_Pompey, (sawing.)_ "HOW YOU GWINE TO VOTE, SAM?--I'SE BIN _saw_ BY DE 'PUBLICAN PARTY."
_Sambo._ "BOFE PARTIES SEE'D ME, AND SO I'M GWINE TO SPLIT."]
Why is the famous horse DEXTER like a musical conductor?
Since Colonel FISK, Jr., floored that other manager, he is known in the profession as the great floor manager.
In Westchester county a fine of $25 is hereafter to be levied upon each jackass in human form who shoots birds on Sunday. It is to be hoped that the little bills may thus be saved from holiday havoc by persons who object to incurring large ones.
[Illustration: CONSTERNATION OF THE EDITORIAL STAFF OF THE NEW YORK _SUN_, (INCLUDING THE OFFICE BOY,) ON SEEING CHIEF EDITOR PECKSNIFF DANA DECLINING TO ACCEPT A HEAVY BRIBE OFFERED HIM TO PUBLISH A MENDACIOUS PARAGRAPH ABOUT A RESPECTABLE CONTEMPORARY.]
The reprehensible haste with which various European nations terminate their wars is a source of annoyance to every one. Hardly have we acquired a decided taste for news of some transient war or other, when the conflicting parties judge that they have had enough of it, and thus an avenue of enjoyment is summarily closed.
It is as though one's natural aversion to tomatoes had gradually changed to liking, and then an untimely autumn frost had come, to anticipate the gardener and the air-tight can.
These foreigners are so different from the Americans!
During the Rebellion--a comparatively staid and respectable affair--a correspondent, after the first two years, became so expert as to anticipate battles, and knew as much about war as a general. War news and buckwheat cakes enlivened the matutinal meal. The chances pro and con gave a zest to conversations else intolerably dull. The war was an Institution.
In '66, they spirted away for six weeks and stopped. And now, after a similar splurge, they have as good as stopped once more. The correspondents just sent over by our "enterprising" newspapers, are hardly yet recovered from their sea-sickness. Just as they begin to sharpen their pencils, presto! the war is over, and the occupation of these hardy gentlemen is gone.
Can nothing be done about this? If a protest--"firm and dignified"--would really do no good, what about some _new_ excitement, which, as every one knows, we _must_ have or perish! Will no other jealous contiguous nations fall out? Must we fall out ourselves? Election is still a good way off, and, really, we don't see what's to be done. Fights are few, and suicides are falling off. The Indians are disgustingly peaceful, and even the Mormons have subsided. It is two years and over to the next Presidential election; and there is no more cholera.