Them who think that a cane made from the timbers of the house I once boarded in is essenshall to their happiness, should not delay about sendin' the money right on for one. My reported captur by the North American savijis of Utah, led my wide circle of friends and creditors to think that I had bid adoo to earthly things and was a angel playin' on a golden harp. Hents my rival home was on expected. It was 11, P.M., when I reached my homestid and knockt a healthy knock on the door thereof. A nightcap thrusted itself out of the front chamber winder. (It was my Betsy's nightcap.) And a voice said: "Who is it?" "It is a Man!" I answered, in a gruff vois. "I don't b'lieve it!" she sed. "Then come down and search me," I replied. Then resumin' my nat'ral voice, I said, "It is your own A. W., Betsy! Sweet lady, wake! Ever of thou!" "Oh," she said, "it's you, is it? I thought I smelt something." But the old girl was glad to see me. In the mornin' I found that my family were entertainin' a artist from Philadelphy, who was there paintin' some startlin water-falls and mountains, and I morin suspected he had a hankerin' for my oldest dauter. "Mr. Skimmerhorn, father," sed my dauter. "Glad to see you, Sir!" I replied in a hospittle vois--"Glad to see you." "He is an artist, father," sed my child. "A whichist?" "An artist. A painter." "And glazier," I askt. "Air you a painter and glazier, sir?" My dauter and wife was mad, but I couldn't help it; I felt in a comikil mood. "It is a wonder to me, Sir," sed the artist, "considerin what a widespread reputation you have, that some of our Eastern managers don't secure you." "It's a wonder to me," said I to my wife, "that somebody don't secure him with a chain." After breakfast I went over to town to see my old friends. The editor of the "Bugle" greeted me cordyully, and showed me the follerin' article he'd just written about the paper on the other side of the street: "We have recently put up in our office an entirely new sink, of unique construction--with two holes through which the soiled water may pass to the new bucket underneath. What will the hell-hounds of "The Advertiser" say to this! We shall continue to make improvements as fast as our rapidly increasing business may warrant. Wonder whether a certain editor's wife thinks she can palm off a brass watch-chain on this community for a gold one?" "That," says the Editor, "hits him whar he lives. That will close him up as bad as it did when I wrote an article ridicooling his sister, who's got a cock-eye." A few days after my return I was shown a young man, who says he'll be Dam if he goes to the war. He was settin' on a barrel, and was indeed a Loathsum objeck. Last Sunday I heard Parson Batkins preach, and the good old man preached well, too, tho' his prayer was ruther lengthy. The Editor of the "Bugle," who was with me, sed that prayer would make fifteen squares, solid nonparil.