HIRAM GREEN, ESQ.,

Lait Gustise of the Peece.

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A SURE WAY OF DOING IT.

Seekers after notoriety must often be at their wits’ end for some new sensation with which to advertise themselves.  Mr. TWAIN, for instance, having gone through Fenianism and France, seems to have collapsed for the present; and here now comes Mr. WEMYSS JOBSON, who subsided into oblivion years ago, but has just emerged again into the light of The Sun.  The efforts of both these gentlemen to keep themselves prominently before the public, however, are very inadequate and feeble.  They should suffer more and be stronger.  Let TRAIN do a bold stroke of business by declaring himself the perpetrator of the latest mysterious murder, and it might be the making of the exhumed JOBSON to revive a fossilized memory, and confess himself to be the criminal who delivered the fatal blow to the late Mr. WILLIAM PATTERSON.

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True to his Colors.

A Bostonian visiting New York, not long since, and reading in the papers that there was to be a celebration of Mass in an up-town church, decided to remain over Sunday for it, thinking, Bostonially, that Mass meant Massachusetts and nothing else.

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SUITABLE INSCRIPTION FOR A BOATMAN’S RACE-PRIZE.  “The noblest Row-man of them all.”

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[Illustration:  A NEW LEAF IN THE FAMILY HISTORY.

Jack. “NOW, I’LL BE PAPA, GOING TO FIX THE FURNACE.”

Sallie.  “OH, YES!—­AND I’LL BE THE NEW NURSE, AND YOU MUST KISS ME BEHIND THE CELLAR DOOR!”]

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[Illustration:  BEHIND THE TIMES.

EXPLANATORY OF MR. JOHN BULL’S VIEWS.]

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POEMS OF THE CRADLE.

CANTO XIII.

    When I was a bachelor I lived by myself;
    All the bread and cheese I had, I laid upon the shelf. 
    But the rats and the mice they made such a strife,
    I was forced to go to London to buy myself a wife. 
    The roads were so bad, and the lanes were so narrow,
    I had to bring my wife home in a wheelbarrow. 
    The wheelbarrow broke.  My wife had a fall;
    Deuce take the wheelbarrow, my wife, and all.

The above lines were written when the author was quite advanced in years; when he had solved, in his humble way, the great problem of life, and discovered the futility of mundane things generally, and t undesirableness of an unsuccessful or unfortunate existence; when he could look back through a long vista of years, and see the follies of his youth and the mistakes of his manhood.  It should have been placed at the end of his book, with only the word Finis after it; but somehow, either by mistake of the author or of the publisher, it was placed among the records of the simple events of the village, and thus loses half its force.  However, let the history, placed as it is, be a warning to rash young men who contemplate matrimony; and let them give heed to it, lest they also have cause to repent of their doings and exclaim with the poet:—­