"Tarry awhile," says Slow.

That will answer for DICK. Now let him give HARRY something scorching,
withering, and cutting--so that he'll never open his mouth again unless
it is to put something in it. Oh, that is it, he is always hungry--rub
him on that. He thinks intently. Determination shows in every line of
his face; the pen is almost gone only an inch remains, and then the Poet
masters his subject. He has got the last two lines.

"Put on the pot," says Greedy Gut,
"We'll sup before we go."

He throws down the stump of the pen and bounces up. His object in life
is accomplished; he is master of the situation, now, and holds the trump
card. See the quiet smile' and knowing look as he folds the paper up,
and thrusts it into his pocket. He is going down-stairs to read it to
the family. Now is the time for sweet revenge and for the overthrow of
those Philistines, his brothers. He descends slowly, like an avenging
angel, enters the room, and--gentle reader, imagine the rest.

* * * * *

Masculine or Feminine?

It now seems that the new and terrible fagot-gun used in the French army
is to be spoken of in the feminine gender--_mitrailleuse_ instead of
_mitrailleur_, as hitherto spelt by correspondents. That a virago is
sometimes termed a "spit-fire" we all know, but that is hardly reason
enough to excuse the French for such a lapse of gallantry as calling a
thunderous and fatal implement of war by a soft feminine name. Let them