It is pleasant 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, 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 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 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 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