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twg_000000042700 | to reflect that men of his stamp are never born again. They are born once too much as it is. He went to the Agricultural Fair last Fall. There was a big potato there. After gazing spell-bound upon it for one hour, he rushed home and set the following in type: "What is the difference between the Rev. ADAM CLARK, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042701 | and the big potato at the fair? One is a Commentator, and the other is an _Un_common 'tater." This conundrum was so exquisitely horrible, that his friends hoped he'd have judgment enough to hang himself, but such things die hard. Colonel W-----'s Goat. Colonel W-----, is a great man in these parts Like most village nabobs, he's a corpulent gentleman | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042702 | with a great show of dignity, and in a white vest and gold-headed cane, looks eminently respectable. He owns a hot-house, keeps a big dog that is very savage, and his wife wears a silk dress at least three times a week,--either of which will establish a man's reputation in a country town. Everything belonging to the Colonel is held | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042703 | in the utmost awe by the villagers. The paper speaks of him as "our esteemed and talented townsman, Col. W.," and alludes to his "beautiful and accomplished wife," who, by the way, was formerly waiter in an oyster saloon, and won the Colonel's affection by the artless manner in which she would shout: "Two stews, plenty o' butter." Like others | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042704 | of his stamp, the Colonel amounts to something just where he is, but take him anywhere else, he'd be a first-class, eighteen carat fraud. Awhile ago, the Colonel bought a goat for his little boy to drive in harness, and the animal often grazed at the foot of a cliff, near the house. One day, a man wandering over this | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042705 | cliff fell and was instantly killed, evidently having come in contact with the goat, for the animal's neck was broken. But what amused me was the way the aforesaid editor spoke of the affair. He wrote half a column on the "sad death of Col. W's. goat," but not a word of the unfortunate dead man, till he wound up | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042706 | as follows: "We omitted to state that a dead man was picked up near the unfortunate goat. It is supposed that this person, in wandering over the cliff, lost his foothold and fell, striking the doomed animal in his progress. Thus, through the carelessness of this obscure individual, was Col. W's. poor little goat hurled into eternity." The Superintendent asked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042707 | me last Sunday to take charge of a class. "You'll find 'em rather a bad lot" said he. "They all went fishing last Sunday but little JOHNNY RAND. _He_ is really a good boy, and I hope his example may yet redeem the others. I wish you'd talk to 'em a little." I told him I would. They were rather | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042708 | a hard looking set. I don't think I ever witnessed a more elegant assortment of black eyes in my life. Little JOHNNY RAND, the good boy, was in his place, and I smiled on him approvingly. As soon as the lessons were over, I said: "Boys, your Superintendent tells me you went fishing last Sunday. All but little JOHNNY, here." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042709 | "You didn't go, did you, JOHNNY?" I said. "No, sir." "That was right. Though this boy is the youngest among you," I continued, "you will now learn from his lips words of good counsel, which I hope you will profit by." I lifted him up on the seat beside me, and smoothed his auburn ringlets. "Now, JOHNNY, I want you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042710 | to tell your teacher, and these wicked boys, why you didn't go fishing with them last Sunday. Speak up loud, now. It was because it was very wicked, and you had rather come to the Sunday School. Wasn't it?" "No, sir, it was 'cos I couldn't find no worms for bait." Somehow or other these good boys always turn out | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042711 | humbugs. It is hardly good taste to introduce anything of a pathetic nature in an article intended to be humorous, but the following displays such infinite depth of tenderness, fortified by strength of mind, that I cannot forbear. Although it occurred when I was quite young, it is firmly impressed on my memory: The autumn winds sighed drearily through the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042712 | leafless trees, as the solemn procession passed slowly into the quiet church-yard, and paused before the open grave, where all