my BETSY, who came and opened the door pretty suddent. She
seized me by the few lonely hairs that still linger sadly upon
my bare-footed hed, and dragged me out of the closet,
incidentally obsarving that she didn't exactly see why she
should be compelled, at her advanced stage of life, to open a
assylum for sooperanooated idiots.

My wife is one of the best wimin on this continent, altho' she
isn't always gentle as a lamb, with mint sauce. No, not
always.

But to return to the war meetin'. It was largely attended.
The Editor of the "Bugle" arose and got up and said the fact
could no longer be disguised that we were involved in a war.
"Human gore," said he, "is flowin'. All able-bodied men
should seize a musket and march to the tented field. I repeat
it sir, to the tented field."

A voice--"Why don't you go yourself, you old blowhard?"

"I am identified, young man, with a Arkymedian leaver which
moves the world," said the Editor, wiping his auburn brow with
his left coat-tail; "I allude, young man, to the press:
Terms, two dollars a year, invariably in advance. Job
printing executed with neatness and dispatch!" And with this
brilliant bust of elekance the Editor introduced Mr. J. Brutus
Hinkins, who is suffering from an attack of College in a
naberin' place. Mr. Hinkins said Washington was not safe.
Who can save our national capeetle?