le. 'Twill not be long,
Ere thy faint head shall know
A deeper, calmer, better rest,
Than cometh here below;
When He, who loveth every one,
Shall call thee hence to go.

God bless thee in thy wanderings!
Wherever they may be,
And make the ears of every one
Attentive to thy plea;
A double blessing will be theirs,
Who kindly turn to thee.

STORY OF A STOLEN PEN.
WRITTEN BY ITSELF.

My friend, Theodore Thinker, who is an odd sort of a genius, and
frequently takes up things after a singular fashion, has put into my
hands a paper with this caption: "Story of a Stolen Pen, written by
itself." It seems, from a somewhat lengthy introduction--too lengthy to
be here quoted--that the pen once belonged to some editor or another;
and as Theodore has something to do with editorial matters himself, I
should not wonder if he is the one. Some curious readers may be disposed
to inquire how the pen was made to talk so fluently, and perhaps some
others would like to know how it was found in the first place. I can't
answer these reasonable inquiries. The manuscript is entirely silent on
both points. I have my conjectures in relation to the thing--pretty
strong conjectures, too. I guess the whole story is a fable, to tell the
truth. But never mind. There is a great deal of sense in fables
sometimes; and who knows but there may be some in this? At all events,
we must have

THE STORY.

[Illustration: THE THIEF STEALING THE PEN.]

I wish you could have seen the thief in the act of stealing me. What a
sorry face he had on! I send you a rough sketch of him--for I have a
little talent at drawing--taken from memory. I was lying on the desk,
close by a manuscript which I had commenced. He snatched me as soon as
the editor's back was turned, and ran out of the office. I wonder the
people did not notice that he was a rogue as he passed along the street.
Why, he stared at every body he met, as if he was afraid they were going
to give him an invitation to walk to the police office. The first thing
he did was to call at several pawnbroker's offices, where he tried to
sell me. No one would give him what he asked. He wanted ten or twelve
dollars, I believe. Well, he gave up that project before night, and I
heard him mutter to himself, "If I only had the money for it!" After
supper he took me into his room, and when he h