'Price one-dollar-fifty per each.

A gem of purest razorene.
A rhymed compendium of wit, information, and highly moral so-forths.

Ten thousand verses, printed on a new style rotating duplex press, and bound up in pale-gray calico.

Let me quote you that sweet couplet about the flood: "I hear the mother in her grief Imploring heaven for relief As up the mountain-side she drags Herself by mountain peaks and crags." "'When I wrote that--' "'When you wrote that!' she cries joyous, stopping to gaze at me.

'What! Do I see before me a real, genooine author?
Do I see in our humble but not chilly kitchen a reely trooly author ?' "'Yes'm,' I says, modest, like G.W.when is papa caught him executing the cherry tree.