“Old man,” said the porliceman, tryin to quiet me, “you mite have been green before you struck Pittsburg, but if I haint mistaken, yoo’ve been out and got smoked up, and are now as black as the ase of spades.”

“Oh! hor-ri-ble, hor-ri-ble!” I hissed, and rushed into the washroom.

After soakin my head in a wash-basin for a few minnits, reezin agin returned, and I diskivered, to my disgust, that I had been sold by the consarned smoke a settin down onto me.  Well, Mister PUNCHINELLO, it was a narrer escape for the old man, you bet.  I wasent long in gettin washed up; and if ever a lone traveller was tickled to set foot onto a rale rode car homeward bound, it was your hily intelectual and venerable quill jerkist.

I told Mrs. GREEN of my adventoor.  It emejetly sot her into one of her cranky tantrums.  Says she, “HIRAM, you’ve an old fool.  Why don’t you stay home, where you belong, and not go pokin about the country like a great big booby?”

“But, my dear,” was my reply, “GEORGE FRANCIS TRAIN got up his name by gittin into musses, and wastin and pinin away into furrin pastiles.”

“GEORGE FRANCIS your grandmother,” said she.  “You and he orter be tide together and caged.  If I only had the keepin of you then, Ide nock the foolishness out of your nozzles, or break your pesky old topknots in the atemt.”

Between us, Mister PUNCHINELLO, MARIAR would do that ere thing to the letter, if she had a chance.

Ewers, white as the druv snow,

HIRAM GREEN, Esq.,

Lait Gustise of the Pees.

* * * * *

[Illustration:  TERMS OF SURRENDER.

Madge (to her elder sister, who has just rung the hall-door bell). “FLORA, YOUR BEAU’S HERE.”

Flora. “LET ME IN IMMEDIATELY, YOU NAUGHTY GIRL.”

Madge. “I WILL IF YOU’LL PROMISE TO GIVE ME YOUR BON-BON BOX AND CORAL PIN.”]

* * * * *

[Illustration:  HIGH REVEL IN THE WHITE HOUSE.]

* * * * *

SARSFIELD YOUNG’S PANORAMA.

PART IV.

THE GOLDEN GATE.

An animated and picturesque view, fresh from the hand of genius.

The mellow sunshine, the birds fluttering in the air, the ships dashing through the briny deep, the foliage upon the hills in the dim distance, the glittering steeples of the great city of El Dorado,—­and one of GEORGE LAW’S old man-traps in the foreground, with a high-pressure boiler (you see there is an excursion party on board, with a band of music), and an open bay,—­all combine to lend to this wonderful triumph of art an airy and exhilarating tone, indescribably delicious.

This is the Golden Gate which guards the harbor of San Francisco.  It is open and shut by means of an earthquake.  This water, extending in every direction, is the well-known Pacific Ocean.  They have called this the Golden Gate, because somewhere in this vicinity the precious metal was discovered, accidentally, as it were.