woman throughout the world--to every living creature within whose
hide there pulses one drop of human blood unblended with that of
unclean breasts. Mrs. John A. Logan, Mrs. Jefferson Davis and
other magnificent types of American womanhood, HUMBLY PETITIONED
the Queen Regent of Spain in behalf of the Cuban heroine. And
these noble women, whose names are respected in the very brothels
and boozing kens of Boiler Avenue, are referred to by this foul
parody on God's masterpiece as "a party of irresponsible old
freaks." Christ! is it possible that aught born of woman--that
any animal that can learn to walk on its hinder legs--should sink
to such infamous depths of degradation! Yet this is the fellow
who was so concerned for the feelings of certain sawciety she-
males who personated French prostitutes at the Bradley-Martin
debauch, that when I criticized their brazen bid for "business"
he came near having hydrophobia. Did the Tee-Tee trogolodyte
contain within his anthropodial diaphragm a single diatom of
decency he would have applauded Mrs. Davis' womanly act, else
blocked the yawning hole in his prognathic head with a flat-car
load of compost. If Mrs. Davis is permitted to petition the King
of Kings to have mercy on the miserable journalistic
piano-pounder for Gotham's high-toned honk-a-tonks, certainly she
may with propriety appeal to the substitute sovereign of a nation
of bankrupt assassins to spare Senorita Cisneros.

. . .

Lawd Chelmsfold, now inspecting the Canadian border to ascertain
what resistance it could offer in case of a brush with Uncle Sam,
is out with an interview in which he says one great element of
John Bull's strength is to be found in the fact that our