the right side a very ugly wound, making a bullethole behind and before. Evidently to show his wounds he had taken off his shirt, and thus exposed all the upper part of his body. Besides his own musket he had three of the best that he could pick up on the field-secesh, as he declared. These four muskets he carried on his left shoulder. About ten feet before him was a rebel prisoner whom he was leisurely driving home, directing and cursing according to his tastes; and in his right hand he held a turnip, which I should think weighed about three pounds. This he had compelled the prisoner to procure for him at a field, or turnip-patch, on his way up, and he was munching it with just as much relish as he could have done the day before. Altogether his fully-displayed wounds, with the long streaks of blood running down his naked body-his four muskets on one shoulder-his passive prisoner, whom he was cursing and telling which way to go, and where not to go-his turnip, and his laconic and devil-may-care answers to my boys as they inquired how the battle was progressing, made one of the most ludicrous incidents that I recollect ever to have seen in the war.

THE Rev. Mr. E had been for several weeks the guest of Dr. C, of Franklin, Tennessee, and had, of course, daily implored the blessing of Divine grace before each meal, lengthening them out generally to the extent of a short prayer. One evening, when there was additional company at the teatable, the weather being very cold, the grace was unusually short; when Charlie, a bright little boy of five summers, and the son of the Doctor, promptly spoke up at the conclusion of the service, and said, "It's too cold to say it all to-night, ain't it, Mr. E -?" In the explosion that followed no one joined more heartily than the worthy divine.

THE two following come from Lynn, Massachu

setts:

Many years ago there lived in this city an old fellow whose "family antecedents" were none of the best-it didn't run in the family to be respectable; but he finally went West, and after an absence of some years returned in the shape of a Methodist preacher. A meeting was called in one of the big kitchens of those days, and Brother L's old neighbors gathered together to hear him preach -among them Sam I, a rough customer, who hadn't the strongest faith in the returned brother's reformation. The preacher had proceeded a little way in his exhortation when he happened to say, "I am a miserable sinner." "That's true!" was responded by Sam, "and your father was a miserable one before you!" The excellent memory of one of the hearers had spoiled the effects of the meeting.

We have among us a noted wag whose first name is Darius. He will be all things to all men, and nothing to nobody, for the sake of an argument, or, as they call it in these parts, a "trot." I could tell you a hundred stories of him, but one will suffice. Darius lately held a protracted argument with a neighbor of his who is a morocco dresseror a "beamster"-doing that part of the work which is most offensive to the olfactories. The talk was on the miracles; and our hero maintained, as each miracle was brought forward, that it could be easily explained to any one who understood the laws of At length the case of Daniel in the lions'

nature.

den was brought forward as a clencher, and Darius was asked if he didn't believe Daniel was cast into the den of lions and escaped unharmed? "Of course I do," was the reply, in a peculiar squeaking and drawling voice. "Well, if that wasn't a miracle, why didn't the lions devour him?" "Why, don't you know," says Darius, "why the lions wouldn't touch Daniel?-Daniel was a beamster, and they knew enough to keep a good distance from him!"

IN the little village of Cadiz, Cattaraugus County, New York, it was always the custom on Sundays, between the forenoon and afternoon services, after the usual gossip and ginger-bread had been disposed of, and while the children were engaged in their Sabbath-school exercises, for the older members of the church and congregation to gather together in Bible-class, and discuss the sayings and doings of the prophets and wise men of Old Testament times. On one of these occasions the subj ct under discussion was, "The Jews, their Observances, Sacrifices," etc., and the question was asked by the pastor, "Why were these rites and ceremonies imposed on the Jews?" Brother Knapp, a worthy old deacon, one of the pillars of the church, and, as will be seen, of an inquiring turn of mind, was the first to answer. "He thought it would be well enough for to inquire wether the Jews raially considered it an imposition?" The effect upon the pastor, a young man who had a keen sense of the ludicrous, may be better imagined than described.

OUR little Johnny, who has only just passed his fourth mile-stone, sometimes picks up a strange word from the boys on the street, which he no sooner does than he takes the first opportunity to repeat it in the house. I was sitting by the window one evening reading, his mother and himself were in the next room. I fancied I heard something like swearing, and listened, thinking it must be a mistake-but no; out came a whole volley of oaths, any one of which would almost choke an Algerine pirate. Then I heard his mother exclaim, "Why, Johnny! where on earth did you learn to swear so?" I stepped softly to the door in time to see him look up and say, "Well, ma, I am going to enlist, and I will have to learn, so that I can swear in!"

A FRIEND writes us the following: She is a teacher in Vermont, and has a little negro boy just brought from Secessia for one of her pupils. He does not believe in moral suasion, and can not understand why he does not have the rod applied as a remedy for all his sins against the school laws. One day the teacher was talking to him about heaven and the bright, beautiful angels; when, after listening a moment, he broke out solemnly, "Wouldn't you like to keep school there?" A bright fellow that, who does not need whipping.

