"'The chariots,' that's the cars, 'shall be with flaming torches,'—that describes them as they appear at night; 'the chariots shall rage in the streets,'—the tracks are laid right in the street; 'they shall jostle one against another in the broad ways,'—how they strike together when they are about to stop, or to start again, being hitched one to the other; 'they shall seem like torches,'—in the night; 'they shall run like the lightnings,'—going at the rate of twenty or more miles an hour; 'he shall recount his worthies,'—that means the conductor taking the tickets, and making sure that all have paid their fare; 'they shall stumble in their walk,'—none who have rode in the cars have failed to see and experience how difficult it is to go about when the train is in motion. And this," he added, triumphantly, "is to be fulfilled,—when? 'In the day of his preparation,'—that is, when God is preparing to judge the world." "But are you sure," said I, "that the prophet meant to paint the steam-cars of our day?" "Certainly; doesn't he say—" "How, then, does it happen that he announces that this prophecy relates to the city of Nineveh, which has been destroyed thousands of years? as in the first verse, he calls it 'The burden of Nineveh.' And how is it that these 'chariots,' or cars, as you term them, he describes as having wheels, and being drawn by horses, driven by the whip, as in the third chapter, second verse? 'The noise of a whip, and the noise of the rattling of wheels, and of the prancing horses, and of the jumping chariots.'" He stood in silence a moment, then said, "I don't know. I haven't had any light on that yet." "Well," said I, "when you get the light, don't hide it under a bushel, but be sure and let the clergy have the benefit of it!" And consenting, at his request, to preach at his house in a fortnight, I rode on. "Well, elder," said my Methodist friend, as I alighted at his door on my return, "not a limb broken, eh? But you had to swim the river! Guess you didn't get much of a fee though, did you?" "Never better paid in my life,—what's my bill for Black Hawk?" "Well, seeing you feel so 'rich,' I think I shan't charge you any thing this time. All is, I'm glad you've got back safe and sound." THE LITTLE MOUND IN THE WEST. AFAR out West, a thousand miles, I own a spot of ground, On which, last year, with trembling hands, I raised a little mound. A robin, with her fledgeling brood, Was singing then hard by: That robin, with her fledgeling brood, Was happier far than I. The leaves have fallen on that mound, The snows have bound it fast, And, howling through the trees o'erhead, Have gusts of winter passed. But now the Winter's icy bands Are severed by the Spring, And round that lonely mound again The robins come to sing. How has the little tenant passed The autumn there alone?— The long, cold, dismal winter nights That since have come and gone.