that was mortal of LUCY C----- was to be laid away forever, and when the white-haired old pastor, with trembling voice, recounted her last moments, sobs broke out afresh, for she was beloved by all. The bereaved husband stood a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042713 | little apart, and, though no tear escaped him, yet we all instinctively felt that his heart was wrung with agony, and his burden greater than he could bear. With folded arms, and eyes bent upon the coffin, he seemed buried in a deep and painful reverie. None dared intrude upon a grief so sacred. At last, turning to his brother, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042714 | and pointing to the coffin, he said: "JOHN, don't you call that rather a neat looking box for four dollars?" * * * * * Financial. Our French editor thinks that the Imperial revenues ought to be doubled at once, on the ground of the too evident Income-pittance of the Emperor. * * * * * [Illustration: AN EXCURSION. _Fanny_. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042715 | "ISN'T IT TOO BAD, FRANK; WE SHALL GET BACK TO TOWN LONG BEFORE DARK." (_Fact is, Fanny has a thick shawl, and it would be so nice to share it with Frank._)] * * * * * OUR PORTFOLIO. DEAR PUNCHINELLO: I see you have been at the White Sulphur Springs; but you forgot to tell us what we were | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042716 | all dying to hear about the waters. Several friends had suggested that I should go to some watering place where I could get nothing else but water to drink, or to some spring where I couldn't get "sprung." I tried the White Sulphur, and while there learned some facts that may be useful to others who seek them for a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042717 | similar purpose. These springs differ from the European springs in that they were not discovered by the Romans. The Latin conquerors never roamed so far, and it was perhaps a good thing for them that they didn't, Sulphur water could not have agreed with Romans any more than it agrees with Yankees who take whiskey with it. I was asked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042718 | if I would like to analyse the water, (as everything here is done by analysis under the eye of the resident physician.) _My_ analysis was done entirely under the nose. I raised a glass of the enchanted fluid to my lips: but my nose said very positively, "Don't do it," and I didn't. I told my conductor I had analyzed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042719 | it, and he seemed not a little astonished at the rapidity and simplicity of the method. He asked me if I would be kind enough to write out a statement of the result after the manner of Dr. HAYES, Prof. ROGERS, and others who have examined these waters and testified that they would cure everything but hydrophobia. I told him | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042720 | I would, and retiring to my room, wrote as follows: "Sulphur water contains mineral properties of a sulphuric character, owing to the fact that the water runs over beds of sulphur. Nobody has ever seen these beds, but they are supposed to constitute the cooler portions of those dominions corresponding to the Christian location of Purgatory. Sinners, preliminary to being | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042721 | plunged into the fiery furnace, are laid out on these beds and wrapped in damp sheets by chambermaids regularly attached to the establishment. This is meant to increase the torture of their subsequent sufferings, and there can be no doubt that it succeeds. Herein we have also an explanation of the reason of these waters coming to the surface of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042722 | the earth--it is to give patients and other _miserables_ who drink them a foretaste of future horrors. Passing from this branch of the subject to the analysis proper, I find that fifty thousand grains of sulphur water divided, into one hundred parts, contains, Bilge water, - - - - - - - - - - . Sulphate of Bilgerius, - | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042723 | - - - - . Chloride of Bilgeria, - - - - - - . Carbonate de Bilgique, - - - - - - . Silica Bilgica, - - - - - - - - - . Hydro-sulp-Bil, - - - - - - - - - . Twenty thousand grains of the water would contain less of the above | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042724 | element than fifty thousand grains, which ought to be mentioned as another one of the remarkable peculiarities of this most remarkable fluid." I sent the foregoing scientific deductions to the "Resident Physician," and the bearer told me afterwards that the venerable Esculapian only observed,--"Well, the writer of that must have been a most egregious ass. There is no such thing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042725 | as 'Sulphate of Bilgerius,' or 'Silica Bilgica,' or anything like them", and then the old fellow chuckled to himself over my supposed ignorance. I was willing he should. I'm accustomed to being called an ass, and always like to be recognized by my kindred. Chemically thine, SULPHURO. * * * * * COOL, IF NOT COMFORTABLE. Apropos of complications arising | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042726 | out of the late Navy Appropriation Law, a daily paper states as follows: "The decision of the Attorney General now forces him to turn the balance into the Treasury, and the sailors have to go unclothed." How this decision will affect recruiting for our navy yet remains to be seen, though it is probable that but few civilized men can | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042727 | be found to join a service in which nudity is obligatory. In such torrid weather as we are having, JACK ashore with nothing on, except, perhaps, a Panama hat, will be a novel and refreshing object--but how about the police? * * * * * [Illustration: LAW VERSUS LAWLESSNESS. THE VIRTUOUS ALLIES OF THE NEW YORK "SUN" ENGAGED IN THEIR | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042728 | CONGENIAL OCCUPATION OF THROWING DIRT.] * * * * * HIRAM GREEN ON BASE BALL. A Match Game between Centenarians.--"Roomatix" vs. "Bloostockin's." The veterans of the war of of this place, organized a base ball club. It was called the "Roomatix base ball club." A challinge was sent to the "Bloo stockin' base ball club," an old man's club in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042729 | an adjoinin' town. They met last week to play a match game. It required rather more macheenery than is usually allowed in this grate nashunal game of chance. For instance: The pitchers haden't very good eye-site, and were just as liable to pitch a ball to "2nd base," as to "Home base." To make a sure thing of it, a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042730 | big long tin tube was made, on the principle of the Noomatic tunnel under Broadway, New York. A large thing, like a molasses funnel, was made, onto the end facin' the pitcher. The old man ceased the ball and pitched it into the brod openin'. The raceway was slantin' downwards, towords the "_Homebase._" The batter stood at his post, with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042731 | an ear trumpet at his ear, and a wash-bord in his two hands holdin' onto the handles. When he heard the ball come rollin' down the tin, he would "muff" it with his wash-bord. Then the excitement would begin. The "striker" would start off and go feelin' about the "field" for the base, while the "outs" got down onto their | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042732 | bands and knees and went huntin' for the ball. Sometimes a "fielder," whose sense of feelin' wasen't very acute, got hold of a cobble stun, then he would waddle, and grope his way about, to find the base. But I tell you it was soothin' fun for the old men. After lookin' minuts for a ball, then findin' the base | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042733 | before the batter did, who just as like as not had strayed out into another lot, it made the old fellers laff. Sometimes two players would run into each other and go tumblin' over together. Then the "Umpire" would go and get them onto their pins agin, and give 'em a fresh start. On each side of this interestin' match | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042734 | game, was two old men who went on crutches. It was agreed, as these men coulden't run the bases, that a man be blindfolded and wheel these aged cripples about the bases in a wheel-barrer. The minnit these old chaps would "strike," they dropped their crutches, and the umpire would dump them into the _vehicle,_ and away went mister striker. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042735 | A player was bein' wheeled this way once, and the "outs" was down onto their marrow-bones tryin' to find the ball, when a splash! was heard. The wheel-barrer man had run his cart into a goose pond, and made a scatterin' among the geese. "Fowl!" cride the Umpire. The wheel-barrer man drew his lode ashore. "Out!" hollers the Umpire. And | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042736 | another victim went to the wash-bord. Bets were offered to one, that "The Roomatixs" would _pass_ more balls--on their hands and knees--than the "Bloostockin's." These bets were freely taken--by obligin' stake-holders. A friend of the "Bloostockin's" jumped upon a pile of stuns and said: " to 'the Roomatix' have got more _blinds_ than the 'Bloostockin's.'" No takers--I guess he would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042737 | have won his bet, for just at this juncture a "Roomatix" was at the bat. The Umpire