"People!" sed the Juke, "I alone can save you from yon bloody pirut! Ho! a peck of oats!" The oats was brought, and the Juke, boldly mountin the jibpoop, throwed them onto the towpath. The pirut rapidly approached, chucklin with fiendish delight at the idee of increasin his ill-gotten gains. But the leadin hoss of the pirut ship stopt suddent on comin to the oats, and commenst for to devour them. In vain the piruts swore and throwd stones and bottles at the hoss--he wouldn't budge a inch. Meanwhile the Sary Jane, her hosses on the full jump, was fast leavin the pirut ship! "Onct agin do I escape deth!" sed the Juke between his clencht teeth, still on the jibpoop. CHAPTER IV. THE WANDERER'S RETURN. The Juke was Moses the Sassy! Yes, it was! He had bin to France and now he was home agin in Bostin, which gave birth to a Bunker Hill!! He had some trouble in gitting hisself acknowledged as Juke in France, as the Orleans Dienasty and Borebones were fernest him, but he finally conkered. Elizy knowd him right off, as one of his ears and a part of his nose had bin chawed off in his fights with opposition firemen during boyhood's sunny hours. They lived to a green old age, beloved by all, both grate and small. Their children, of which they have numerous, often go up onto the Common and see the Fountain squirt. This is my 1st attempt at writin a Tail & it is far from bein perfeck, but if I have indoosed folks to see that in 9 cases out of 10 they can either make life as barren as the Desert of Sarah, or as joyyus as a flower garding, my object will have been accomplished, and more too. 3.2. MARION: A ROMANCE OF THE FRENCH SCHOOL. I. --, Friday, --, 1860. On the sad sea shore! Always to hear the moaning of these dismal waves! Listen. I will tell you my story--my story of love, of misery, of black despair. I am a moral Frenchman. She whom I adore, whom I adore still, is the wife of a fat Marquis--a lop-eared, blear-eyed, greasy Marquis. A man without soul. A man without sentiment, who cares naught for moonlight and music. A low, practical man, who pays his debts. I hate him. II. She, my soul's delight, my empress, my angel, is superbly beautiful. I loved her at first sight--devotedly, madly. She dashed past me in her coupe. I saw her but a moment--perhaps only an instant--but she took me captive then and there, forevermore. Forevermore! I followed her, after that, wherever she went. At length she came to notice, to smile upon me. My motto was en avant! That is a French word. I got it out of the back part of Worcester's Dictionary. III. She wrote me that I might come and see her at her own house. Oh, joy, joy unutterable, to see her at her own house! I went to see her after nightfall, in the soft moonlight.