help it, madam; he's obliged to object. It is a necessity imposed upon him from his birth.' 'La, mister, do pray tell me what it is. I'm dying to know.' 'Well, madam, you see now, this is objection day; Mr. Letcher was born on objection day; he objected to being born on that day; but this objection was unanimously overruled, and he became so enraged, that he has objected to everything from that day to this.' Just at this moment, the clerk read in a loud, clear voice: 'Number ----, a bill for the relief of ----.' The old lady turned away from the stranger as she heard her own name called, just in time to see Mr. Letcher rise and utter the inevitable words 'Mr. Chairman, I object.' The old lady sank back in her seat and covered her face with a red handkerchief. The stranger gentleman leaned over sympathizingly, and said in a low voice, 'Madam, the first time his mother attempted to comb his hair, he objected to having any hair; and now you see the consequence.' But the old lady was not to be defeated. She called on Mr. Letcher every day, from that time till the next objection day; and when her bill was about to be called, Mr. Letcher took his hat and walked out of the House. The same gentleman happened to be present; he stepped up to the old lady and said: 'Madam, Mr. Letcher is now about to take the only thing he never objected to--he's gone to take a drink.' The truth is Mr. Letcher objected to seeing the old lady again. She had promised to visit him daily until her bill passed; and the force of this objection overcame the other; and so the bill which had been defeated by an objection, was now passed on account of one. THE PINE. The Pine--the Pine--the mighty Pine-- The everliving--evergreen; That boldly cleaves the broad sunshine, Towering high with scornful mien; And smileth not in summer's gladness, And sigheth not 'mid winter's sadness; Shedding no tear O'er the dying year, But groweth still bright, And touched by no sorrow, For he feareth no night, And hopeth no morrow. The proud--the cold--the mountain Pine, The tempest driven--tempest torn-- That grandly o'er the wildwood line The forest banner long has borne; And he waileth never the waning flower, For he knows no death but the storm-cloud's power. Could he have grief For a passing leaf? So strong in his might, Touched by no sorrow, Fearing no night And hoping no morrow. _By the Rappahannock_, August 7, 1868. A DAY AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.