It is growin’ bigger, and afore we know it, will be bigger than a white elefant.

You have ceased the dilemer by the horn which hangs suspended from the dilemer’s head, like the tail of a kite.

While you have set the Chinees peggin’ away puttin’ bottoms on shoes, a great many are peggin’ away “putin’ a head onto you.”

In the present statis of things you want to blow up your nerve, and stand as firm as the rox of Jiberalter, and like BYRON exclaim: 

  “To be or not to be, there’s the question;—­
  Whether a man feels better to pay big wages for shoemakers,
  Or to suffer the slings and arrows of everybody,
  By hirin’ Pig-tails for 1/2 price?”

Poleticians of the different churches don’t endorse our Selestial brother.  But, sir, I’ll venter a few dollars, that if the children of the son—­and dorter—­leaned towards either party, he would be gobled up quicker’n scat, even if he come red hot from old LUCIFER, with a pocket full of free passes, for the whole nashun, to the Infernal regions.

That’s so.  A vote’s a vote, if it comes from Greenland’s coral strand or Afric’s icy mountains.  I feel a good deal towards you as a nabor of mine, named JOE BELCHER, once did.

JOE likes his tod, and can punish as much gin and tansy as a New York alderman can, when drinkin’ at the sity’s expense.

JOE went to camp meetin’ last week, and, I am pained to say it, JOSEF got drunker than a biled owl.

While one of the brethern was preachin’, JOE sot on a pine log tryin’ to make out wether the preacher was a double-headed man, or whether 2 men were holdin’ forth.

“Who’ll stand up for the carpenter’s Son?” sed the preacher.

This made JOE look around.

The question was again repeated.

Again JOE looked around for an answer.

Again the preacher said:  “Who’ll stand up for Him?”

JOE by this time had got onto his feet, and was steadyin’ himself by holdin’ onto a tree, while he sung out: 

“I say (hic!) ole feller, Ile stand up (hic!) for him, or any ’orrer man who hain’t got any (hic!) more fren’s than he has (hic!) in this ’ere crowd.”

I feel a good deal as JOE did.  Anybody who hain’t got any more frends than you have, Mr. SAMPSON, has my sympathy.

For bringin’ these hily morril and refined Monongohelians to Massachusetts is a big feather in your cap, and you will receive your reward bime-bye.

“The wages of sin is death.”

But the wages of a Chinyman is money in a man’s pocket.  They work cheap.

I am trying to get the Chinese substituted for canal hosses.

A man here by the name of SNYDER, who runs a canal Hoss to our Co., talks of sendin’ for a lot.

Won’t they be bang up with their cues hitcht to a canal bote snakin’ it along at the rate of a mile inside of 2 hours.  “G’lang!  Tea leaf.”