as tramping about behind his bar, and growling like an
exasperated old bear in his cage. Another one of his tormentors walks
in. Some one sings out to him, "Have a glass of beer, Billy?"

"Don't care about any beer," says Billy, "but, Snyder, you may give
me one of your best ciga--Ha-a-a! ha! ha! ha! ho! ho! ho! he! he! he!
ah-h-h-ha! ha! ha! ha! Why--why--Snyder--who who--ha-ha! ha! what's
the matter with that nose?"

Snyder was absolutely fearful to behold by this time; his face was
purple with rage, all except his nose, which glowed like a ball of
fire. Leaning his ponderous figure far over the bar, and raising his
arm aloft to emphasize his words with it, he fairly roared:

"I peen out fishin' mit ter poys. The sun it pese hot like ash never
was. I purnt my nose. Now you no like dose nose, you yust take dose
nose unt wr-wr-wr-wring your mean American finger mit 'em. That's the
kind of man vot I am!" And Snyder was right.

THE MISER'S FATE.

OSBORNE.

In the year 1762 a miser, of the name of Foscue, in France,
having amassed enormous wealth by habits of extortion and
the most sordid parsimony, was requested by the government
to advance a sum of money as a loan. The miser demurred,
pretending that he was poor. In order to hide his gold
effectually, he dug a deep cave in his cellar, the descent
to which was by a ladder, and which was entered by means of a
trap-door, to which was attached a spring-lock.

He entered this cave one day to gloat over his gold, when the
door fell upon him, and the spring-lock, the key to which he
had left on the outside, snapped, and held him a prisoner in
the cave, where he perished miserably. Some months afterwards
a search was made, and his body was found in the midst of his
money-bags, with a candlestick lying beside it on the floor.
In the following lines the miser is supposed to have just
entered his cave, and to be soliloquizing.

So, so! all safe! Come forth, my pretty sparklers--
Come forth, and feast my eyes! Be not afraid!
No keen-eyed agent of the government
Can see you here. They wanted me, forsooth,
To lend you, at the lawful rate of usance,
For the state's needs. Ha, ha! my shining pets,
My yellow darlings, my sweet golden circlets!
Too well I loved you to do that--and so
I pleaded poverty, and none could prove
My story was not true.
Ha! could they see
These bags of d