moved his head. The old man thought it was the ball, and he "muffed" the "Umpire's" head with his wash-bord. The Umpire turned suddenly and wanted to know: "Who was firin' spit balls at his back hair?" One "innins," the ball was rolled | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042738 | through, it struck the batter in the rite eye. "Out on rite eye," cride the Umpire, and the batter was minus an eye. Next man to the bat. His eyes were gummy. He coulden't see the ball. He heard the ball rollin'. He raised his wash-board. His strength gave way. Down came the bat, and the handle of the wash-bord | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042739 | entered his eye. "Out! on the left eye," screams the Umpire. Old man No. went to the wash-bord. The ball came tearin' along. It was a little too swift for the old man.--Rather too much "English" into it. It "Kissed" and made a "scratch," strikin' the "Cushion" between the old man's eyes. This gave him the "cue." Tryin' to make | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042740 | a "draw" with the wash bord, so as to "Uker" the ball, and "checkmate" the other club, he was "distansed," and his spectacles went flyin', smashin' the glass and shuttin' off his eyesite. "Out! agin," bellers the Umpire. This was the first _Blind_ innin's for the "Roomatix." The "Bloostockin's" bein' told how this innin's stood, by addressin' them through their | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042741 | ear-trumpets, made a faint effort to holler "Whooray!" And, I am grieved to say it, one by-stander, who diden't understand the grate nashunal game, wanted to know: "What in thunder them old dry bones was cryin' about" It was a crooel remark, altho' the old men, not bein' used to hollerin' much, and not havin' any teeth, did make rather | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042742 | queer work tryin' to holler. Ime sorry to say, the game wasen't finished. Refreshments were served at the end of this innin's, consistin' of Slippery Elm tea and water gruel. The old men eat harty. This made them sleepy, and the consequence was, that the minnit they was led out on the grass, "Sleep, barmy sleep," got the best of | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042743 | 'em, and they laid down and slept like infants. Both nines were then loaded onto stone botes and drawn off of the field. The friends of both sides _drew_ their stake money, and the Umpire, _drawin'_ a long breath, declared the match a _draw_ game. Basely Ewers, HIRAM GREEN, Esq., _Lait Gustise of the Peece._ * * * * * | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042744 | Bad Eggs. The following suggestive item appears in an evening paper: "Illinois boasts of chickens hatched by the sun." Well, New York can beat Illinois at that game. The chickens hatched by the _Sun_, here, are far too numerous for counting, and they are curses of the kind that will assuredly "come home to roost." * * * * * | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042745 | Disagreeable, but True. The restoration of the Bourbon dynasty is reckoned possible in France. In this country the Bourbon die-nasty has never been played out. It is a malignant disease, sometimes known as _delirium tremens._ * * * * * Musical. Mlle. Silly, the daily papers inform us, has been engaged for the Grand Opera House in _opera bouffe_, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042746 | will make her _dbut_ about the middle of September. The lady should not be confounded with any of our New York "girls of the period" who bear, (or ought to bear,) her name. * * * * * Caution to Readers. Seven steady business men of this city, four solid capitalists of Boston, eighteen Frenchmen residents of the United States, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042747 | but doing business nowhere, and a German butcher in the Bowery, have just been added to sundry lunatic asylums, their intellects having become hopelessly deranged from reading the conflicting telegrams about the war in Europe. * * * * * A Parallel. In one of the reports of the Coroner's investigation of the Twenty-third street murder, it was mentioned that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042748 | "Several ladies and some young children occupied chairs within the railing." When REAL was hanged, it was noticeable that a great number of women appeared in the morbid crowd that surrounded the Tombs, many of them with small children in their arms. Fifth Avenue and Five Points! Six of one and half-a-dozen of the other! Blood _will_ tell! * * | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042749 | * * * [Illustration: THE HAZARD OF THE HORSE-CARS. THIS IS STUBBS, (_an incorrigible old bachelor_,) WHO TAKES AN OPEN CAB, FOR GREENWOOD, AND IS COMPELLED TO DO THE WHOLE DISTANCE SO. Illustration: AND THIS