"Betsy," said I, with a stern air, "Betsy, you're too old to think
about such frivolities as back hair."

"Too old? TOO OLD?" she screamed, "too old, you bald-heded idiot!
You ain't got hair enuff onto YOUR hed to make a decent wig for a
single-brested grasshopper!"

The Rebook was severe, but merited. Hens4th I shall let my wife's
back hair alone. You heard me!

My little dawter is growin quite rapid, and begins to scrootinize
clothin, with young men inside of it, puthy clost. I obsarve, too,
that she twists pieces of paper round her hair at nights, and won't
let me put my arms round her any more for fair I'll muss her. "Your
mother wasn't 'fraid I'd muss HER when she was your age, my child,"
sed I one day, with a sly twinkle into my dark bay eye.

"No," replied my little dawter, "she probly liked it."

You ain't going to fool female Young America much. You may gamble
on THAT.

But all this, which happened in Baldinsville a week ago, hain't
nothin to do with Washington, from whither I now write you, hopin
the iterms I hereby sends will be exceptable to the Gin-Cocktail of
America--I mean the "Punch" thereof. [A mild wittikism.--A.W.]

Washington, D.C., is the Capital of "our once happy country"--if I
may be allowed to koin a frase! The D.C. stands for Desprit Cusses,
a numerosity which abounds here, the most of whom persess a Romantic