Arter these resolutions had ben unanimously passed, Mrs. Sutton addressed the meetin', in a stream of elegance, wharin she proved, clar as a whistle, that a family war the furst consideration fur a settler in a new country and town lots the arter question. “She acknowledged the corn,” she sed, “that it war soothin' to look often at thur neighbor Allen, but his peace of mind war the property of his family, and she hoped the ladies wouldn't disturb it, 'cause the loss of sech a husbind, would be a sufferin' calamity to the settlement.” The meetin' adjourned, and Jo went back to work, singin' and whistlin' as happy as usual, and ever sence he's had a parfect shower of work, for the gals all round the country keep goin' to him to git measured, tha say he desarves to be incouraged. Your furst Cousin, Bill Sapper. “DOING” A LANDLORD. A STORY OF SHAPE AND TALENT. |Tom C. H--------, Esq., a genius, whose ideas of life were on such a magnificent scale that they outran his interest, capital and all, was seated upon the porch of a fashionable hotel, in a large eastern village, one bright Monday morning, cogitating how, in the nature of things, it was possible for him to compass a dinner. The long score, unpaid, which stood recorded on the books within, precluded the idea of getting one there without the _tin_, and numerous searches through sundry pockets about his person were unrewarded by a single shiner. The case was desperate, but great minds are always equal to great emergencies, and Tom's was of that order. His coat had been renovated by a scourer, for whom he had written a love letter, his hat had been ironed by a good-natured hatter, who had enjoyed his custom in better days, a new coat of japan varnish had been lavished upon his cane, his dicky was passable, and no gentleman would think of examining the extremities of his covering, or pry into the shifts he had been put to for a shirt. Tom thought himself passable, and he resolved to pass off for a dinner, if possible. A stranger lolling easily on a settee near him looked vulnerable, and Tom, approaching him in a very bland and friendly manner, remarked:-- “Excuse me, sir, but you look so like an old friend of mine, J. B--------, who has resided for years in the south, that I can't help addressing you.” “I am from the south, sir,” answered the stranger, courteously, “but not the person you speak of--know him, however, and am pleased to encounter a friend of his.” “That's it,” said Tom to himself, “got him as easy as rolling off a log!”