emotions, and such the wild bitterness of his revengeful spirit, it is
greatly to be wondered at that with rifle, bowie-knife or pistol, he did
not rush into the streets of Hancock, and, having run a muck through
those thoroughfares, and having slaughtered quite a large number of the
"miserable skin-flints," that he did not then retire to his den, there
and then to compose the obituaries aforesaid. It must be confessed that
this gentleman appears to be more bilious than brave.

* * * * *

[Illustration: AS TIBBS HAS OFTEN REMARKED TO MRS. T.: "IT ISN'T HIS
DISPOSITION TO SHIRK ANY LITTLE DOMESTIC DUTY, BUT HOW ABOUT MEETING
ONE'S BACHELOR ACQUAINTANCES, YOU KNOW?"]


SONG OF THE CHICAGO LAWYER.

Divorces, Ho! Divorces!
Ye sorry lords, come one and all!
Afflicted wives, come at my call!
I have a balm for all the smarts
And pains of unrequited hearts;
I have a cure for every ill
That matrimonial feuds instil--
Come ye unto my call!

Here, pretty one!
I know your lord refused to buy
That velvet dress, no reason why--
He is a brute! There, do not cry,