DOCTOR E. COLEMAN, who recently died in Northeast Ohio, was a surgeon in the war of 1812, and was stationed at Fort Meigs. Being in need of medical stores, he started for Cleveland to procure them. On his way he stopped for the night at the tavern of one Reed, on Black River, a noted place of resort at the time. In the morning the bill was presented, with an extra charge for whisky. "Whis ky! whisky!" remarked the Doctor, "why, I have had no whisky." "Well, you might have had,"

arms of your Humphrey, you can defy the scoffs and jeers of the world." I then read a little from the Essay on Man, and recommended the purchase of a little work on marital duties written by the venerable Jeremy Diddler, an old English clergyman. As a finale to the scene I de livered the following exordium: "Go in peace; sin no more." The generous Humphrey having placed a fifty cent check in my unwilling palm, I bid the happy pair a

fond adieu.

THE Drawer has so many readers in the navy that the following is offered for their special entertainment:

Who in the navy during the past nine years has not heard of Ensign "Slamm?" Though more thoughtful as years pass on, still the merry twinkle of his handsome eye, and the kind, heart-felt welcome to a friend is still there. I can not forget his quiet laugh, and the eagerness with which he shook my hand a moment before the word "Charge" was given, which hurled under the bloody walls of Fort Fisher seventeen hundred "Yankee blue-jackets." But to the point.

One summer's eve the good ship lay quietly at anchor off the city of Q—, waiting for a balance of crew and other fixings before plunging into "the tide of war." The ward-room mess were busy smoking their evening "brier-woods," when our Senior Engineer (a very patriotic and funny man) broke silence

Why so pensive, Slamm?"

"Pensive! who in thunder wouldn't be pensive in this miserable, crazy world?" growled the Ensign.

A roar of laughter followed, for Slamm had not spoken for a long while.

"You want a little stirring up, youngster," continued the Chief; "you've got the blue-devil tacks aboard.' I must get to windward of you; they tell me you are seldom beat."

"Fire away!" was the answer.

At near midnight, when "all hands" were fast asleep, dreaming of the dear ones who would soon be lonesome, a loud, sharp knocking was heard at the Ensign's state-room door.

"By the great horn-spoon who's that?" growled Slamm within.

"Mr. Slamm, all hands have been called to 'night-quarters.'. All the officers have reported their respective divisions ready for action with the exception of yourself, and the Captain is much surprised, and desires to know the cause of your tardi

ness.

Slamm (who is always on hand) jumped into his slippers-on pants, jacket, and cap-seized his sword and rushed on deck bawling out, "No. 1, No. 2, No. 3!" etc., etc. No one answering the stations, our Ensign rubbed his eyes, and to his astonishment, in lieu of finding one hundred and sixty brawny sailors already at the guns, found the deck entirely deserted, with the exception of the officer on watch and the "Chief," who stood in a dark corner with his handkerchief half-way down his throat. "Oh! you have sold me, have you?" and down dashed the Ensign to finish his "sleep in."

The breakfast-table was merry over the "sell," and young Slamm took it all with such good-humor that I was confident the Chief would suffer for it. I stated before that the Chief was patriotic, and being at times fond of his toddy, he celebrated all anniversaries by forgetting himself and how

many "healths" he had drank. Some weeks had passed, and we were startled with glorious news "from the front ;" and as we were on the point of sailing, the Chief proposed a run ashore. Three of us started-the Ensign, the Chief, and myself. The Chief, after landing, begged to be excused, saying he had business of importance, and would meet us at a stated place in two hours and a half exactly. The Ensign and myself started for the hotel and took our last shore-dinner. Dinner over we started for a stroll. Turning a corner who should we see but Mr. Chief! He was making short tacks" down the street, wind "dead ahead," his "spirit-room" well stowed, and though the craft rolled heavily nothing gave way. In fact, the Chief was not himself.

At this moment young Slamm turned about, saying, I don't wish to meet the Chief, he will detain me, and I must go off and keep my evening watch."

The Ensign disappeared, and I took the stormtossed Chief to a place of safety and left him.

The following morning "all hands" were present at table. The Chief looked as if he was ashamed of himself, and said nothing. Slamm was as quiet, and apparently busy counting the stitches in the end of the napkin he held.

Suddenly the sky-light above us was taken off, and the hatchway filled and the ward-room darkened by the appearance of an enormous “bassdrum." Presently a small boy appeared, holding a card in one hand and a bill in the other. Is this gentleman here, Sir?"

I took the card, and on it was written with a drunken scrawl;

Such another roar of laughter was never heard. "Why, I never bought the thing!" roared the Chief.

"Yes, Sir, you did," said the boy. "And you told Mr. B, the auctioneer, to have it sent early this morning, as you expected to sail."

Let me see the card" howled the Chief. The scrawl was too much for him. He scratched his head, tried to recall circumstances: "When did I buy this drum, boy?" "Last evening, Sir, about six o'clock."

"Thunder" roared the Chief. His hand went to his pocket, the eleven dollars paid, the bill was torn in a thousand pieces, a violent kick at the drum, and the Chief dashed into his state-room, making the breakfast-table jump with the concussion of the door.

Young Slamm went on deck with the boy, where The boy got the eleven dollars exchanged hands. his promised dollar.

