sences requires experiunse, like any other bizniss.


1.18. AN HONEST LIVING.

I was on my way from the mines to San Francisco, with a light
puss and a hevy hart. You'd scacely hav recognized my fair
form, so kiverd was I with dust. Bimeby I met Old Poodles, the
all-firdist gambler in the country. He was afoot and in his
shirt-sleeves, and was in a wuss larther nor any race hoss I
ever saw. ("All-fired," enormous, excessive, a low Americanism,
not improbably a puritanical corruption of "hell-fired,"
designed to have the virtue of an oath without offending polite
ears.)

"Whither goist thow, sweet nimp?" sez I, in a play-actin tone.

"To the mines, Sir," he unto me did say, "to the mines, TO EARN
AN HONEST LIVIN."

Thinks I that air aint very cool, I guess, and druv on.


1.19. THE PRESS.

I want the editers to cum to my Show free as the flours of May,
but I don't want um to ride a free hoss to deth. Thare is
times when Patience seizes to be virtoous. I had "in my mind's
eye, Hurrashio" (cotashun from Hamlick) sum editers in a sertin
town which shall be nameless, who air Both sneakin and ornery.