It should teach the youth of our great broad land what glorious possibilities may lie concealed in the rough and tough bosom of the reluctant present. It shows how steady perseverance and a good appetite will always win in the end. It teaches us that wealth is not indispensable, and that if we live as we should, draw out of politics at the proper time, and die a few days before the public absolutely demand it, the matter of our birthplace will not be considered. Still, my birthplace is all right as a birthplace. It was a good, quiet place in which to be born. All the old neighbors said that Shirley was a very quiet place up to the time I was born there, and when I took my parents by the hand and gently led them away in the spring of '53, saying, "Parents, this is no place for us," it again became quiet. It is the only birthplace I have, however, and I hope that all the readers of this sketch will feel perfectly free to go there any time and visit it and carry their dinner as I did. Extravagant cordiality and overflowing hospitality have always kept my birthplace back. [Illustration: Never Talk Back.] Never talk back! sich things is ripperhensible; feller only "corks" hisse'f that jaws a man that's hot; In a quarrel, of you'll only keep your mouth shet and act sensible, The man that does the talkin'll git worsted every shot! Never talk back to a feller that's abusin' you-- Jest let him carry on, and rip, and cuss and swear; And when he finds his lyin' and his dammin's jest amusin' you, You've gut him clean kaflummixed, and you want to hold him there! Never talk back, and wake up the whole community, And call a man a liar, over law, or Politics,-- You can lift and land him furder and with gracefuller impunity With one good jolt of silence than a half a dozen kicks! The Gruesome Ballad of Mr. Squincher "Ki-yi!" said Mr. Squincher, As in contemplative pose, He stood before the looking-glass And burnished up his nose, And brushed the dandruff from a span- Spick-splinter suit of clothes,-- "Why, bless you, Mr. Squincher, You're as handsome as a rose!" [Illustration] "There are some," continued Squincher, As he raised upon his toes To catch his full reflection, And the fascinating bows That graced his legs,--"I reckon There are some folks never knows How beautiful is human legs In pantaloons like those!" "But ah!" sighed Mr. Squincher, As a ghastly phantom 'rose And leered above his shoulder Like the deadliest of foes,-- With fleshless arms and fingers, And a skull, with glistening rows Of teeth that crunched and gritted,-- "It's my tailor, I suppose!" * * * * *