C.--"There you are wrong; only eleven feet, three inches--" B.--"No, believe me, I am right; twelve feet, and three inches to a barleycorn." C.--"Never mind: a little, this way or that, is of no consequence. The most extraordinary thing was, that the gallant colonel only sprained his right arm." B.--"By no means extraordinary. You remember the great gun of Agra, in which a regiment of cavalry used to drill." C--"I do. The one that fired the stone ball to the wall of Futtipoore Sikrah--twenty miles." B.--"The same. Well, when that gun was fired, a thing that never occurred but once, the head of the rash man who fired it was afterwards found in the Old Woman's Tank, eleven miles from the spot, without so much as a blemish, except a slight singing of the right whisker." C.--"Ah! I can never forget the time; I had just landed in Calcutta when we heard the report. Some of the wadding went as far as Cawnpore." Here the trumpet, sounding for morning drill, put a stop to the colloquy.--_Englishman's Magazine._ * * * * * THE MISER'S GRAVE. BY THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. Here's a lesson for the earth-born worm, So deep engraven on the meagre platen Of human frailty, so debased in hue, That he who dares peruse it needs but blush For his own nature. The poor shrivell'd wretch, For whose lean carcass yawns this hideous pit, Had naught that he desired in earth or heaven-- No God, no Saviour, but that sordid pelf, O'er which he starved and gloated. I have seen him On the exchange, or in the market-place When money was in plenteous circulation, Gaze after it with such Satanic looks Of eagerness, that I have wonder'd oft How he from theft and murder could refrain. 'Twas cowardice alone withheld his hands, For they would grasp and grapple at the air, When his grey eye had fixed on heaps of gold, While his clench'd teeth, and grinning, yearning face, Were dreadful to behold. The merchants oft Would mark his eye, then start and look again, As at the eye of basilisk or snake. His eye of greyish green ne'er shed one ray Of kind benignity or holy light On aught beneath the sun. Childhood, youth, beauty, To it had all one hue. Its rays reverted Right inward, back upon the greedy heart On which the gnawing worm of avarice Preyed without ceasing, straining every sense To that excruciable and yearning core. Some thirteen days agone, he comes to me, And after many sore and mean remarks On men's rapacity and sordid greed, He says, "Gabriel, thou art an honest man, As the world goes. How much, then, will you charge And make a grave for me, fifteen feet deep?"-- "We'll talk of that when you require it, sir." "No, no. I want it made, and paid for too; I'll have it settled, else I know there will Be some unconscionable overcharge On my poor friends--a ruinous overcharge."-- "But, sir, were it made now, it would fill up