140 
AMERICAN AGRICULTURIST 
“A little humor now and then, 
Is relished by the best of men.” 
A HUNGRY CARPET BAG. 
The Buffalo Express relates an amusing 
incident which occurred at Erie a few days 
since. A gentleman left Cleveland for New 
York quite early in the morning, without his 
breakfast, and being very hungry upon the 
arrival of the train at Erie, entered the din¬ 
ing room, and placing his carpet bag upon a 
chair—the table was far from being crowded 
—sat down by the side of it and commenced 
a valorous attack upon the viands before 
him. By and by the proprietor of the estab¬ 
lishment came around to collect fares, and 
upon reaching our friend, ejaculated, “ Dol¬ 
lar, sir.” 
“A dollar!” responded the eating man, “ a 
dollar !—thoughtyou only charged fifty cents 
a meal for one—eh!” 
“ That’s true,” said Meanness , “ but I count 
your carpet bag one, since it occupies a 
seat.” 
Our friend expostulated, but the landlord 
insisted, and the dollar was reluctantly 
brought forth. The landlord passed on. 
Our friend deliberately arose, and opening 
his carpet bag, full in its wide mouth, dis¬ 
coursed into it, saying : 
“Carpet bag, it seems you’re an individual 
—a human individual, since you eat ”—upon 
which he seized everything eatable within 
his reach, nuts, raisins, apples, cakes, pies, 
and amid the roars of the by-standers, the 
delight of his brother passengers, and dis¬ 
comfiture of the landlord, phlegmatically 
went and took his seat in the cars. He said 
he had provisions enough to last him to New 
York, after a bountiful supply had been 
served out in the cars. There was at least 
$8 worth in the bag—upon whicli the land¬ 
lord realized nothing in the way of profit. 
So much for meanness. 
We once had a little experience of a simi¬ 
lar character. Traveling eastward over the 
Alleghanies by the old stage-route from 
Wheeling to Cumberland, we stopped for 
supper and a change of horses. As we were 
some two hours behind time, supper had 
been prepared and waiting for us a long 
time, but by an evident arrangement be¬ 
tween the landZord and driver, we were not 
called into the dining-room to our prepaid 
(50 cents) repast, till the horses were changed 
and ready ro start. Scarcely had the tea 
been poured before we were informed that 
the “ stage was ready,” and we must go then 
or be left, which would invalidate our tick¬ 
ets ($9), as they were “ good for that day 
only.” With a long January night’s ride in 
prospect and the thermometer far below zero, 
we were quite loth to leave behind us a 
sumptuous meal which had been paid for. 
So, being the stronger party, we gathered up 
the table-cloth by the corners, with all upon 
it, to be spread out again in the stage and 
eaten “ at our leisure.” There was consid¬ 
erable demurring on the part of the landlord 
and driver, but having justice and a few 
double-barreled dark-holed instruments on 
our side, we had our own way. According 
to promise, we sent back the table fixings 
by the polite and honest driver. The next 
time we pass that way we will inquire of the 
landlord what profit he made on that supper. 
A RICH JOKE. 
Not many days ago a certain gentleman 
arrived atone of the hotels of Greenfield, in 
the evening. Having registered his name, 
it was soon noised about that an Honorable 
“ M. C.” was in town, and his brother Know 
Knothings enjoying themselves at a feast in 
a neighboring hotel, invited him to join 
them. He sat late at the table, and on re¬ 
turning to his own hotel all was quiet. Si¬ 
lently feeling his way to his room, he found 
it locked, and an occupant inside. 
“Hallo! there—what have you got my 
room for!” 
“ It’s mine, sir,” says inside. 
“ No, it is not, and you must give it up.” 
“ Shan’t do any such thing.” 
The Hon. M. C. started for the landlord— 
aroused him from his dreams—and related 
the story of his wrongs. 
“ Sir,” says the landlord to Mr. Inside, 
“Mr. B-took this room and you must 
give it up.” 
“Well, I am Mr. B-’’.says inside. 
The “ M. C.” was astonished to find a 
namesake in his room. Both being strang¬ 
ers to the landlord, the latter was perfectly 
nonplussed, not knowing to whom belonged 
the room. Says “ M. C.” I can convince 
you, and pulled from his pocket several let¬ 
ters addressed to “ Hon. B-, M. C.” 
Landlord says sternly to inside— 
“ You must give up the room, now.” 
“ Shan’t do it, for I am the B-who 
took this room, and have a political speech 
fora New-Hampshire meeting to-morrow. 
Don’t disturb me,” was the reply. 
“ Well, I can convince you,” said the 
“Hon.” very much excited; and he com¬ 
menced unbuttoning to disclose the name 
marked on his linen.” “See there—read 
that.” 
The landlord on bended knee, the light in 
close proximity, read, to his and the “ Hon.” 
gentleman’s great astonishment, “ A Muzzy.” 
The outsider found lodgings elsewhere. 
He had roomed the night preceeding with 
anothergentleman, and they had unwittingly, 
exchanged shirts. 
