one made up his mind to pay off an old grudge and "pitch into the Lait
Gustise."

All the old mades met together in the village milliner shop, where the
Sore-eye-siss society held meetin's once a week, and their false teeth
trembled like a rattlesnake's tail, when they read my artickle about old
mades.

It was finally resolved by this anshient lot of caliker to "stir up old
GREEN."

Headed by SARY YOUMANS, the crossest old made in the U.S., and all armed
with broom-sticks and darnin'-needles, the door of my editorial offis
was busted open, and the whole caboodle of wimmen, famishin' for my top
hair, entered.

They foamed at the mouth like a pack of dissappinted Orpheus--C--Kerrs,
as they brandished their wepins over my bald head.

"Squire GREEN," sed a maskaline lookin' specimen of time worn caliker,
holdin' a copy of the _Fish Horn_ in her bony fingers, "did you rite
that 'ere?"

"Wall," sed I, feelin' somewhat riled at the sassy crowd, "s'posen I did
or didn't, what on it?"

"We are goin' to visit the wrath of a down-trodden rase upon your
frontispiece, that's what we is, d'ye hear, old Pilgarlick?" said the
exasperated 16th Amendmenter, as she brought down her gingham umbrella
over my shoulders.