vice to the Brooklyn Divine.

SKEENSBORO, Nye onto Varmont.

MY KLERGICAL FRIEND--Feelin it my duty to encourage a man when he
strikes the rite gait, I seize the goose-quil to set down and scratch
off a letter to you. I've heard you preach, and, to do the square thing,
I am constrained to say you've got talents into you, on which to bild a
first-class Dominy. My advice is, to let your talents sintilate; don't
undertake to hide 'em under a bushel of peanuts. Let 'em blaze, friend
B.--let 'em blaze.

I dident notiss any bill-boards hangin about your mouth, savin as how
"Rooms was to let in your sky-lofts;" but contrary wise, it's my opinion
there haint a tenement house in New York which is packed fuller of
people than your figger-head is of slap-up idees. You haint afeard to
stand out baldly and face the sea of upturned red maskaline noses, or
hily-frizzled, gorgeously-got-up femilines, and skatter Fiseology rite
and left, not carin a pickaune who's hit or who haint.

A man who scores up as you do, is bound to win in the long run, if he
only keeps his eyes about him, and don't undertake to go it blind.

Yoove got a futer ahead of you bigger'n a meetin-house. Keep ploddin
along in the evening tender of your way, and I predict you'l ocupy a
front rank among the clergy.

I, the lait Gustise, which has served his country for 4 yeer as Gustise
of the Peece, tells you so; and havin asshiated with a good many big
guns in my day, my profetic vision is as clear as Rine wine.

You haint much like a preacher I once useter sleep under.

We called him OLD CLOROFORM. His sermons were dredful soothin to take.

Old Mother WINSLOW couldent play 2nd fiddle to his preachin, and her
sirop is better'n a club to put children to sleep. Why, friend BEECHER,
that ere minnister was warranted to talk a squallin young one to sleep
in 30 seconds.

When our Doctors had a leg to saw off, they always sent for Dominy
CLOROFORM to put the patient to sleep.

He dident preach "Rest for the weary" without practisin what he
preached, by makin his weary congregation rest like kittens.

But the old man has been scooped in, and our drug store has gone up on
cloroform.

His last words were:--

"Sweet sleepers, I go. I'le drug no more." And beneath the mirtle, the
Canada thistle, and the gooseberry-bush he rests, with the follerin
epitaff on his tombstun:--

Hee's gone to rest, don't wake him up,
His labors heer are ore;
He useter