A MOUSE STORY. 
The following story is related in the May 
number of the Knickerbocker : 
I was stopping last summer at Cape May. 
As usual 1 was at Harwood’s, and of course 
my wife was with me. 
About two o’clock one morning, I was 
awakened by a reveille-tap from my better 
half. “ For gracious sake !” she whispered, 
“ if you want to laugh, just listen to that 
gentleman and his wife hunting a mouse in 
the next room !” 
“ Ee-ee-aw !” I murmured, half-awake. 
“Now, do just wake up! To-morrow, 
when I tell the story, you’ll be sorry that 
you wasn’t awke to the reality.” 
Thus adjured, I woke up in right earnest, 
too late to hear any of the mouse-hunt, but 
just in time to hear the next room-door 
opened, and a little quavering, dandy voice, 
(which I at once recognized as that of Prin- 
key,) call out to some distant night-walker : 
“ Wai-tali !—wai-tah !!—wai-tah ! ! !” 
(No answer.) 
“ Po-taw !—po-taw !!— po-tah!! /” 
(No answer.) 
“ Watch-man ! — ivatch-man !! — watch¬ 
man! !!” 
“That’s me, sir,” growled a deep voice. 
“ Watch-man, come here diwecktly ! We 
are in gwate twubble ! There’s a mouse in 
this apawtment, and it nibbles awound in the 
most distwackted manner. I spoke to Mr. 
Ha’wood about it, and he pwomised to have 
the mouse wemoved, but lie hasn’t done it. 
Aw think it vewy unhandsome conduct o 
Mr. Ha’wood to allow the mouse to wemain, 
after pwomising that it should be wemoved. 
Watch-man, Mrs. Pwinkey is vewy appwe- 
hensive of mice. Can’t you come in and 
catch the cweature !” 
“ ’Fraid not, sir. It’t too late, and I should 
be sure to wake up some boarders as might¬ 
n’t like it.” 
“ How widickulous ! Well, (a long pause) 
watch-man, couldn’t you just step down to 
the baw-woom, and get some cwackers and 
cheese, and entice the animal out into the 
entivy !” 
A brief remark from the watchman that 
the bar was closed, sent Mr. Prinkey back 
into his mouse-haunted dormitory. Fortu¬ 
nately the “ cweature” ceased its nibbling, 
and a dead calm soon reigned. 
A manly “ keind ” of person that! 
TO THE RAPPING SPIRITS. 
If, in your new estate, you can not rest, 
But must return, oh ! grant us this request, 
Come with a noble and celestial air, 
And prove your titles to the names you bear ; 
Give some clear token of your heavenly birth, 
Write as good English as you wrote on earth, 
And what were once superfluous to advise, 
Don’t tell, I beg you, such egregious lies. [Saxe . 
THE SNOW OF AGE. 
We have just stumbled upon the follow¬ 
ing pretty piece of mosaic, laying amid a 
multitude of those less attractive: “ No 
snow falls lighter than the snow of age ; but 
none is heavier, for it never melts.” 
The figure is by no means novel, but the 
closing part of the sentence is new as well 
as emphatic. The scripture represents age 
by the almond tree, which bears blossoms of 
the purest white. 
“The almond tree shall flourish”—the 
head shall be hoary. Dickens says of one 
of his characters, whose hair is turning gray, 
that it looks as if Time had lightly splashed 
its snows upon it in passing. 
“ It never melts ”—no, never. Age is in¬ 
exorable ; its wheel must move onward; 
they know not any retrograde movement. 
The old man may sit and sing, “I would I 
were a boy again,” but he grows old as he 
sings. He may read of the elixir of youth, 
but he can not find it; he may sigh for the 
secret of the alchemy which is able to make 
him young again, but sighing brings it not. 
He may gaze backward with an eye longing 
upon the rosy schemes of early years, but 
as one who gazes on his home from the deck 
of a departing ship, every moment carrying 
him further and further away. Poor old 
man! he has little more to do than die. 
“ It never melts.” The snow of winter 
comes and sheds its white blossoms upon 
the valley and mountain, but soon the sweet 
spring follows and smiles it all away. Not 
so with that upon the brow of the tottering 
veteran; there is no spring whose warmth 
can penetrate its eternal frost. It came to 
stay ; its single flakes fell unnoticed, and 
now it is drilled there. We shall see it in¬ 
crease, until we lay the old man in his grave; 
there it shall be absorbed by the eternal dark¬ 
ness, for there is no age in heaven. 
Yet why speak of age in a mournful strain! 
It is beautiful, honorable, and eloquent. 
Should we sigh at the proximity of death 
when life and the world are so full of empti¬ 
ness ! Let the old exult because they are 
old; if any must weep, let it be the young, 
at the long succession of cares that are be¬ 
fore them._ 
Impossible. —Derncourt, in an essay on 
Death has the following passage in illustra¬ 
tion of his views of the world : 
“ Shall I say that what is impossible with 
men is impossible with God! He had al- 