IS THE WAY IN WHICH DOBBS, WHO WOULD HAVE BEEN DELIGHTED WITH STUBB'S LUCK, IS MADE TO SUFFER MARTYRDOM ON _his_ LITTLE EXCURSION] * * | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042750 | * * * THE POEMS OF THE CRADLE. CANTO V. "Let's go to bed," says Sleepy Head, "Tarry awhile," says Slow; "Put on the pot," says Greedy Gut, "We'll sup before we go." These lines the observant student of nursery literature will perceive are satirical. Was there ever a poet who was not satirical? How could he be a genius | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042751 | and not be able to point out the folly he sees around him and comment upon it. In this case, the poor poet,--who lived in a roseate cloud-land of his own, not desiring such mundane things as sleep and food, was undoubtedly troubled and plagued to death by having brothers and sisters who were of the earth, earthy; and who | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042752 | never neglected on opportunity to laugh at his poems; to squirt water on him when in the heavenly mood, his eyes in frenzy rolling; to put spiders down his back; to stick pins in his elbows when writing; or upset his inkstand. Fine natures always have a deal to bear, in this world, from the coarse, unfeeling natures that cannot | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042753 | appreciate their delicacy; and this one had more than his share. Many a time has he been goaded to frenzy by the cruel sneers and jokes of those who should have been proud of his talents; and rushed with wild-eyed eagerness down to the gentle frog pond, intending there to bury his sorrows beneath its glassy surface. He saw in | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042754 | imagination the grief-stricken faces of those cruel ones as they gazed upon his cold corpus, with his damp locks clinging to his noble brow, the green slimy weeds clasped in his pale hands, and the mud oozing from his pockets and the legs of his pants; and he gloried in the remorse and anguish they would feel when they knew | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042755 | that the Poet of the family was gone forever. All this he pictured as he stood on the bank, and, while thinking, the desire to plunge in grew smaller by degrees and beautifully less, till at last it vanished entirely, and he concluded he had better go home, finish his book first and drown himself afterwards, if necessary. It would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042756 | make much more stir in the world, and his name and works might live forever. A happy thought strikes him as he slowly meanders homeward. He would have revenge. He would punish these wretches by handing down--to posterity their peculiarities. He would put it in verse and have it printed in his book, and then they'd see that even the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042757 | gentle worm could turn and sting. Ah! blessed thought. He flies to his garret bedroom, seizes his goose-quill and paper, and sits down. What shall he write about? He nibbles the feather end of his pen, plunges the point into the ink, looks at it intently to see if he has hooked up an idea, sees none, and falls to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042758 | nibbling again. Ah! now he has it. There is TOM, the dunderhead, who is always sleepy and he will put that down about him. Squaring his shoulders, he writes: "Let's go to bed," says Sleepy Head. Gleefully he rubs his hands. Won't that cut TOM. Ah! Ha! I guess TOM won't say much more about staring at the moon. Now | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042759 | for DICK, the old stupid. What shall he say about him? The end of the pen diminishes slowly but surely, and then he writes: "Tarry awhile," says Slow. That will answer for DICK. Now let him give HARRY something scorching, withering, and cutting--so that he'll never open his mouth again unless it is to put something in it. Oh, that | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042760 | is it, he is always hungry--rub him on that. He thinks intently. Determination shows in every line of his face; the pen is almost gone only an inch remains, and then the Poet masters his subject. He has got the last two lines. "Put on the pot," says Greedy Gut, "We'll sup before we go." He throws down the stump | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042761 | of the pen and bounces up. His object in life is accomplished; he is master of the situation, now, and holds the trump card. See the quiet smile' and knowing look as he folds the paper up, and thrusts it into his pocket. He is going down-stairs to read it to the family. Now is the time for sweet revenge | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042762 | and for the overthrow of those Philistines, his brothers. He descends