Straight backwards, down a flight of cellar stairs,
And disappeared with all his learned airs!

Amazed the jury sat! All looked aghast,
And, for a minute, to their seats seemed fast;
At last they thought that something had occurred,
And rising, all rushed forward, greatly stirred;
And peering down the doctor's gloomy wake,
Were just in time to hear some crock'ry break,
As they supposed, by the peculiar sound ;
Then next they heard the doctor groping round.
"Hallo, there, doctor, are you hurt?" called down
Some one.
"This way-come up." Just then, to crown
All his mishaps, the doctor tripped and fell
Across an empty barrel, with a yell,

Which rolling, fortunately landed him
Just at the bottom of the stairs. The dim
Uncertain light revealed the dang'rous way,
Up which he scrambled to the light of day,
In sorry plight. "Why, this is bad," said Jones,
"I hope you have not broken any bones;
I do not see a bruise or single scratch
About you, nothing but a little patch

Of skin knocked off your nose. How do you feel?
You must be quite shook up, from head to heel-
"Tis well you were not killed!"

"Shook up!" exclaimed The doctor, "more than that; I fear I've maimed The corax cracoid of the ulnor here,

The atlas of my cervix too, I fear,

Has lost retriculation." With these learned
Complaints, he took his cane, and limping turned
To leave them. "Hold," said one, "until you hear
Our verdict. Brown is crazy, 'tis quite clear;
That "tin-pan-um" of yours gave us much light
Upon the subject, sir." "You are quite right;
Nought else was left to do. I know from long
Experience, when the head is right or wrong,"
Replied the doctor. "Zounds, my back! I'm sur●
My dull obliquita is past all cure!

The traverse spinal too, I fear is bent

My killus tendum must be badly rent!

Your judgment with my own agrees, and hence,"
Continued he, "you've shown great common sense.

I told his wife, poor woman, that we should
Consult her wishes and her husband's good;
For we have talked it over much of late,
And she is much concerned about his state.
In my opinion, you had better send

Him off at once,-his wits may sooner mend;
My medical certificate I'll make

To-night," concluded he, “so you may take
Him off to-morrow."

Years since then, I stood
And looked o'er hill and river, vale and wood.
An old stone mansion met our distant gaze;
'Twas there we once knew Brown in other days;
There was his house, his lands, his flocks, his gold,
Beside the river as it calmly rolled

Down to the sea; and as the sweeping tide
Of mem'ry rose, a stranger there, beside

Me said: "Do you remember Brown? He died
A year ago, away from home, deranged,
And well it was, poor man, for all has changed
Since he was sent away. You may desire
To hear the tale." "Permit me to inquire,"
Said I "what changes have occurred; for all
The rest I know. Some things I now recall
Perhaps you can explain. When last I saw
John Brown, they said he was adjudged, by law,
Insane, but that the finding was unjust;

Ah-now the thought occurs, that some one must
Have worked his ruin."

Affair," the stranger said.

"You shall hear the whole

"Through the control

Of one bad man, an inquest met and gave

That verdict. Oh, I see you guess the knave

'Twas Doctor Snow! Now, all these flocks and fields Are his; and John Brown's very money shields Snow's villainy."

"Amazing! How is this?" Exclaimed I. "How does he possess the bliss Of which he robbed another?"

Easy, quite,"
Said he. "His wrong is made a legal right;
And Doctor Snow is now a man of mark,
None dare to speak of this transaction dark.
He goes to church and sits with solemn air,
And e'en, 'tis said, can make a wondrous prayer!

Aye, wrong, a legal right is often made,
And in the case of Snow, 'tis here displayed;
'Tis easy to explain his rise in life,

For John Brown's widow is the doctor's wife!"

"UNCLE JOHN" WRITES TO HIS CITY COUSIN.*-DAVID K. BUCHANAN.

Dear Sitty Kuzzin: As yo've bin a-payin' us a annual visit every yeer fur a long time back, jist in hayin' time, an' not heerin' nothin' frum yo' this yeer yit, I'm beginnin' to be afeered thet somethin's happened an' I jist tho't I'd rite an' see what's the matter with yo'.

Sary Ann haint got very good helth this summer, an' I reckun ef she had a few visiters so thet she cood git a little more ecksercise, it 'ud be kind o' bennyfishus fur her helth. Yo' know she's only got four small children now, an' she's only got five men to cook an' wash fur, an' six cows to milk and churn fur, an' konsekwently she has so much idle time a-hangin' on her hands thet I reckun it's jist nothin' but pure lonesomeness thet's ailin' her. Do come an' see us. When yo're here, yo' know she allus has to git four meals a day, bekows us men folks has to have our breck fus at six o'clock, an' you never cood abide to git up before ate, so thet she allus has to git an' eckstry breckfus for yo', an' thet helps to pass away the lonesome mornin' hours kwite smart, an' then it allus put her in sich a cheerful frame o' mind to have yo' come to the top o' the stairs an' call to her to please fetch yo' a fresh pitcher o' water, so thet ye' cood perform your mornin' ablushuns, jist as she was up to her elbows in the dough troft a-moldin' out her bre'd.

