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Show Hawk-Eyetems A "Young Naturalist" writes up to lear "how he can catch a live wasp for scientific purposes, without injuring it?" Right by the tail, son; right by the lip end of the tail. Squeeze hard, the wasp won't mind it a particle, and if it seem to be injured any that you can see, send us the bill and we'll pay for a new wasp. "Give me the hand that will never deceive me," sings the poet. And the "autograph" man of the Lowell Citizen says "he wants the cards stocked so as to bring the four aces into his fist." Thus it is that the warm aspirations of a sensitive and roaring genius are nipped in the bud by the icy chill of scholarly criticism. "Why can't I play on Sunday?" demanded the boy, "Because it's wicked," replied the father. "Well, then, can't I go with you and Uncle Dan to the beer garden?" Just then father was called into the house in a feminine tone of language, and the neighbors afterwards noticed that Uncle Dan kind of seemed to go off to the beer garden alone, like. Singular, but you can't hire a woman to patronize a lady dentist. The trouble seems to be that the dentist allows her eyes to roam all over the customer's dress, takes in the color, material, trimming, style, and estimates the cost while she idly wanders all around in the sufferer's mouth with a probe, and takes it at random into any cavity it happens to touch. "Brace up, old man, brace up. And hit harder next time!" Now, there is nothing particularly irritating in the language itself; the trouble was that old Mr. Brown, to whom the cordial advice was addressed, had just fallen down two flights of stairs, and was sitting in the hallway, prone, or at least comparatively prone, upon the floor, with his two legs sticking out through the shattered panel of the door. If you think you would like to enjoy a dish of frog's legs, don't pause to look at the colony of live frogs in the window of the restaurant. If you do that, your lunch will be a failure. We have always accounted for our inability to really enjoy frog's legs at the table, to the fact that we prefaced the first dish with a view of the aquarium. A frog is not like fruit; there is nothing appetizing in the appearance of the raw material. The papers are making a great fuss about a man in New York who fell out of a third story window, and is getting well. The fall wasn't so much to make such a fuss about. Did you ever have a plow handle reach you one in the ribs when you were3 worrying across a field full of sassafras grubs? After you've had a few doses of that, falling out of the window will be fun for you, and a stroke of lightning will only make you think of old times. The Chinaman may not be a very desirable immigrant in large quantities, but if he isn't infinitely more desirable as a neighbor and more of a Christian than the cowardly brutes who mob his home and trample him to death, we don't want any neighbors. And we say this, and affirm it and will stick to it, even while knowing there is a possibility that we may be nominated President in 1881. When it comes to a choice between the hoodlums and the Chinese, we will stand with both feet on the broad Chinese plank. Now that the boys have got back to school and are fairly settled down to work, we may say that it is the public verdict that the Princeton students display the greatest intellectuality in their shoulders, but the comprehensive sweep of the brow of the back in the Harvard man is much admired. Yale displays indications of the most intense mental concentration in its feet, but it is believed that the West Pointers are the hardest kickers. It is quite natural that they should be. Quite natural. "Ah," said the steer to the butcher, "and is it thus we meat?" "Ay," said the butcher, "and it is not my fault that we did not meat before." And he swung his dreadful pole axe above his head, but just then the wiry Texan caught the man of blood on his agile horns and lifted him over the fence into the sheep pens. "I would not make a calf the fuss about it that you do," muttered the Texan, and addressing a brief remark in a bass voice to the attendant, who immediately crawled under the house, the wild son of the ranges skipped out over the prairies and chased a farmer a mile and a half just for the fun of the thing. |