"Did you? Well then I must certainly give you credit for devilish keen perception; but, if it's a fair question," I continued, "what do you mean by fixing a platform for my _designs_? You don't think I'm going to fly, jump or deliver orations from the cupola, do you?" "No, I don't; but you're to draw a grand panorama of Boston, ain't you?" "ME?" "Yes, you; ain't your name Mr. Banvard?" "Oh, yes, yes--I understand--you've found me out, but keep dark--mum's the word--you understand?" said I, winkingly. "Yes, sir; I'll fix it all right; you'll want the platform outside, I guess." "Yes; out with it, and _keep dark until I come!_" I skeeted down them steps into the Common to let off my corked up risibilities.--Whether the man actually did prepare a platform for my designs, or whether Banvard ever went to take his designs there, I am unable to say, as I went South a few days afterward, and did not return for some time. The Exorbitancy of Meanness. Few _extravaganzas_ of man or woman lay such a heavy _stress_ upon the pocket-book or purse as meanness. This may seem paradoxical, but it's nothing of the kind. How many thousands to save a cent, walk a mile! How many to cut down expenses, cut off a thousand of the little "filling ins" which go to make us both happy and healthy! Jones refused to let his little boy run an errand for Johnson, and when Jones's house was in a blaze, Johnson forbid him touching his water to put it out. Smith by accident ran his wagon afoul of Peppers's cart, Peppers in revenge "cut away" at Smith's horse; horse ran away, broke the wagon, dislocated Smith's collar-bone; a suit at law followed, and Peppers being a mighty spunky, as well as a powerfully mean man, fought it out four years, and finally sunk every cent he had in the world by the slight transaction. It is a first-rate idea to be economical, but the man who sees and feels, and smells and tastes, entirely through his pocket-book, isn't worth cultivating an acquaintance with. Go in, marry money if you can, save up some, but don't cultivate meanness, for it never pays. "Taking Down" a Sheriff. Ex-honorable John Buck, once the "representative" of a _district_ out West, a lawyer originally, and finally a gentleman at large, and Jeremy Diddler generally, took up his quarters in Philadelphia, years ago, and putting himself upon his dignity, he managed for a time, _sans l'argent_, to live like a prince. Buck was what the world would call a devilish clever fellow; he was something of a scholar, with the smattering of a gentleman; good at off-hand dinner table oratory, good looking, and what never fails to take down the ladies, he wore hair enough about his countenance to establish two Italian grand dukes. Buck was "an awful blower," but possessed common-sense enough not to waste his _gas_-conade--ergo, he had the merit not to falsify to ye ancient falsifiers.