An' then she allus took such a delite in doin' up them six white mornin' gowns, an' them nine tucked, an' ruffled, an' embroidered skirts o' yourn every week. Hern is so small now thet she says she's reelly a-most furgittin' how to do lawndry wurk at all enny more. Do come.

*By permission of the Author.

It'll kind o' help fur to stiddy up her narves fur to have yo' go out to the berry-patch with her, an' eat berrys while she's pickin' enough fur supper, an' then to have yo' all to wunst let out a yell like a Komanchy Injin an' start fur the house faster'n a limited express on the Pennsylvany Central; an' then after she's follered yo' to the house to find out what's the matter, to have you tell her thet a blacksnaik twenty-seven feet long, an' as thick as a man's boddy, stuck its tail into its mouth an' rolled after yo' like a big hoop rite up to the kitchen door, at the rate of a thousand miles a minnit. An' then it'll be kind of amusin' fur her to git the mop-stick an' poker an' go out to look fur thet snaik, an' after she's follered your tracks back to where yo' started frum without seein' no sines o' snaiks, to find thet what skart yo' was a crooked peese of a old rale thet hadn't moved fur sixteen yeers till yo' stepped on one end of it an' tother end tilted up to'ards yo'.

Fur Sary Ann's sake, do come.

An' then it'll kind o' have a tendensy fur to make her more cheerful an' contented, fur to have yo' tell her how mutch nicer it is to live in the sitty than in the country; an' how yo' have velvet carpet on your kitchen, an' keep six servants an' a nurse gurl, an' don't have nothin' to do yourself but sing an' play the pianner, an' 'tend the plays, an' the partys, an' the balls; an' how mutch smarter 'n cuter your children is than hern, an' how your deer little Flossy Blossy don't even go to bed in her bare feet, let alone run in 'em all summer like our little country Jaker. An' then to make shure o' distract in' her mind frum onpleasant things yo' mite tell her how blamed old-fashuned her noo bonnet an' best dress is; an' to prove it yo' mite bring along your own noo bonnet thet cost forty dollars an' a sample of your best silk dress thet cost seven dollars a yard, fur to show to her. Do come, I'm sure it 'ud jist be the makin' o' Sary Ann fur to have yo' come.

Be shure an' rite fur us to meet yo' at the stashun.

It's only seven miles, an' it wont be no trubble at all fur us to send fur yo' this time o' yeer. Be shure an' bring two trunks, even ef yo' cood git your stuff all into one; fur we've only got three hosses this yeer, an' ef yo' only bro't one trunk we mite send fur yo' in the one hoss buckboard, an' thet 'ud leeve two hosses to home so thet the men cood go rite along with the'r wurk, an' they wouldn't like thet at all. Before yo' make up your mind what day you're comin' yo'd better 'rite to the wether profit at Washin'ton an' find out when there's goin' to be a nice, dry, sunshiny day, fur I'd hate a'most offul fur to lose a wet day a-comin' after yo' jist in hayin' time.

Be shure and come on the train thet gits here in the middle o' the day, fur ef ye'd come on the mornin' or evenin' train it 'ud take me a haff a day to get ye, an' I woodn't like thet. Oh, yes, be shure an' come on the noon train so thet it'll take me the best part o' the day to come fur yo'. It'll kind o' make me gladder to see you. An' ef it woodn't be too mutch trubble to yo', yo' might change your mind after ye'd writ me, an' telegraff me (so thet I'd git it when I got to the stashun) thet yo' coodn't come till the nex' day. It 'ud kind o' add to the warmness o' your welcome fur to have me come fur yo' twict this time o' year.

Be shure an' bring thet luvly little boy o' your'n with yo' thet pulled up all the kabbage an' tommattoes las' yeer, an' then had the cheek to ask me to give him a dime fur pullin' them weeds. I planted twenty akers in thet kind o' weeds this yeer so thet he cood amuse hisself a-pullin' all he wanted to, an' we'd still have enuff left fur to keep us in sour-krout an' picklelilly part o' the winter ennyhow. Be shure an' bring him, fur I went to the trubble o' gettin' a noo brand o' green apples speshully fur him, thet's warranted to kill a boy o' his size afore the dockter kin git here, even ef the dockter lives nex' door. Don't furgit enny o' my instruckshuns. Do come. Your'n luvinly, UNCLE JOHN.

P.S.-Do come. Don't furgit to bring thet luvly boy