“They do, eh?” he exclaimed. “Wal, dear help them that have teeth that come out hard. ‘Taint all in the pullin’ nuther, but the incredulous hole they leave ahind ’em when they do come. Why, my teeth seem as far apart as two Sundays to a laborin’ man.” “The other teeth will crowd over after a while,” said the doctor, encouragingly. “It may be I’ll git sort of used to it after a while,” he replied, “but I’ll be blowed to the moon, if it doesn’t feel as though my tongue was wabblin’ around in some other person’s mouth about this time;” and he arose from the inquisitorial chair, paid the damages, and left the office. MINING STOCKS. The city to-day has been in a state of feverish excitement over dispatches received from the mining regions. The telegrams were fraught with startling intelligence. There has been a rich strike in the Savage mine, and stock is going up accordingly. When stocks are running high, How natural to sigh, Ah, that I a thousand shares did command, That I might drink champagne, And hold a double rein, And be counted a power in the land. The streets are crowded with men, women and children. It is certainly—as an old woman remarked at my elbow—easier for a needle to go through a camel’s eye, than for a person to pass through the throng at some of the corners. At present the person who does not own Savage stock is not considered of much account. I, who am always on the alert for new developments, and act upon the moment, make haste to give a sketch of the Savage stock going up. [Illustration: THE ASCENT.] It is ascending at a lively rate, there is no mistake about that. There is always two sides to a hill, however, and though the lucky stockholder to-day may reach the summit of his expectations, to-morrow may bring a descent that will be something to stand from under. And being possessed of quite a prophetic soul, I anticipate the event, and as a companion piece for the foregoing, give another sketch of the Savage stock coming down, which it will undoubtedly be before many days. [Illustration: THE DESCENT.] Well, I can exclaim with Banquo’s facetious murderer, “Let it comedown,” the decline cannot destroy my peace, nor deplete my purse. [Illustration] ODE ON A FLEA. “A lofty theme, Fit subject for the noblest bard That ever strung a lyre.” —_Coleridge._