my body. (_Coughs._)

Oh, dear! What shall I do! I have consulted almost every doctor in the
country, but they don't any of them seem to understand my case. I have
tried everything that I could think of; but I can't find anything that
does me the leastest good. (_Coughs._)

Oh this cough--it will be the death of me yet! You know I had my right
hip put out last fall at the rising of Deacon Jones' saw mill;
its getting to be very troublesome just before we have a change of
weather. Then I've got the sciatica in my right knee, and sometimes
I'm so crippled up that I can hardly crawl round in any fashion.

What do you think that old white mare of ours did while I was out
plowing last week? Why, the weacked old critter, she kept a backing
and backing, on till she back'd me right up agin the colter, and
knock'd a piece of skin off my shin nearly so big. (_Coughs._)

But I had a worse misfortune than that the other day, Doctor. You see
it was washing-day--and my wife wanted me to go out and bring in a
little stove-wood--you know we lost our help lately, and my wife has
to wash and tend to everything about the house herself.

I knew it wouldn't be safe for me to go out--as it was a raining at
the time--but I thought I'd risk it any how. So I went out, pick'd
up a few chunks of stove-wood, and was a coming up the steps into the
house, when my feet slipp'd from under me, and I fell down as sudden
as if I'd been shot. Some of the wood lit upon my face, broke down the
bridge of my nose, cut my upper lip, and knock'd out three of my front
teeth. I suffered dreadfully on account of it, as you may suppose, and
my face ain't well enough yet to make me fit to be seen, specially
by the women folks. (_Coughs._) Oh, dear! but that ain't all, Doctor,
I've got fifteen corns on my toes--and I'm afeard I'm a going to have
the "yallar janders." (_Coughs._)

THE GRAVES OF A HOUSEHOLD.

BYRON.

[This sweetly mournful refrain, should be delivered with sad
earnestness; as though the speaker was describing the fate of
his own family.]

They grew in beauty side by side,
They filled our home with glee;
Their graves are severed, far and wide,
By mount, and stream, and sea.
The same fond mother bent at night
O'er each fair sleeping brow;
She had each folded flower in sight,
Where are those dreamers now?

One, 'midst the forests of the West,
By a dark stream is laid,--
The Indian knows