slowly, like an avenging angel, enters the room, and--gentle reader, imagine the rest. * * * * * Masculine or Feminine? It now seems that the new and terrible fagot-gun used in the French army is to be spoken of in the feminine gender--_mitrailleuse_ instead of _mitrailleur_, as hitherto | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042763 | spelt by correspondents. That a virago is sometimes termed a "spit-fire" we all know, but that is hardly reason enough to excuse the French for such a lapse of gallantry as calling a thunderous and fatal implement of war by a soft feminine name. Let them stick to _mitrailleur_. Yet we would not rashly throw the other word away. _Mitrailleuse_ | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042764 | would be a capital acquisition to the English language, and very handy for any man having a vixen of a wife, with no nice pet name convenient with which to conciliate her. * * * * * A Ridiculous Rub-a-dub. A quiet gentleman who occupies lodgings immediately opposite one of the city armories, writes to us asking whether the drum | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042765 | corps that practice there two or three evenings in the week should not be supplied with noiseless drums, as PUNCHINELLO has suggested regarding the street organs. PUNCHINELLO thinks the suggestion a good one. He would like to see the beating of drums after night-fall abolished altogether In fact, it is the only kind of Dead Beat to which he would | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042766 | lend his countenance. * * * * * A Clear Case. Some wiseacre has been trying to demonstrate, through the public press, that POE did not write "The Raven." The man must be a Raven lunatic. * * * * * THE BALLARD OF THE GOOD LITTLE BOY, AGED TEN, AND HIS BAD BROTHER. An obituary notice of a boy, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042767 | years old, in _The Wilmington Commercial_, contains the following statement: "In his dying moments he charged his brother WILLIAM not to dance, or sing any more songs. Funeral services preached by the Rev WM. R. TUBB." This pious Boy lay on his bed, A dying very fast; 'Most every word this good Boy said, They thought 'twould be his last. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042768 | The Reverend Mr. TUBB was there, A praying very slow; It was a solemn, sad affair; Twas plain the Boy must go. His brother WILLIAM:, he come o'er, To which this good Boy cried, "Oh, BILL, don't sing nor dance no more!" And following which he died. Now WILLIAM, he had learnt a song That pleased him very much: He | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042769 | didn't know that it was wrong To carol any such. He said he couldn't leave it go, Not if he was to die; And that same song, as all should know, Was called by him, "Shoo Fly." He was informed by Mr. TUBBS That he would fall down dead, Or else get killed by stones or clubs, With that thing | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042770 | in his head. But, such is life! Poor WILLIAM went And sung his Shoo Fly o'er: Not knowing that he would be sent Where Shoo Flies are no more, He was a singing, one wet day, And likewise dancing too, When lightning took his sole away-- Let this warn me and you! * * * * * HINTS FOR THE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042771 | CENSUS. DEAR PUNCHINELLO: I have always been in favor of the Census, the system is questionable, perhaps, though that depends on how you like it. I have found that it answers very well where the parties are highly intelligent-like myself, for example. I drew up the following proclamation to read to the U.S. official in my district: _Q._ What is | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042772 | your name? _A_ SARSFIELD YOUNG. What is yours? _Q._ What is your age? _A._ A., being asked how old he was, replied: If I live as long again, and half as long again, and two years and a half,--how old shall I be? _Q._ Where is your residence? _A._ I live at home with the family, have often thought that, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042773 | amid pleasures and palaces, there is no place like home, unless it be a boarding house with hot and cold water. _Q._ What is your occupation? _A._ Taxpayer. This takes my whole time _Q._ Where were you born? _A._ Having made no minute of it at the time, it has passed out of my memory. _Q._ What kind of a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042774 | house do you live in? _A._ A mortgaged house, painted flesh color, a front exposure, brick windows and a brass lightning rod. A good deal of back yard, (and back rent,) to it. _Q._ At what age did your grandfather die? _A._ If he died last night, (I saw him yesterday at a horse race,) he was turning ninety-eight, perhaps | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042775 | he got tipped over in the turn. _Q._ Do you hold any official position: if so, what? _A._ Inspector of fish,--every Friday. _Q._ Are you insured? A. I am agent for half a dozen companies. So are all my neighbors. My life is insured against fire for several thousands. _Q._ Are you troubled with chilblains? _A._ Quitely. I soak my | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042776 | feet in oil of vitriol. _Q._ Were you in the war? _A._ I have the scar on my arm which I got in the service. I was vaccinated severely, while clerk to a substitute broker at Troy, N. Y. _Q._ Are you a graduate of any College. _A._ Yes, of one. I forget which one. I only remember that I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042777 | was one of the most remarkable men they ever turned out. _Q._ Have you suffered from the potato rot? _A,_ Not myself. My uncle had it bad. He found that whiskey and warm water was a very good thing. I've made an independent discovery of the same fact, also. _Q._ Are you in favor of Free Trade or Protection? _A_. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042778 | I can only say that, if elected, gentlemen, I shall endeavor to do my whole duty. I am. _Q._ What do you think of deep plowing? _A._ In a scanty population, I should say it has a bad effect. I can recommend it, however, in a sandy soil, where school privileges are first-class. _Q._ Does anything else occur to you | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042779 | which it is important for the Government to know? _A._ Yes: a hay fever occurs to me regularly once a year. I have no policy to enforce against the will of the people: Still I would call the attention of the medicine-loving public to my friend Dr. EZRA CUTLER'S "Noon-day Bitters." For ringing in the ears, loss of memory, bankruptcy, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042780 | teething, and general debility, they are without a rival. No family should live more than five minutes walk from a bottle. They gild the morning of youth, cherish manhood, and comfort old age, with the name blown on the bottle in plain letters. Beware of impositions--at all respectable druggists. * * I believe in taking things easy, and I shall | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042781 | cheerfully assist the Administration, when it calls at my door on Census business. SARSFIELD YOUNG. * * * * * Facilis Descensus The daily papers frequently have articles respecting the "Hell Gate Obstructions." We do not, however, remember having seen that subject handled in the _Sun._ Perhaps it is that DANA and DYER, conscious of their deserts, do not anticipate | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042782 | any obstructions in that quarter. * * * * * [Illustration: ARISTOCRACY IN THE KITCHEN. _Lady_, (responsively.) "THAT FASHIONABLY DRESSED WOMAN WHO HAS JUST PASSED, DEAR? OH, THAT'S MY COOK, TAKING HER SUNDAY WITH THE GROCER'S YOUNG MAN. SHE NEVER ACKNOWLEDGES ME ON SUCH OCCASIONS."] * * * * * WHAT SHALL WE CALL IT? Having made up my mind | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042783 | to become a novelist, I naturally studied the productions of my predecessors, and found out, I assure you, in a very brief period of time, the little tricks of the trade. As I do not wish to have the business flooded with neophytes, I refrain from informing your readers how every man can become his own novel writer. One very | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042784 | curious thing, however, which I discovered, I will here relate. I was very much puzzled by the curious titles which novelists selected for their books, and very much annoyed by my inability to discover where they picked them up. I persevered, however, and discovered that they found them in the daily papers. In fact, I shrewdly suspect that I have | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042785 | discovered, in these veracious sheets, the very incidents which suggested the names of a number of volumes. Let me place before you the extracts, which I have culled from the papers. _"Put Yourself in his Place."_--READE. "Yesterday morning an unknown man was found hanging from the limbs of a tree in JONES' Wood. He was quite dead when discovered." _"Red | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042786 | as a Rose is She."_ "Bridget Flynn was arrested for vagrancy. When brought before the Court she was quite drunk. She had evidently been a hard drinker for years, as her face was of a brilliant carmine color." _"Man and Wife."_ COLLINS. "Married.--At Salt Lake City, on the 1st day of August, , BRIGHAM YOUNG, Esq., to Miss LETITIA BLACK, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042787 | Mrs. SUSAN BROWN and Miss JENNIE SMITH." _"What will he do with it?"