The little child's harte! look down into it, it is like the vault ov a wild-flower; apparently tenantless but full ov little sekrets, sekrets—unknown tew itself,—sekrets worth knowing,—life's capital.

Sweet little vault whare God has locked up creation's destiny.

XXXIX.

MONOGRAFFS.

The happy man iz alwus marrid or expekts tew be.

He don't beleaf in ghosts or ghostesses, nor raleroad acksidence before they occur.

He lives upon milk, and pays az he goes.

He luvs evry boddy, and but fu luv him.

He laffs when he gits wet, and only takes pills tew pleaze other folks.