“‘The court wants to know what you will take.’ “Turning his eye blandly toward the judge’s bench, the old gentleman replied: “‘Thank the squire for me, and tell him I will take a leetle Santy Cruise rum without sugar.’” “Owl” Number Seven, looking uncommon wise, got off the following: “Two shad fishermen got into a dispute lately about a fish net, which they both laid claim to, and, as the war of words was reaching its hight, a son of one of the beligerents coming upon the scene, cried out to his venerable parent: “‘Old man, don’t let him git the start of you--_call him a thief and a liar first_.’” “That puts me in mind,” said the next “_Owl_,” of a story, not at all similar, but more funny I think, than the one we have just listened to. “Over in Jersey, an honest old Dutchman, who followed gardening for a living, had been to the neighboring town to do a little trading at the stores, and having taken his wife with him, both ov them got _unco_ tight. “On their way home the old woman fell, out of the wagon, as they were crossing a salt meadow, and was not missed untill the old gent reached home. The neighbors going back to search for the missing wife, found her stuck fast in the mud of the marsh, and talking in a maudlin manner, to the rising tide which had risen up, and just began to play about her lips. ‘_Not another drop, hot, nor cold; not another drop, will I take._’” OWLET.* PORDUNK VILLAGE. Stranger! hav yu ever been to Pordunk Village, my natiff place? It iz a dear little lulaby ov a place, sleeping between two small mountains, in the State of Pennsylvania. It kontains about 1000 souls now, and is watered by goose crik, whitch meanders thru the village az crooked and az lazy az a skool boy, on hiz way tew the distrikt skool hous. I waz born here, and the ground on whitch the old hous stood, iz thare yet. Mi ancesters are all here too, but they hav retired from bizzness, and are taking their eaze, in the old graveyard ov the little one story church. The red painted tavern, whare years ago, the townsfolks gathered in, on Saturday nights, to wet their whistles, and brag on their bush beans, and other gardin sass, iz gone, and departed. And Roger Williams, where iz he? [Illustration] Roger waz the village blacksmith, and could out argy the parson, on a bit ov skripture, hiz anvil iz still, and he now livs in his new house, with the rest of the old people, just back ov the little one story church. Whare iz Square Watkins, the justiss of the peace? he knu law, and the stattews, just az eazy az he did the 10 commands, hiz little old offiss, for 50 years unpainted, iz now no more. No one ov hiz name iz left, he and Roger the blacksmith, lay side by side, just back ov the little one story church, az still az deth kan make them.