from him, claiming it belonged to me because I told him to catch him if he came out.

"That was over fifty years ago, and you are the first man who has ever agreed with me that the rabbit was mine. I feel now that I was right in taking it, and my conscience is at rest.”

FITZ HUGH LEE.

A CERTAIN Confederate colonel was making a political speech in the court house. "Talk about my war record," he said, "why, my war record is a part of the State's history. Why, gentlemen, I carried the last Confederate flag through this very town." "Yes," replied Fitz Hugh Lee, "for I was here at the time." "Thank you for your fortunate recollection," gratefully exclaimed the colonel. "It is pleasant to know that there still live some men who move aside envy and testify to the courage of their fellow beings. As I say, gentlemen, my war record is a part of the State's history, for the gentleman here will tell you that I carried the last Confederate flag through this town." "That's a fact," said Fitz Hugh. “I saw him do it. He carried the Confederate flag through this town, but Kilpatrick and Ellsworth were after him, and he carried it so blame fast you couldn't have told whether it was the Confederate flag or a small-pox warning."

THOMAS F. MARSHALL.

THOMAS F. MARSHALL, better known as Tom Marshall, a celebrated lawyer and orator of the past generation, (who, unfortunately, was too much given to strong drink), used to tell how he was driven to the bottle and his law partner to the Bible, in a way which humorously but powerfully suggests Clay's marvelous ability as an advocate. "The way of it was this," Marshall used to say. "Bob Breckenridge" (Robert Jefferson Breckenridge, afterwards a distinguished clergyman)-"Bob Breckenridge and I formed a partnership when we first started out to practice law. The firm of Breckenridge and Marshall soon began to take the lead of all the law firms in Kentucky. We marched right on, without a break, until, in our own opinion at least, we were at the head of the State bar, with one solitary exception; and that exception was Henry Clay. We had never had a chance at him; but we had no

doubt whatever as to what the result would be if we should have the good fortune to encounter him in open court. We felt assured that we should at once and forever put an end to his supremacy and soar to the head ourselves. We watched for an opportunity to tackle the old lion, and, after a long wait, fortune at last favored us. We heard that Clay had been retained to prosecute a certain case, and we immediately rushed off and volunteered our services to the defence, so as to get a chance at him. Our offer was accepted and we awaited the day of the trial with feelings of fretful impatience solaced with anticipations of triumph. Time dragged heavily on, but finally the day of trial came. When it came to the summing up, as Breckenridge and I both wanted to take a hand in laying out Clay, we arranged with the judge that we should divide our time between us, and each address the jury. I, being the junior partner, spoke first. When I arose to begin my plea, I felt a pang of remorse at the thought that I was about to displace the splendid old man who sat before me from his proud pre-eminence, and myself take the honored position what he had so long conspicuously occupied. But I smothered my sentimentality and proceeded to business. I had made elaborate preparation for the occasion, and I did it and myself the amplest justice. I felt that Clay could hardly hold up his head after I got through with him. In fact, in my own estimation, I laid him out so cold that nothing was left for Breckenridge to do but to dance on his remains; and he did dance on them-a regular war dance. When Bob concluded and sat down, we expected that Clay would throw up the sponge without attempting any reply to our unanswerable arguments and eloquence. But not a bit of it. The old lion got up, and with one swoop of his paw he drove Breckenridge to the Bible and me to the bottle, and we have both been there ever since."

MARSHALL was once so exasperated at a decision of the judge that he retorted sharply, saying “Our Savior was convicted upon just such a ruling as that." "Mr. Clerk," said the judge, "enter a fine of ten dollars against Mr. Marshall." "Well, this is the first time I ever heard of anybody being fined for abusing Pontius Pilate," was the quick response of

Marshall. The judge, very indignant, ordered another fine of ten dollars. Marshall, with as much gravity as the circumstances permitted, addressed the court as follows: "As a good citizen, I feel bound to obey the order of this court; but as I don't happen to have twenty dollars about me, I shall be compelled to borrow it from some friend; and seeing no one present whose confidence and friendship I have so long enjoyed as your honor's, I make no hesitation in asking the small favor of a loan for a few days, to square the fines you have entered against me." This was a stumper. The judge, looking at Marshall and then at the clerk, replied: "Mr. Clerk, remit Mr. Marshall's fines: the State is better able to lose twenty dollars than I am."

