penny postman
covered from head to foot with the obnoxious composition! Philly took
occasion to make a sudden exit, the postman swore--swore like a trooper,
but Uncle Henry managed to pack the whole transaction upon the "devilish
boy"--brushed the postman's clothes, and after some effort, so mollified
him as to induce the sufferer to depart in peace. Uncle Henry _tried_ to
be very severe on Philly, but it was very evident to that hopeful that
the old gentleman was more tickled than serious. Philly cleared the
steps, and the old gentleman re-arranged the trap, admonishing Philly
not to dare to meddle with it again, but call him when--

"_Got any ole boots?_" made their appearance.

All was quiet up to noon next day; Uncle Henry had business down town,
and left the house at 9 A. M. Philly was at school, but got home before
Uncle Henry, and seeing the pedler wagon near the door--slipped in, and
learning that the old gentleman was out, he gladly took charge of the
battery again. Now, just as the pedler mounted the steps of the next
door, Mr. Mansfield sees him, and hurries up his own steps, to be on the
watch for the pedler. Philly had been peeking out the corner of the side
curtain, and seeing the pedler coming, as he thought, right up the
steps--nabbed the string, and as Uncle Henry caught the knob of the
door--down came thundering the brick dust and charcoal both, in the most
elegant profusion.

Phil was _tricked_. Uncle Henry's vociferations were equal to that of a
drunken beggar--the trap was removed, Uncle Henry got disgusted with
city life, and left--for rural retirement, without as much as giving one
single rebuke to--

"_Got any ole boots to-day?_"

The Vagaries of Nature.

Nature seems to have her fitful, frightful, and funny moods, as well as
all her children. Now she gets up a stone bridge, the gigantic
proportions and the symmetrical development of which attract great
attention from all tourists and historians who venture into or speak of
"old Virginia." The old dame goes down far into the bowels of Mother
Earth, in Kentucky, and builds herself, silently and alone, a stupendous
under-ground palace, that laughs to scorn the puny efforts of man in
that branch of business. She gets up sugar-loaf mountains, pillars of
salt, great granite breastworks, and stone towers; hews out
figure-heads, old men's noses on the beetling cliffs of New Hampshire,
and throws up rocky palisades along the Hudson, that w