rom the compound extract of
chain litenin on the wing, and ile of vitril. It is then flavored with
earysipelas and 7 yeer itch, when it is ready to lay out it's man.

I was on a visit to Jarsey, a short time ago, and if ever a man was
justified in cussin' the day he ever sot foot onto the classick red
shores of New Jarsey, (which soil, by the way, is so greasy that all the
red-headed New Jarsey gals use it for hair ile, while for greasin' a
pancake griddle it can't be beat,) it was the undersined.

The first nite I was in that furrin climb, after hangin' my close over a
chair, and droppin' my false teeth in a tumbler of water, I retired in a
sober and morril condition.

"Balmy sleep, sweet nater's hair restorer," which sentiment I cote from
Mr. DICKENS, who, I understand from the Bosting clergy, is now sizzlin',
haden't yet folded me in her embrace.

Strains of melody, surpassin' by severil lengths the melifflous
discordant notes of the one-armed hand organist's most sublimerest
seemfunny, sircharged the atmosfear. Ever and anon the red-hot breezes
kissed the honest old man's innocent cheek, and slobbered grate capsules
of odoriferous moisture, which ran in little silvery streams from his
reclinin' form. Yes! verily, great pearls hung pendant from his nasal
protuberants.

In other words, I hadent gone to sleep, but lay their sweatin' like an
ice waggon, while the well-known battle song of famished Muskeeters fell
onto my ear. The music seized; and a regiment of Jarsey Muskeeters, all
armed to the teeth and wearin' cowhide butes, marched single-file into
my open window.

The Kernal, a gray-headed old war-worn vetenary, alited from his hoss,
and tide the animal to the bed-post.

The Commander then mounted ontop of the wash-stand, and helpin' hisself
to a chaw of tobacker out of my box, which lay aside him, the old
scoundrel commenced firin' his tobacker juice in my new white hat. "See
here, Kernal," said I, somewhat riled at seein' him make a spittoon of
my best 'stove-pipe,' "if it's all the same to you, spose'n you eject
your vile secretion out of the winder."

"Cork up, old man," said the impudent raskle, "or ile spit on ye and
drown you."

All about the room the privates were sacreligously misusing my property.

One red-headed old Muskeeter, who was so full of somebody's blood he
couldn't hardly waddle, was seated in the rockin'-chair, and with my
specturcols on his nose, was readin' a copy of PUNCHINELLO,