the end?  Charming!  Now we shall be able to talk again! &c., &c.

* * * * *

OFF TO MASHER LAND.

(BY OUR OWN GRANDOLPH.)

(THIRD LETTER.—­C.)

[Illustration:  Native Amusements—­“A Poor House.”]