Then I slumberously gravitated, and dreamed thus:—­

Old “LEATHERBRAINS” in SATAN’S livery, producing a hammer from a carpet-bag (he was a carpet-bagger), proceeded to shape my feet, and fill them with shoe-pegs.

My nap was ruffled, and not to be continued under those circumstances, so I wisely concluded it.

“They’re on!” says the bootmaker.

And a tight on it was, excruciatingly so.

I suspected at the time that I had been put to sleep by chloroform, but I afterward remembered that a feeble youth was reading aloud from the Special Cable Dispatches of the Tribune.

My feelings centred in those boots, tears filled my eyes, and I was dumb with emotion, but quickly reviving, I slaked the cordwainer with a flood of rabid eloquence.

The cowering wretch suggested that they would stretch.  He lied, the villain, he lied, they shrank.

However, “in verdure clad,” I was persuaded into wearing them, and stiffly sidled off, a badgered biped, my head swinging round the circle, and my voice hanging on the verge of profanity all the way.

As fit boots they were a most successful failure.  I gave them to the office boy; but the crutches I afterward bought him cost me twenty-seven dollars.

Henceforth I shall take my cue from JOHN CHINAMAN, and encase my understanding in wood.  Yours calmly,

VICTOR KING.

* * * * *

Recognized at Last.

A recent telegram from London says:—­

“The Prussian hussars rode down and out to pieces a regiment of marine infantry.”

Hooray!  Cheer, boys, cheer!  The mythical Horse-Marines are thus at last recognized as an accomplished fact.

* * * * *

“As I was going to St. Ives.”

At St. Ives, Huntingdonshire, England, Lord ROBERT MONTAGU, M.P., was lately burned in effigy by some intelligent boors, because he had joined the Roman Catholic faith.  That tells badly for the burners, who should not have cared an f i g about the matter.

* * * * *

“Walker.”

MCETTRICK, the pedestrian, was arrested at Boston, a few days since, for giving an exhibition without a license.  He gave bail.  Probably leg-bail.

* * * * *

On the Bench

When is a judge like the structures that are to support the Brooklyn
Suspension-Bridge?  When he’s called a caisson.

* * * * *

AN OFFICER WHO MUST ALWAYS BE OUT OF GUN-SHOT RANGE.

General FARRE.

* * * * *

THE PLAYS AND SHOWS.