An enterprising traveling agent for a well-known Cleveland Tombstone Manufactory lately made a business visit to a small town in an adjoining county. Hearing, in the village, that a man in a remote part of the township had lost his wife, he thought he would go and see him, and offer him consolation and a gravestone, on his usual reasonable terms. He started. The road was a frightful one, but the agent persevered, and finally arrived at the bereaved man's house. Bereaved man's hired girl told the agent that the bereaved man was splitting fence rails "over in pastur, about two milds." The indefatigable agent hitched his horse and started for the "pastur." After falling into all manner of mudholes, scratching himself with briers, and tumbling over decayed logs, the agent at length found the bereaved man. In a subdued voice he asked the man if he had lost his wife. The man said he had. The agent was very sorry to hear of it, and sympathized with the man deeply in his great affliction; but death, he said, was an insatiate archer, and shot down all, both of high and low degree. Informed the man that "what was his loss was her gain," and would be glad to sell him a gravestone to mark the spot where the beloved one slept--marble or common stone, as he chose, at prices defying competition. The bereaved man said there was "a little difficulty in the way." "Haven't you lost your wife?" inquired the agent. "Why, yes, I have," said the man, "but no gravestun ain't necessary: you see the cussed critter ain't dead. SHE'S SCOOTED WITH ANOTHER MAN!" The agent retired. 1.41. COLORED PEOPLE'S CHURCH. There is a plain little meeting-house on Barnwell Street (One of the streets of the city of Cleveland.) in which the colored people--or a goodly portion of them--worship on Sundays. The seats are cushionless, and have perpendicular backs. The pulpit is plain white--trimmed with red, it is true, but still a very unostentatious affair for colored people, who are supposed to have a decided weakness for gay hues. Should you escort a lady to this church, and seat yourself beside her, you will infallibly be touched on the shoulder, and politely requested to move to the "gentlemen's side." Gentlemen and ladies are not allowed to sit together in this church. They are parted remorselessly. It is hard--we may say it is terrible--to be torn asunder in this way, but you have to submit, and of course you had better do so gracefully and pleasantly.