crops up - after he has catched his three hundred foxes, how does he manage to keep them all together? This looks almost as kittle a pint as the other - to some it might look even kittler; but if you will only bring your common sense to bear on the question, the difficulty will disappear like the morning cloud, and the early dew that withereth away.

"Now you will please bear in mind, in the first place, that it was foxes that Samson catched. Now we do n't catch foxes, as a general rule, in the streets of a toon; therefore it is more than probable that Samson catched them in the country, and if he catched them in the country it is natural to suppose that he 'bided in the country; and if he 'bided in the country it is not unlikely that he lived at a farm-house. Now at farm-houses we have stables, and byres, and coach-houses, and barns, and therefore we may now consider it a settled pint, that as he catched his foxes, one by one, he stapped them into a good sized barn, and steeked the door and locked it, here we overcome the second stumbling block. But no sooner have we done this, than a third rock of offense loups up to fickle us. After he has catched his foxes; after he has got them all snug in the barn under lock and key-how in the world did he tie their tails thegither? There is a fickler. You or me couldna tie two o' their tails thegither let alone three hundred; for, not to speak about the beasts girnning and biting us a' the time we were tying them, the tails themselves are not long enough. How then was he able to tie them all? That's the pint - and it is about the kittlest pint you or me has ever had to eloocidate. Common sense is no good to't. No more is Latin or Greek; no more is Logic or Metaphysics; no more is Natural Philosophy or Moral Philosophy; no more is Rhetoric or Bell's Letters, even, and I've studied them a' mysel'; but it is a great thing for poor, ignorant folk like you, that there has been great and learned men who have been to colleges, and universities, and seats o' learning

the same as mysel', ye ken—and instead o' going into the kirk, like me, or into physic, like the doctor, or into law, like the lawyer, they have gone travelling into foreign parts; and they have written books o' their travels; and we can read their books. Now, among other places, some of these learned men have traveled into Canaan, and some into Palestine, and some few into the Holy Land; and these last mentioned travellers tell us, that in these Eastern or Oriental climes, the foxes there are a total dif

ferent breed o' cattle a'thegither frae our foxes; that they are great, big beasts — and, what's the most astonishing thing about them, and what helps to explain this wonderful feat of Samson's, is, that they 've all got most extraordinary long tails; in fact, these Eastern travellers tell us that these foxes' tails are actually forty feet long.

Precentor (whistles).

Minister (somewhat disturbed). "Oh! I ought to say that there are other travellers, and later travellers than the travellers I've been talking to you about, and they say this statement is rather an exaggeration on the whole, and that these foxes' tails are never more than twenty feet long.

Precentor (whistles).

Minister (disturbed and confused). "Be-be- before I leave this subject a'thegither, my friends, I may just add that there has been a considerable diversity o' opinion about the length o' these animals' tails. Ye see one man says one thing, and anither, anither; and I've spent a good lot o' learned research in the matter mysel'; and after examining one authority, and anither authority, and putting one authority agin the ither, I've come to the conclusion that these foxes' tails, on an average, are seldom more than fifteen and a half feet long.

Precentor (whistles).

Minister (Angrily). "Sandy McDonald, I'll no tak anither inch aff o' the beasts' tails, even gin ye should whustle every tooth oot o' your head. Do ye think the foxes o' the Scriptures had na tails at a'?"

-Anonymous.

A CRITICAL SITUATION.

As Harris and I sat, one morning, at one of the small round tables of the great Hote Schweitzerhof in Lucerne, watching the crowd of people, coming, going, or breakfasting, and at the same time endeavoring to guess where such and such a party came from, I said:

I named one State, he named another. We agreed upon one thing, however that the young girl with the party was very

beautiful and very tastefully dressed. But we disagreed as to her age. I said she was eighteen, Harris said she was twenty. The dispute between us waxed warm, and I finally said, with a pretense of being in earnest

"Well, there is one way to settle the matter ask her."

Harris said, sarcastically, "Certainly, that is the thing to do. All you need to do is to use the common formula over here: go and say, 'I'm an American!' Of course, she will be glad to see you."

Then he hinted that perhaps there was no great danger of my venturing to speak to her.

I said, "I was only talking- I did n't intend to approach her, but I see that you do not know what an intrepid person I am. I am not afraid of any woman that walks. I will go and speak to this young girl."

