It is a good sign to find a girl sulkey. I knew where the shoe pinched. It was that are Patty Bean business. So I went to work to persuade her that I had never had any notion after Patty, and to prove it I fell to running her down at a great rate. Sally could not help chiming in with me, and I rather guess Miss Patty suffered a few. I, now, not only got hold of her hand without opposition, but managed to slip an arm round her waist. But there was no satisfying me; so I must go to poking out my lips after a buss. I guess I rued it. She fetched me a slap in the face that made me see stars, and my ears rung like a brass kettle for a quarter of an hour. I was forced to laugh at the joke, tho' out of the wrong side of my mouth, which gave my face something the look of a gridiron. The battle now began in the regular way. "Ah, Sally, give me a kiss, and ha' done with it, now."--"I won't, so there, nor tech to."--"I'll take it, whether or no."--"Do it, if you dare."--And at it we went, rough and tumble. An odd destruction of starch now commenced. The bow of my cravat was squat up in half a shake. At the next bout, smash went shirt collar, and, at the same time, some of the head fastenings gave way, and down came Sally's hair in a flood, like a mill dam broke loose,--carrying away half a dozen combs. One dig of Sally's elbow, and my blooming ruffles wilted down to a dish-cloth. But she had no time to boast. Soon her neck tackling began to shiver. It parted at the throat, and, whorah, came a whole school of blue and white beads, scampering and running races every which way, about the floor. By the Hokey; if Sally Jones is'nt real grit, there's no snakes. She fought fair, however, I must own, and neither tried to bite nor scratch; and when she could fight no longer, for want of breath, she yielded handsomely. Her arms fell down by her sides, her head back over her chair, her eyes closed and there lay her little plump mouth, all in the air. Lord! did ye ever see a hawk pounce upon a young robin? Or a bumblebee upon a clover-top?--I say nothing. Consarn it, how a buss will crack, of a still frosty night. Mrs. Jones was about half way between asleep and awake. "There goes my yeast bottle," says she to herself--"burst into twenty hundred pieces, and my bread is all dough agin." The upshot of the matter is, I fell in love with Sally Jones, head over ears. Every Sunday night, rain or shine, finds me rapping at 'Squire Jones' door, and twenty times have I been within a hair's breadth of popping the question. But now I have made a final resolve; and if I live till next Sunday night, and I don't get choked in the trial, Sally Jones will hear thunder. VENETIAN MOONLIGHT. By Frederick Mellen. The midnight chime had tolled from Marco's towers; O'er Adria's wave the trembling echo swept; The gondolieri paused upon their oars, Mutt'ring their prayers as through the still night crept.