MR.

PARMALEE TURNS UP TRUMPS.
Mr.G.W.Parmalee went down to Dobbsville, Maine, and reposed again in the bosom of his family.

He went to work on the paternal acres for awhile, gave that up in disgust, set up once more a picture-gallery, and took the portraits of the ladies and gentlemen of Dobbsville at fifty cents a head.
Mr.Parmalee was fast becoming a misanthrope.

His speculation had failed, his love was lost; nothing lay before him but a long and dreary existence spent in immortalizing in tin-types the belles and beaus of Dobbsville.
Sometimes a fit of penitence overtook him when his thoughts reverted to the desolate young creature, worse than widowed, dragging out life in New York.
"I'd ought to tell her," Mr.Parmalee thought.

"It ain't right to let her keep on thinking that her husband murdered her.