THE WAITERS.

I AM what is called a boating-man, that is, I saunter down to the club-house every afternoon, select a shell, and try to select an oar - oarful task - from the buttonless, broken-bladed specimens now on exhibition; then I venture out for an hour's pull, returning in time to take a shower-bath, to dress, and to arrive at Memorial Hall about six o'clock. By that time the rare beef has all disappeared, and the waiters are generally hidden behind that mysterious screen where there are so many "evidences of things known, but unseen."

Last Wednesday I entered the dining-hall with a firm step and a heavy appetite. I had been invigorated by a long pull at the oar and a short one at the bar. Smiling with satisfaction, I passed by tables laden with oranges and roast turkey. I determined to order turkey. I like it.

Now I have the fortune, or rather misfortune, to be at a table each side of which is presided over by a different deity of the dining-hall. I sat meekly down, and looked around for my Henry; but my Henry was nowhere to be seen. A hungry man cannot wait. I was becoming anxious, when suddenly my Henry came rushing from behind the screen.

"Bring me some turkey, Henry."

"I ain't a-waitin' on you to-day."

"Who is?"

"John."

After some time I discovered that John was the highly colored gentleman of the other side.

"Bring me some turkey, John."

"I ain't a-waitin' on you to-day.?"

"For Heaven's sake, who is then?"

"Henry."

A warm debate between the two waiters followed, while the hungry audience looked on with prayers for its speedy termination. The question was finally decided against the highly colored John, and the assembly adjourned; John disheartened, and Henry smiling in triumph.

Beaming with good-humor, I said, "I'll take some turkey now."

"Turkey 's all out."

"Great Heavens! what have you got?"

"Roast beef, roast turkey, roast pork, - all out but pork."

If there is any one thing that I detest more than another, it is pork.

"What have you got for dessert?"

"Ice-cream."

"Bring it."

The dessert was brought; and I, a boating-man, made a dinner of a plate of ice-cream and some graham bread. I was thankful even for that, and partook of the feast in silence and meditation. I arose from the table, convinced that the great evil of the Dining Association lies not so much in the fare and in the preparation of it, as in the waiters. The two with whom I have been made acquainted, and all whom I have noticed, are in a chronic state of ill-humor, and sadly need to

"Learn to labor and to wait!"

X. X.