LITMIR.BIZ

      On Friday last, we were startled by a violent shock

      in our basement, followed by cries of distress.

      On rushing in a body to the cellar, we discovered our beloved

      President prostrate upon the floor, having tripped and

      fallen while getting wood for domestic purposes. A perfect

      scene of ruin met our eyes, for in his fall Mr. Pickwick

      had plunged his head and shoulders into a tub of water,

      upset a keg of soft soap upon his manly form, and torn

      his garments badly. On being removed from this perilous

      situation, it was discovered that he had suffered

      no injury but several bruises, and we are happy to add,

      is now doing well.

      It is our painful duty to record the sudden and

      mysterious disappearance of our cherished friend, Mrs.

      Snowball Pat Paw. This lovely and beloved cat was the

      pet of a large circle of warm and admiring friends; for

      her beauty attracted all eyes, her graces and virtues

      endeared her to all hearts, and her loss is deeply felt

      by the whole community.

      When last seen, she was sitting at the gate, watching

      the butcher's cart, and it is feared that some villain,

      tempted by her charms, basely stole her. Weeks have passed,

      but no trace of her has been discovered, and we relinquish

      all hope, tie a black ribbon to her basket, set aside her

      dish, and weep for her as one lost to us forever.

      A sympathizing friend sends the following gem:

      A LAMENT

      (FOR S. B. PAT PAW)

      We mourn the loss of our little pet,

      And sigh o'er her hapless fate,

      For never more by the fire she'll sit,

      Nor play by the old green gate.

      The little grave where her infant sleeps

      Is 'neath the chestnut tree.

      But o'er her grave we may not weep,

      We know not where it may be.

      Her empty bed, her idle ball,

      Will never see her more;

      No gentle tap, no loving purr

      Is heard at the parlor door.

      Another cat comes after her mice,

      A cat with a dirty face,

      But she does not hunt as our darling did,

      Nor play with her airy grace.

      Her stealthy paws tread the very hall

      Where Snowball used to play,

      But she only spits at the dogs our pet

      So gallantly drove away.

      She is useful and mild, and does her best,

      But she is not fair to see,

      And we cannot give her your place dear,

      Nor worship her as we worship thee.

      MISS ORANTHY BLUGGAGE, the accomplished

      strong-minded lecturer, will deliver her

      famous lecture on "WOMAN AND HER POSITION"

      at Pickwick Hall, next Saturday Evening,

      after the usual performances.

      A WEEKLY MEETING will be held at Kitchen

      Place, to teach young ladies how to cook.

      Hannah Brown will preside, and all are

      invited to attend.

      The DUSTPAN SOCIETY will meet on Wednesday

      next, and parade in the upper story of the

      Club House. All members to appear in uniform

      and shoulder their brooms at nine precisely.

      Mrs. BETH BOUNCER will open her new

      assortment of Doll's Millinery next week.

      The latest Paris fashions have arrived,

      and orders are respectfully solicited.

      A NEW PLAY will appear at the Barnville

      Theatre, in the course of a few weeks, which

      will surpass anything ever seen on the American stage.

      "The Greek Slave, or Constantine the Avenger," is the name

      of this thrilling drama!!!

      If S.P. didn't use so much soap on his hands,

      he wouldn't always be late at breakfast. A.S.

      is requested not to whistle in the street. T.T.

      please don't forget Amy's napkin. N.W. must

      not fret because his dress has not nine tucks.

      WEEKLY REPORT

      Meg—Good.

      Jo—Bad.

      Beth—Very Good.

      Amy—Middling.