and a small salary, which was tardily and scantily paid with very poor provisions; myself and Al don’t like the fare; has fried pork too often for breakfast, and pork and beans for dinner, with a cold cut of pork and beans at nightfall; and we enter our solemn protest against so much fried hog, and so many baked beans; we protest, too, against his not fastening the doors and windows nights, as father does at home; we hear strange noises nights, while abed; and respectfully implore him to put locks on the doors, and nails in the windows, who refuses, and says, that good boys are never afraid of robbers or assassins; we still hear dreadful sounds at midnight; and bury ourselves, head and all, in the bed clothes; sweat terribly, and nearly smother; grow pale; lose flesh; get very weak; have cold night sweats; finally despair, and threaten to leave for home; write long letters to father, full of bad writing and spelling, who doesn’t answer them, because he can’t read them; we start for Providence; our sacred host pursues us on a cadaverous horse, whose ribs rattle, and captures us in the haunted woods, where, in old times, a man was murdered, and two lovers hung themselves, because their parents wouldn’t let them marry; I and Al were hurrying through this dreadful wood, when old cadaverous and the parson pounce upon us, who threatens to whip us if we don’t return, and cuts a switch for the purpose; his eyes roll terribly, and, as I once heard he was slightly insane at times, and, fearing he might murder me, I gave the wink to Al, and we concluded to return, very gently shaking our heads and fists, with threats of telling our father all about it some day, who was a Justice of the Peace, and could lock up any body, and have them hung beside; to silence our unceasing clamors, the parson gets some cheap second-hand locks, and rusty nails, fastens the doors and windows nights, and gives us fried liver twice a week for breakfast, and lets pork and beans slide awhile, with very tender veal instead; don’t hear strange sounds at night any more; sleep very soundly; don’t hear the cheerless midnight winds as of yore; get fat as butter; are very contented; Fourth of July close at hand; father comes after us; shed tears of joy, and run and jump like wild cats, and get home alive once more from a country boarding school; go to a party on the night of our arrival; Oscar Rivulet and Clara Violet are there; at the party’s close, I can’t find my hat, and while in its vigorous pursuit, Oscar takes the arm of Clara, when I step up and whisper in his ear, that I will chastise him the very next day for cutting me out; Oscar and Clara depart; I find my hat in the oven, where Oscar doubtless put it, and begin to cry with rage; to console me, my aunt places the arm of Flora Rosebud in mine, who was a dashing little belle, with whom I slowly ramble towards her home beneath a brilliant sky; soon after I bid Flora