A few left-handed compliments were paid to Wendil Fillips, and altho' Wendil had allers went heavy on Wimmen's Rites, his bein' endossed by his own sex was a squelcher on him. He wasen't endossed, but, like Jonah, went overboard, to be hove up agin onto dry land in a few days, for a whale has got to have a pretty good stomack to keep Mister Fillips down a great while. That's so. A few more resolutions were then voted, but as the Mayor of Bosting had sent lots of perlicemen there, I didn't heer of any men gettin' killed outrite, altho' a few innercent husbands got slitely bruised by bein' whacked over their heads with their wive's umbrellers. Then they adjerned. The critters then got in their vests And then got in their cotes, Then got in a dredful pes- Piration about their votes. (Let 'em sweat.) Ewers, a Non-Resistanter, HIRAM GREEN, Esq., _Lait Gustise of the Peece._ * * * * * FALLEN ON THE MARCH. You see that hoss, don't you, there, sir, ahead? Well, that's JAKE. An hour ago, The last trip up, he fell--stone dead: Drop't right flat in his harness, you know. He'd fell down, too, pooty often before, And--I guess he won't do it, though, any more. I allas pitied the poor old cuss; He was mighty hard driv and terrible thin, And many a time when he quit the 'bus I've led the mis'rable creetur in And giv him a reg'lar bang-up feed That the Company thought he didn't need. And now, to see him lyin' there All by himself, a feast for the flies,-- Why, it kinder makes a feller's hair Creep all over, first, then straighten and rise. Maybe you'll say to yourself: "That's all stuff." But I tell you what--_I_ think it's blamed rough. It makes me feel, too, a little bit glum, To see how everything goes on the same; Some day, I s'pose, _my_ turn 'll come, When I'll have to try on poor JAKE'S little game, And they won't mind me any more, I'll bet. Than they do him.--Off, here, sir?--G'long, JEANETTE! * * * * * [Illustration: A FITFUL YOUTH. _Younger Party_. "LOOK HERE, VAN, CAN'T YOU LEAVE THOSE "PERSONALS" ALONE, FOR A MINUTE, AND GIVE ME A CANDID OPINION ON THE BACK FIT OF MY NEW COAT?"] * * * * * AUTUMN SONG. Leaves are falling (though, coal is not,) And pumpkins are yellow, and maids are blue; Potatoes and apples begin to rot; There's many a liver congested, too. The dews stay late on the cabbage-leaf, And the red, red beet forsakes the ground; And lovers' wanderings grow more brief, And fewer loafers are loafing around. The celery rivals the turnip fair; There's new delight in the tender steak; And boys go munching the chestnut rare, Without one thought of the stomach-ache.