Her brother David was a tall,

Good-looking chap and that was all;
One of your great, big nothings, as we say
Here in New Jersey, picking up old jokes,
And cracking them on other folks.
Well, David undertook one night to play
The ghost, and frighten Abel, who,

He knew,

Would be returning from a journey through
A grove of forest wood

That stood

Below

The house some distance, half a mile, or so.

With a long taper

Cap of white paper,
Just made to cover

A wig, nearly as large over

As a corn-basket, and a sheet

With both ends made to meet

Across his breast

(The way in which ghosts are always dressed), He took

His station near

A huge oak-tree,

Whence he could overlook

The road and see

Whatever might appear.

It happened that about an hour before, friend Abel

Had left the table

Of an inn, where he had made a halt,

With horse and wagon,

To taste a flagon

Of malt

Liquor, and so forth, which, being done,

He went on,

Caring no more for twenty ghosts,

Than if they were so many posts.

David was nearly tired of waiting,
His patience was abating;

At length, he heard the careless tones

Of his kinsman's voice,

And then the noise

Of wagon-wheels among the stones.
Abel was quite elated, and was roaring
With all his might, and pouring

Out, in great confusion,

Scraps of old songs made in "the Revolution."

His head was full of Bunker Hill and Trenton;
And jovially he went on,

Scaring the whip-po-wills among the trees
With rhymes like these: (Sings.)

"See the Yankees

Leave the hill,

With baggernetts declining,

With looped-down hats

And rusty guns,

And leather aprons shining.

"See the Yankees-Whoa! Why, what is that?"

Said Abel, staring like a cat,

As, slowly, on the fearful figure strode

Into the middle of the road.

"My conscience, what a suit of clothes!

Some crazy fellow, I suppose.

Hallo! friend, what's your name? by the powers of gin,

That's a strange dress to travel in."

"Be silent, Abel; for I now have come

To read your doom;

Then hearken, while your fate I now declare.

I am a spirit."-"I suppose you are;

But you'll not hurt me, and I'll tell you why:

Here is a fact which you can not deny;

All spirits must be either good

Or bad; that's understood.

And be you good or evil, I am sure

That I'm secure.

If a good spirit, I am safe. If evil,

And I don't know but you may be the devil; If that's the case, you'll recollect, I fancy, That I am married to your sister Nancy!"

CXC.-FIRST APPEARANCE IN TYPE.

"AH, here it is! I'm famous now; An author and a poet,

It really is in print. Hurrah!

How proud I'll be to show it,

And gentle Anna! what a thrill

Will animate her breast,

To read these ardent lines, and know

To whom they are addressed.

"Why, bless my soul! here's something wrong;

What can the paper mean,

By talking of the 'graceful brook,'

That 'ganders o'er the green?'

And here's a t instead of r,

Which makes it 'tippling rill,'

We'll seek the 'shad' instead of 'shade,'

And 'hell' instead of 'hill.'

"Thy looks so'-what?-I recollect,
'Twas 'sweet,' and then 't was 'kind;'
And now, to think,-the stupid fool-
For 'bland' has printed 'blind,'
Was ever such provoking work?
(Tis curious, by the by,

That any thing is rendered blind
By giving it an i.)

"The color of the 'rose' is 'nose,' 'Affection' is 'affliction.'

(I wonder if the likeness holds In fact as well as fiction?)

'Thou art a friend.'

The r is gone;

Whoever would have deemed

That such a trifling thing could change

A friend into a fiend.

"Thou art the same,' is rendered 'lame,'

It really is too bad!

And here because an i is out

My lovely 'maid' is mad.

They drove her blind by poking in

An i-a process new

And now they've gouged it out again,
And made her crazy, too.

"I'll read no more. What shall I do?
I'll never dare to send it.

The paper's scattered far and wide,
'Tis now too late to mend it.

Oh, fame! thou cheat of human life,
Why did I ever write?

I wish my poem had been burnt,
Before it saw the light.

"Was ever such a horrid hash,

In poetry or prose?

I've said she was a 'fiend!' and praised

The color of her 'nose.'

I wish I had the printer here

About a half a minute,

I'd bang him to his heart's content,

And with an h begin it."

CXCI.-A NIGHT OF HORROR.

MR. SMITH is a quiet, respectable citizen of Frost Hollow, and has a charming little wife, who makes his home cheerful and happy. His hair rivals the raven's plumage in blackness, save in one place on the left side of his head, made conspicuous by a few locks as white as the driven

snow, and they "turned white in a single night, as men's have done from sudden fears.”

One night, prior to his marriage, he attired himself in his best apparel, and started for the home of his sweetheart, now his wife. During his courtship he was accustomed to make his way from Frost Hollow to his destination, a few miles distant, through the fields back of Chestnut Hill. Considerable quantities of iron ore have been dug out of these fields, and they are as full of holes as an old tin basin. Some of these holes are open, others slightly covered with brush or a few old poles, and they vary in depth from three or four feet to a distance which is quite a respectable start on a journey to the center of the earth, or to China.

The night was dark, black indeed, but Smith had often before traversed these fields by night, and feeling confident that he knew the way, he pushed rapidly forward, thinking of the warm fire and the bright, smiling face at the end of his journey, when suddenly he stepped into an orehole, catching, as he fell, a pole that lay across the mouth of the hole, and to which he clung with the death-like grip of despair. He at once realized his terrible situation; the pole was old and brittle, and every time that he attempted to draw himself up or to change his position, it cracked in a most threatening manner, and he could hear the dirt and gravel rattle down into the black and unknown depths. He shouted for help, but there was no one to hear, and the only answer was the mocking echo from the hill.

Strange thoughts began to fill his mind; he wondered whether the fall would break his back or his neck, and whether his legs would also be broken; and if the men would tear his clothes to tatters when they should attempt to fish him up by means of a hook at the end of a long rope. Then he recounted his many misdeeds and shortcomings. By this time his hair was standing on end; and he vowed that if he only escaped he would reform,