After a few days had passed, when sides had become numb with continual pain, the affair leaked out. The Chief took Slamm's hand, saying, "I give in; call it square."

"Not by a long shot," said Slamm.

beat!"

"You're

"Well, Slamm, I give in; I'm dead beat!"

caverns of the earth; up to the crater, into the ice-region, eighteen thousand feet above the ocean level, where the sky loses its pure azure and deepens into a blue-black, and the lungs are tasked almost to bursting in the rarefied atmosphere-well, to come down into a steady square trot with the ribbons well in hand-an ascent of Popocatepetl, a thing easily imagined but by no means as easily accomplished, after a diligence and horseback ride of nearly sixty miles under a torrid sun, for the greater part through jungles and rocky passes and over serrated mountain ranges.

The summit is undoubtedly the loftiest point in North America-tabular statistics in the Geographies to the contrary notwithstanding-refinements in science which have attempted to snatch the crown from the hoary old god of the Toltecs and place it on the brow of that other storm-monarch of the Russians, Mount St. Elias. Much might be said about the relative claims of these dizzy peaks for the honors of altitude; but at present it is only the purpose of the writer to describe for "HARPER" an ascent to the crater lately accomplished by a party of three* and their guides, leaving the savans to discuss the correctness of certain trigonometrical observations which have deposed or reinstated the King of the Mexican Andes as best suited their own figures and calculations. Whatever may be the exact height-and we shall presently consider that subject-certain it is that whoever gains the summit may well congratulate himself that he has no farther cloud-climbing to accomplish.

Our preparations were made in the city of Mexico, and were simple enough. Sharpened hob-nails in the soles of the heavy shoes for scrambling up the ice; thick blankets and wrappers; spurs for persuading reluctant mules or horses toward the base of the mountain; goggles with green glasses and rims of thin wire for protecting the eyes from the glare of the sun; woolen mufflers for the face and neck; pistols, pocket-compass, barometer, spyglass, note-books, tin canteens for water, a flask of brandy each, and warm gloves and stockings. For several days we had been gazing off to the eastward, where the dome of the volcano loomed white and cold among the clouds, like some giant sentinel keeping guard over the continent; and more than once we half yielded to the warnings of friends, the Arnoux's, Corwin, Otterbourg, and others, whose traditionary legends of the difficulties and sufferings incident to the trip have been indorsed by the few who are known to have succeeded; but we had heard and read that the peak had several times been reached within the last half century, and we determined to proceed.

The cathedral clock was striking six as the diligence for Ameca lumbered through the

E. J. McCune of Cumberland Valley, Pennsylvania, Antoine Kieffer of Strasbourg, France, and the writer hereof, William V. Wells.

streets and out of the garita of San Lazaro. A word about that clock. Having rebelled against all rules of horology the venerable concern has acquired certain erratic habits, such as striking at discretion or not at all, as the whim suits. Malicious people say that a Mexican is stationed in the works with a club and watch, who shifts the hands and slams the hours with tolerable accuracy, save when he descends in quest of tortillas or pulque. At such times the machine goes it blind, so to speak, much to the consternation of victims who have set their time-pieces by it, and are not in the secret. But as Mexico is one of those places where time is not money, the panic is only temporary. So we started, and leaving the slumbering capital behind us, were soon rattling along the Camino Real behind eight horses, toward the reddening dawn, which gradually illumined the picturesque amphitheatre of the Valley of Mexico, tinting the towers and steeples of the city with a crimson flush, and bringing out all the glories of the tropical morning.

The road from Mexico to Chalco, which is on the route to the volcano, leads past the once celebrated Lake of Tezcuco where the Aztec city of that name was located, once larger than Mexico itself, but of which only a few melancholy ruins remain. Lakes Xochimilco and Chalco, to the southward, containing yet a few of the celebrated chinampas, or floating gardens. are navigated by the same style of canoes and propelled by the same dusky race as when Cortéz wrested these strange lands from their Indian rulers. At Chalco we found lineal descendants of the tribes overpowered by the Spaniards, and still preserving the distinctive manners and language of their ancestors. An ancient canal connects the town with Mexico, a distance of some twenty miles, and here are "shipped" a large part of the fruit, vegetables, grain, fire-wood, and general supplies for the capital. A multitude of these industrious people were crowding around the embarcadero, and the place resounded with the bustle of a lucratíve inland trade. Patient, toilsome, and contented to be the drawers of water and hewers of wood for Mexico, they ask for nothing better than their customary tortillas and frijoles, with now and then a frantic "drunk" on pulque to celebrate some Saint's day or other festive occasion.

From Chalco the country gradually rises to the eastward toward the foot-hills of Popocatepetl (“Smoking Mountain” in the Aztec language), and Iztaccihuatl ("White Woman"), both piercing the clouds, and holding aloft perpetual winter on their grim summits. At four o'clock, after a jolting ride over a country which might have been called mountainous but for the superior ranges always visible beyond, we reached the upland puebla of Ameca, situated about 8000 feet above the sea. The place which is inhabited mainly by Indians, numbering some four thousand, has been long famous as the haunt of robbers, who have made this