s."

"But what would you do with it, CUDJO, if I gave it to you?"

"Oh, _dis chile 'ud take it_!"

Ha! ha! ha! Our colored brother will have his wild hilarity.

Two septennialated youngsters of Boston. Mass, (so writes their gifted
mother), thus recently dialogued:

"PERSEUS," said the younger, "why was the noble WASHINGTON buried at
Mount Vernon?"

"Because he was dead," boldly answered his brother.

Oh! the tender-aged! How their sub-corrected longings curb our much
maturer yearnings.

Here is an anecdote of a "four-year old," which we give in the exact
words of our correspondent, an aged and respected resident of Oswego
county, in this State:

"Well, now, ye see, I couldn't do nothing at all with this 'ere
four-year old 'o mine, fur he was jist as wild an onruly as anything ye
ever see; and so I jist knocked him in the head, and kep the hide and
the taller, and got thirteen cents a pound for the beef, which wasn't so
bad, ye see."

Strange, practical man! We could not do thus with all our little
tid-toddlers of but four bright summers.

A correspondent in San Francisco sends the Drawer these epitaphs, which
are entirely too good to be lost.

The first is from the grave of a farmer, much notorified for his
"forehandidification," and who, it is needless to say, was buried on his
own farm:--

"Here lies JOHN SIMMS, who always did
Good farming understand;
E'en now he's gratified to think
He benefits his land."

Here is one upon a gambler, who died of some sort of sickness,
superinduced by some description of disease:--

"His hand was so bad that he laid him down here;
But up he will certainly jump,
And quick follow suit for the rest of the game
When Gabriel plays his last trump."

Here is one on a truly unfortunate member of the human race:--

"Here lies CORNELIUS COX,
who, on account of a series of unhappy occurrences, the principal
of which were a greatly increased rent and consumption of
the lungs,
Got himself into a tight box."

The ladies must not be neglected. Sweet creatures! even on tombstones
we sing their praises. This is to the memory of a fashionable
and lovely siren of society:--

"She always moved with distinguished grace,
And never was known to make slips.
At last she sank down into this grave
With the neatest of Boston dips."