The thing I had in mind was not difficult. I meant to address her in the most respectful way and ask her to pardon me if her strong resemblance to a former acquaintance of mine was deceiving me; and when she should reply that the name I mentioned was not the name she bore, I meant to beg pardon again, most respectfully, and retire. There would be no harm done. I walked to her table, bowed to the gentleman, then turned to her, and was about to begin my little speech when she exclaimed:

"I knew I was n't mistaken- I told John it was you! John said it probably was n't, but I knew I was right. I said you would recognize me presently and come over; and I'm glad you did, for I should n't have felt much flattered if you had gone out of this room without recognizing me. Sit down, sit down - how odd

it is you are the last person I was ever expecting to see again." This was a stupefying surprise. It took my wits clear away, for an instant. However, we shook hands cordially all around, and sat down. But truly this was the tightest place I ever was in. I seemed to vaguely remember the girl's face, now, but I had no idea where I had seen it before, or what name belonged with it. I immediately tried to get up a diversion about Swiss scenery, to keep her from launching into topics that might betray that I did. not know her; but it was of no use, she went right along upon matters which interested her more:

"O dear! what a night that was, when the sea washed the forward boats away · do you remember it?"

"Oh! do n't I!" said I but I did n't. I wished the sea had washed the rudder and the smoke-stack and the captain awaythen I could have located this questioner.

"And don't you remember how frightened poor Mary was, and how she cried?"

"Indeed I do!" said I. "Dear me, how it all comes back!" I fervently wished it would come back - but my memory was a blank. The wise way would have been to frankly own up; but I could not bring myself to do that, after the young girl had praised me so for recognizing her; so I went on, deeper and deeper into the mire, hoping for a chance clue but never getting one. The unrecognizable continued, with vivacity:

"Do you know, George married Mary after all?"
"Why, no! Did he?"

"Indeed he did. He said he did not believe she was half as much to blame as her father was, and I thought he was right. Did n't you?"

"Of course he was. It was a perfectly plain case. said so."

I always

"Why, no you did n't at least that summer." "Oh! no, not that summer. No, you are perfectly right about that. It was the following winter that I said it."

"Well, as it turned out, Mary was not in the least to blame it was all her father's fault- at least his and old Darley's." It was necessary to say something so I said:

"I always regarded Darley as a troublesome old thing."

"So he was; but then they always had a great affection for him, although he had so many eccentricities. You remember that when the weather was the least cold he would try to come into the house."

man

I was rather afraid to proceed. Evidently Darley was not a he must be some other kind of animal - possibly a dog, maybe an elephant. However, tails are common to all animals, so I ventured to say:

This was bewildering. I did not quite know what to say, so I only said:

"Yes, he was pretty well fixed in the matter of tails." "For a negro, and a crazy one at that, I should say he was," said she.

It was getting pretty sultry for me. I said to myself, "Is it possible she is going to stop there, and wait for me to speak? If she does, the conversation is blocked. A negro with a thousand tails is a topic which a person cannot talk upon fluently and instructively without more or less preparation. As to diving rashly into such a vast subject—"

But here, to my gratitude, she interrupted my thought by saying:

"Yes, when it came to tales of his crazy woes, there was simply no end to them if anybody would listen. His own quarters were comfortable enough, but when the weather was cold, the family was sure to have his company nothing could keep him out of the house. But they always bore it kindly because he had saved Tom's life years before. You remember Tom?"

"Oh! perfectly. Fine fellow he was, too."

"Yes, he was. And what a pretty little thing his child was?” "You may well say that. I never saw a prettier child."

"I used to delight to pet it and dandle it and play with it." "So did I."

"You named it. What was that name? I can't call it to mind."

It appeared to me that the ice was getting pretty thin here. I would have given something to know what the child's sex was. However, I had the good luck to think of a name that would fit either sex so I brought it out:

"I named it Frances."

"For a relative, I suppose?

too the one that I never saw.

But you named the one that died,
What did you call that one?"

I was out of neutral names, but as the child was dead and she had never seen it, I thought I might risk a name for it and trust to luck; therefore I said:

"I called that one Thomas Henry."

She said, musingly:

"That is very singular- very singular."

I sat still and let the cold sweat run down. I was in a good deal of trouble, but I believed I could worry through if she would n't ask me to name any more children. I wondered where the lightning was going to strike next. She was still ruminating over that last child's title, but presently she said:

"I have always been sorry you were away at the time — I would have had you name my child."