. The house of WIGGINS cannot consort
with the son of one who pegs along in life in this manner! Never. Banish
SMIRCH. Don't let SMIRCH even look at your footprints on the beach.

Then there is Mr. BLUSTER. What is he? Who? Impertinent puppy! Pretended
to own a corner-house on the Twenty-fifth Avenue, and wanted to know how
_I_ should like it? Like it? I should like to see him in Sing-Sing! _He_
own a house?--a brass foundry more like, and that in his face! Keep a
sharp eye on BLUSTER and his blarney. He's what our neighbor GINGER
calls a "beat," whatever that is--a squash, no doubt.

Don't spare any pains, my dear, for a market. I was only twenty-six when
I married the late lamented Mr. WIGGINS. And a dear good man he
was--only I wish he had paid his bills at the corner groceries. How he
_did_ love, my dear--that favorite demijohn in the corner! And then when
he came home at night with such a smile--he'd been taking them all day.
Don't fail to catch somebody. GUSHER, depend, is the man. Money is
everything. Never mind what he hasn't got just under the hat. It is the
pocket you must aim at. What is life and society--what New York--without
money? Say you love him to distraction. Declare your existence is bound
up in his. (Greenback binding.) Throw yourself at his feet at the
opportune moment, and victory must be yours. Impale him at all hazards.
Remember you are thirty-seven and well on in life. Your own loving

MARIA ANASTASIA WIGGINS.

* * * * *

THE PUMP.

An Old Story with a Modern Application.

Like rifts of sunshine, her tresses
Waved over her shoulders bare,
And she flitted as light o'er the meadows,
As an angel in the air.

"O maid of the country, rest thee
This village pump beside,
And here thou shalt fill thy pitcher,
Like REBECCA, the well beside!"

But a voice from yonder window
Through my shuddering senses ran,
And these were its words: "MARIA-R!
MA-RIA-R! don't-mind-that-man!"

* * * * *

[Illustration: LUCIFERS LITTLE GAME WITH HIS ROYAL PUPPETS.]

* * * * *

HIRAM GREEN'S EXPERIENCE AS AN EDITOR.

Lively Times in the Editorial Sanctum.--The "Lait Gustise" handled
Roughly.

"Whooray! Whooray!" I exclaimed, rushin' into the kitchen door, one
mornin' last spring, and addressin' Mrs. GREEN. "I've been invited to