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Show Bjornsterne Bjornson has written very pleasantly to a [unreadable] paper about _____. Herbert Spencer is a victim to the dyspepsia. We always did think that man needed the tuner. Senator Sharon will have one consolation; if he is ever defeated, he will be in the Senate just as much and as often as ever he was. The Kansas City Times says Emma Abbot is "kissable." She's married, too, young man; remember that. And so are you, you rascal. A New Year poet says "Take the new band." (?) Not much, Archibald. The one we have is worth $75 without a discard. Can you straddle that? Mrs. Garfield used to teach school. And her husband, he keeps cool yet. Well for him that he can, too, in these days of elaborate cabinet carpentry. What becomes of all the "old war horses" after the campaign is over and the President is elected? Do they go back to the plough? And echo answers "neigh; they go to the trough." "What," asked the teacher, "was the greatest obstacle Washington encountered in crossing the Delaware?" And the smart bad boy thought for a minute and then made answer, "The toll man." "What are the best spectacles made of?" asked Prof. Miller. And the new boy at the foot of the class spoke up and said, "Isinglass." And then you might have heard the silence all over South Hill. A new style of wall paper is made without either figure or tint, so that it gives the walls of the room that vacant expression of subdued intellectuality that is so marked in the features of a man pianist. A proud man on West Hill always takes his black-and-tan dog when he goes to the post office, to lick the postage stamps for him. That is, you understand, the dog licks the stamps for the man. "That's a steal engraving, isn't it? Mahlstick said to his neighbor Burin, suddenly coming out and catching him going off with the artist's ax. "Oh no," Burin said, a little confused, "it's only a wood cut." Vennor says he predicted every snow storm we have had this winter. Well, so he did; we will admit that. But then they all came upon the warm days he had promised us. That's what we want him to explain. "Ladies in Alaska," says the Cincinnati Enquirer, with exceeding scorn, "get drunk." Well, that is their disgrace, to be sure, but then why not tell it all? They also get sober, and that is greatly to their credit. There is a woman on West Hill whose husband is so given to flirting, that when they go to concerts, theater or parties, she puts blinders on him. Then she can see him every time he turns his head to look at a girl. Young Mr. Ecru has a very sallow complexion. He says he isn't proud and he doesn't care at all about his looks, but what bothers him is, that his complexion is naturally so yellow that he can't tell when he is bilious. Mr. Henry Irving is said to be the most skilful fencer on the English stage. That may be, but an old-time Illinois farmer can fence him for the championship and lay a rail fence clear around him, stake and ridered, and each man haul his own rails, between sun and sun. The Bible is said to be the Emperor [unreadable] William's favorite book. Then maybe he reads so much about the Jews he doesn't want to see any of them. Perhaps he would be more lenient if he had a Bible with Dutch names for all the Hebrews, so as to bring in all the Koenigs and the Schwabs and the Eisenhauers. If we had only been able to close a lecture engagement at Mentor, while in Ohio last week, all this Cabinet gossip would be definitely settled and silenced. Or at least, anyhow, that quiet little consulate we spoke about would be, which is a matter of far greater importance than the construction of a cabinet, although the American people do not seem to realize it. Dr. Willits, of Philadelphia, is one of the most popular men on the rostrum, and it is said that he contemplates giving up the work of the ministry entirely, and devoting himself to the lecture field. Now, if the doctor hasn't found anybody to take his place in the pulpit, we have just been thinking a little about leaving the platform, and we might be induced - eh? Oh! It is? Oh, well, all right then. We'll just keep on lecturing the rest of the season. "George Peabody," says a New York paper, "was never married, and for a singular reason." Then it goes on at some length to give the reason, because the girl married another man. And we have read that article a dozen times and have pondered over it deeply, and hanged it we can see yet why that should be called "a singular reason." We think it was a very sensible matter-of-fact reason. |