Alas! it was reserved for our day and generation to gabble them over unthinking, carelessly unmindful of the fearful fate the words describe.

Repentant ones, drop to their memory a tear, even now!  It is not too late!

[Footnote 2:  Original, by some other fellow.]

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[Illustration:  WHAT WE MAY EXPECT IN OUR ARMY OF THE FUTURE.  “NONE BUT THE BRAVE,” ETC.]

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LETTER FROM A CROAKER.

MR. PUNCHINELLO:  You have not, I believe, informed your readers, one of whom I have the honor to be, as to whether you have yet united yourself to any Designing Female.  As this is a matter peculiarly interesting to many of your readers, all of whom, I have not the least doubt, are interested in your welfare, I would advise some statement on your part, respecting it.

I trust, my dear sir, that, if you are as yet free, you will take the well-intended advice of a sufferer, and steer entirely clear of the shoals and quicksands peculiar to the life of a married man, by never embarking in the matrimonial ship.

Do not misunderstand me.  I lived happily, very happily, with my sainted BELINDA—­it must be confessed that she had a striking partiality for sardines, which caused considerable of a decrease in the profits of my wholesale and retail grocery establishment.  I cherish no resentment on that account, but, as you probably well know, one of the discomforts of matrimonial existence is children.

Sir, I have a daughter, who is considered passably good-looking by certain appreciative individuals.  Since the unfortunate demise of my lamented wife, the profits of the mercantile establishment of which I am proprietor have largely increased, and as REBECCA is my only child, there is a considerable prospect of her bringing to the man who espouses her, a comfortable dowry, and probably a share in my business.

I keep no man-servant, and after my daughter retires—­generally at the witching hour of two in the morning,—­I am obliged to hobble down stairs, extinguish the lights, cover the fire, lock up the house, and ascertain whether it is perfectly fire and burglar-proof for the time being.

Were this, sir, the only annoyance to which I am subjected, my wrath would probably expend itself in a little growling, but hardly have I reposed myself upon my couch, ere my ear catches an infernal tooting and twanging and whispering, and a broken-winded German band, engaged by an admirer of my REBECCA, strikes up some outrageous pot pourri, or something of that sort, and sleep, disgusted, flees my pillow.