_ BULWER. "It is stated by the police authorities, that the description of Mr. NATHAN'S watch has been spread so widely, that the robber will be unable to dispose of it to any jeweler or pawnbroker." _"Our Mutual Friend"_--DICKENS. "England is supplying both France and Prussia with horses." | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042788 | _"John."_--Mrs. OLIPHANT. "Mr. SAMPSON has sent to California for another cargo of Chinese shoemakers." _"Friends in Council."_--HELPS. "Mr. Drew and Mr. Fisk were closeted together for more than an hour yesterday." _"A Tale of Two Cities."_--DICKENS. "The census will show that our city has a population of at least ,."--_Chicago paper._ "St Louis has undoubtedly a population of ,."--_St. Louis | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042789 | paper._ "Chicago, ,; St. Louis, ,."--_Census returns._ _"Stern Necessity."_--F.W. ROBINSON. "It is stated that a well-known yacht failed to win the prize in the late race, because her rudder slipped out of her fastenings and was lost." * * * * * ITEMS FROM OUR RURAL REPORTERS. A German farmer, living not one hundred miles from Cincinnati, is raising trichinated | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042790 | pork for the supply of the French army. The artist who drew the Newfoundland dog (out of the water,) at Newport, R.I., has received a medal from the Royal Humane Society of England, on condition that he will not Meddle with dogs any more. Near Ashland, in Virginia, a spring has been discovered that runs chicken soup. So great was | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042791 | the commotion in culinary arrangements, when the discovery was made public, that "the dish ran after the spoon." The curious crustacean known as the "fiddler crab" is unusually numerous in the marshes of Long Island, this summer. It differs from impecunious persons inasmuch as it is a burrowing, not a borrowing, creature. It differs from ordinary fiddlers by two letters, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042792 | in that it bores the earth, but not the ear. It is an established fact that persona who sleep on mattresses stuffed with pigeon's feathers never die. Near Salem, Mass., there is now a woman nearly two hundred years old, who has been bed-ridden and confined to a pigeon-feather bed for one hundred and fifty years. One of her descendants | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042793 | a shrewd man-has discovered that the pigeon feathers are growing musty, and proposes to replace them with the plumage of geese. There is a wild man at large in the woods of Sullivan County, N.Y. He was once a fast man of New York City, and is so fast, still, that nobody can catch him. A gentleman residing in the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042794 | vicinity of Glen Cove had a Newfoundland dog that was very expert at catching lobsters. The faithful animal has been missing for some time, but a clue to its fate was yesterday obtained by its owner, who found the brass collar of the dog inside a large lobster with which he was about to construct a salad. An English nobleman | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042795 | has taken up his residence in the centre of the Dismal Swamp, Va. Blighted affections are supposed to be the cause of his trouble, as he always wears at the top buttonhole of his coat a _chignon_ made of red hair. * * * * * "That's what's the Matter." Among the lectures announced for the coming season is Mrs. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042796 | CECILIA BURLEIGH'S "Woman's right to be a Woman." We quite agree with Mrs. BURLEIGH'S remark. Woman _is_ right to be a woman, but the matter just now is that woman wants to be a man. * * * * * Couplet from a Shaker Song. O! Mr. President, you'll have to keep on pegging At this English Mission, which seems | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042797 | to go a-begging. Hi! yi! yi! etc. +--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | Extraordinary Bargains. | | | | A. T. Stewart & Co. | | | | Respectfully call the attention of their Customers and | | Strangers to their attractive Stock | | | | OF | | | | SUMMER AND FALL | | | | DRESS SILKS, | | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042798 | | | | At popular prices. | | | | Striped, Checked and Chine | | | | SILKS, | | | | In great variety, $ to $ per yard; | | value $. to $ | | | | PLAIN FOULARD, | | | | $., value $ per yard. | | inch Black and White | | | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000042799 | Striped $.; value $.. | | | | STRIPED SATINS, | | | | $.; value $. | | | | Plain and Striped Japanese, | | | | 75c. and $ per yard. | | | | Rich White and Colored Dress Satins, | | | | Extra Quality. | | | | A CHOICE LINE OF | | | 60 | gutenberg |
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