whare else.

Old man Townsin's Fort was to maik Sassyperiller. "Goy to the
world! anuther life saived!" (Cotashun from Townsin's
advertisemunt.)

Cyrus Field's Fort is to lay a sub-machine tellegraf under the
boundin billers of the Oshun, and then hev it Bust.

Spaldin's Fort is to maik Prepared Gloo, which mends everything.
Wonder ef it will mend a sinner's wickid waze? (Impromptoo
goak.)

Zoary's Fort is to be a femaile circus feller.

My Fort is the grate moral show bizniss & ritin choice famerly
literatoor for the noospapers. That's what's the matter with ME.

&c., &c., &c. So I mite go on to a indefnit extent.

Twict I've endeverd to do things which thay wasn't my Fort. The
fust time was when I undertuk to lick a owdashus cuss who cut a
hole in my tent & krawld threw. Sez I, "my jentle Sir go out or
I shall fall onto you putty hevy." Sez he, "Wade in, Old wax
figgers," whareupon I went for him, but he cawt me powerful on
the hed & knockt me threw the tent into a cow pastur. He pursood
the attack & flung me into a mud puddle. As I aroze & rung out
my drencht garmints I koncluded fitin wasn't my Fort. Ile now
rize the kurtin upon Seen 2nd: It is rarely seldum that I seek
consolation in the Flowin Bole. But in a sertin town in Injianny