I zank you; I 'ave eat too moosh."

I know'd he was only sogerin' out of delixy. So I says as perlite as
possible,--

"None of that, old fellur--catch hold. I fetched 'em for you, and I'm
bound to see you eat 'em."

"Sare, you are _too_ kind," said he; and he vent to vork again. Arter
a spell, he stopped.

"Don't like 'em--hey?" says I, pretendin' to be mad.

"I sall prove ze contraire," said he, in a kind of die-away manner,
and he went into 'em agin.

Presently, he gin over, and fell back on his piller murmurin'--

"Sare, you are too good."

I gin the balance to the leetle gal, and told her to come round in the
mornin', and I'd fill her kittle for her, adding that her grandfather
would be all straight in the mornin'.

Samivel! he _vas_ all straight in the morning, but just as stiff as a
cold poker. The last two or three dozen finished him; his digestion
wasn't strong enough for 'em, and he know'd it, but he eat himself to
death out of politeness. The French are certingly the perlitest people
on the face of the yairth.

Howsever, I see him buried decently, and I adopted the leetle gal. She
was well brung up and educated, and she larned my darters French--the
real Simon Pure--for she was a Canadian, and her grandfather came from
Gascony. But his fate vos a orful lesson. Benevolence, like an
oyster-roast, is good for nothink if it's over done. And now, Samivel,
my boy, _a-jew_, for I have a _sworray_ this evenin', and receive half
Beacon Street. _A-jew._

THE NEW YEAR'S STOCKINGS.

"Never crosses his t's, nor dots his i's, and his n's and v's and r's
are all alike!" said, almost despairingly, Mr. Simon Quillpen, the
painstaking clerk of old Lawyer Latitat, as he sat late at night, on
the last day of the year, digging away at the copy of a legal document
his liberal patron and employer had placed in his hands in the early
part of the evening. "Thank Heaven!" he added, laying down his pen,
and consulting a huge silver bull's eye which he pulled from a
threadbare fob, "I shall soon get through this job, and then, hey for
roast potatoes and the charming society of Mrs. Q.!" And with this
consolatory reflection, he resumed his work with redoubled energy.

Mr. Quillpen was a little man; not so very little as to pass for a
phenomenon, but certainly too small to be noticed by a recruiting
grenadier sergeant. His nose was quite sharp and gave his mild, thin
countenance, particularly as he carried his hea