A few weeks after I readied home there was a large tub of honey left at my father’s house, with a letter for me, informing me that sister White had been expelled from the church in G——­ for covetousness; that my friends the Hubbards were well; that the four deacons spoke very highly in my praise, and hoped I would feel rewarded for the trouble I had taken.  Years have passed since the matters here mentioned took place, but up to this time nothing has been said to me about ‘paying my expenses.’

    JAY G. BEE.

* * * * *

Mrs. Malaprop founded a school which has been prolific in disciples.  From one of these we learn that—­

Old Mr. P. died a short time ago, much to the regret of his many friends, for he was a good neighbor, and had always lived honestly and uprightly among his fellow-men.  At the time of his funeral Mrs. L. was sorrowing for his loss, with others of her sex, and paid the following tribute to his memory: 

    ’Poor Mr. P., he was a good man, a kind man, and a Christian
    man—­he always lived according to HOYLE, and died with the
    hope of a blessed immortality.’

‘Played the wrong card there.’

* * * * *

ADAM’S FAMILY JARS.

IN CRACKED NUMBERS.

  One fact is fundamental,
  One truth is rudimental;
  Before man had the rental
  Of this dwelling of a day,
  He was in nothing mental,
  But an image-man of clay.

    In the ground
  Was the image found;
    Of the ground
  Was it molded round;
  And empty of breath,
  And still as in death,
  Inside not a ray,
  Outside only clay,
  Deaf and dumb and blind,
  Deadest of the kind,
    There it lay.

  Unto what was it like?  In its shape it was what? 
  The world says ’a man,’—­but the world is mistaken. 
  To revive the old story, a long time forgot,
  ’Twasn’t man that was made, but a pot that was baken.

  And what if it was human-faced like the Sphinx? 
  There’s no riddle to solve, whate’er the world thinks: 
  The fiat that made it, from its heels to its hair,
  Wasn’t simply ‘Be man!’ but ‘Stand up and Be Ware!’

  And straightway acknowledging its true kith and kin
  With that host of things known to be hollow within,
  It took up a stand with its handles akimbo,
  Bowels and bosom in a cavernous limbo.

  Curving out at the bottom, it swelled to a jig;
  Curving in at the top, narrow-necked, to the mug;
  Two sockets for sunshine in the frontispiece placed,
  A crack just below—­merely a matter of taste;
  A flap on each side hiding holes of resounding,
  For conveyance within of noises surrounding;
  And a nozzle before,
  All befitted to snore,
  Was a part of the ware
  For adornment and air.