ONCE when Marshall was delivering a political speech in Buffalo, he was interrupted repeatedly by a drunken man's calling out "Louder! Louder! Louder!" Marshall stood this for a while; but at last, turning gravely to the presiding officer, said: "Mr. Chairman: At the last day, when the angel shall descend and, with his golden trumpet, proclaim that 'time shall be no longer,' I doubt not, sir, that there will be in that vast crowd, as now, some drunken fool from Buffalo, shouting 'Louder! louder!'" Marshall went on with his speech, but there were no more cries of "louder!"

GEORGE DENISON PRENTICE.

No more brilliant editor than George Denison Prentice ever lived in the South. The following excerpts from 'Prenticeana,' published in 1859, will give an idea of the pungency of his style:

A Judge in Indiana threatened to fine a lawyer for contempt of court. "I have expressed no contempt for the court,' said the lawyer; "on the contrary, I have carefully concealed my feelings.'

AN Alabama editor says, in an ill-natured paragraph, that he is "very unlike the gentleman of the Louisville Journal." The latter replies that he is probably unlike any gentleman.

WE think it is an undeniable truth that the Africans, let

them go to what part of the world they may, retain more unequivocally than any other people the odor of nationality.

A PAPER, calling itself literary and miscellaneous, advertises that it intends to swallow up every thing around it "like a great maelstrom." We have little doubt that it will be a great "take in."

An editor says that he gives no heed to what we saythat our words go in at one ear and out at the other. We

have no doubt of it.

Things pass easily through a vacuum.

A BITTER writer in a sectarian newspaper calls his opponent "hypocrite and hyena." There is some similarity between the two animals. One prays, and both prey.

A WESTERN editor talks of giving in one of his columns the fibs of his neighbor. We presume that the other thirty-five are to be filled with his own, as usual.

THE question is discussed in some of the Missouri papers whether raising hemp is a good business. A much better business certainly than being raised by it.

A CANADA editor says he has "a keen rapier to prick all fools and knaves." His friends, if they are prudent, will take it from him. He might commit suicide.

A MAN in the interior of Kansas has brought suit against his neighbor for bruising his shins. If the jury award damages they should order the amount to be paid in shin-plasters.

A RICHMOND paper says that "the moon has been rising for some nights with a face as red as a toper's." No imputation ought to be cast upon Cynthia's sobriety. She fills her horn only once a month.

A CONTEMPORARY wants to know whether fat men are not more kind and compassionate than lean ones. Perhaps they

are as a general rule, but all bowels are not bowels of compassion.

A WESTERN editor not noted for brilliancy, says that he "would rather put questions than respond to them." He is perhaps right. He has probably read that fools may ask questions, but it takes wise men to answer them.

MR. THOMAS POTT, a citizen of Western Texas, publishes a violent communication against his neighbors in general because he had an axe stolen. His rage is evidently a tempest in a T. Pott.

THE Washington Union asks whether any party that acts from mere policy can long retain power. Certainly it can, if it acts from a wise policy, and more especially if it acts from the best of all policies, honesty.

A COUNTRY editor says that we may question his veracity, but that we have no veracity to question. We should never think of questioning such veracity as his, for it won't answer.

A LADY has just sent us a basket of fruit, the very sight of which, she thinks, must make us smack our lips. We thank her, and would greatly prefer smacking hers.

BRIGHAM YOUNG in a recent sermon, told the Mormons that it was "more important to raise saints than to raise crops. No doubt he thinks it the more agreeable husbandry of the two.

A CONTEMPORARY wants to know in what age women have been held in the highest esteem. We don't know. But certainly fashionable ladies fill a larger space in the world now than they ever did before.

A LADY who could not conceal even from herself the plainness of her face, boasted that her back was perfect. "That is the reason, I suppose, that your friends are always glad to see it," said one of her listeners.