He mined on the bar

Till he couldn't pay rates;

He was smashed by a car

When he tunnelled with Bates;

And right on the top of his trouble kem his wife and five kids from the States.

It was rough,- mighty rough;

But the boys they stood by,

And they brought him the stuff

For a house, on the sly;

well, she did washing, and took on when no one

But this yer luck of Dow's

Was so powerful mean

That the spring near his house

Drie right up on the green;

And he sunk forty feet down for water, but nary a drop to be seen.

Then the bar petered out,

And the boys wouldn't stay;
And the chills got about,
And his wife fell away;

But Dow, in his well, kept a peggin' in his usual ridikilous way.

With a shovel and pick on his shoulder, and a derringer hid in his breast.

He goes to the well,

And he stands on the brink,

And stops for a spell

Jest to listen and think:

For the sun in his eyes (jest like this, sir !), you see, kinder made the cuss blink.

His two ragged gals

In the gulch were at play,
And a gownd that was Sal's
Kinder flapped on a bay:

Not much for a man to be leavin', but his all,

-

And that's a peart hoss

as I've heer'd the folks say.

Thet you've got ain't it now?

What might be her cost?

Eh? Oh!- Well then, Dow—

Let's see, well, that forty-foot grave wasn't his, sir, that day, anyhow.

For a blow of his pick

Sorter caved in the side,

And he looked and turned sick,

Then he trembled and cried;

For you see the dern cuss had struck-"Water ?" - Beg your parding, young man, there you lied!

It was gold, in the quartz,

And it ran all alike;

And I reckon five oughts

Was the worth of that strike;

And that house with the coopilow's his'n, which the same isn't bad for a Pike.

Thet's why it's Dow's Flat;

And the thing of it is

That he kinder got that

Through sheer contrairiness:

For 'twas water the derned cuss was seekin', and his luck made him certain to miss.

Won't you come up to tea?

No? Well, then the next time you're passin'; and ask after Dow, — and thet's me.

PLAIN LANGUAGE FROM TRUTH-| But he smiled as he sat by the table,

In the game "he did not under- Which is why I remark,

And this was all the religion he And Bludso's ghost went up alone

All boats has their day on the Mis- And Christ ain't a going to be too

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES.

A FAMILIAR LETTER TO SEVERAL | You hand us a nosegay of milliner's

With musical murmurs and rhythmi- As lightly as Rembrandt a drawing