Oh for a soda-fount spouting up boldly
From every hot lamp-post against the hot sky!
Oh for proud maiden to look on me coldly,
Freezing my soul with a glance of her eye!

Then oh for a draught from a cup of "cold pizen!"
And oh for a resting-place in the cold grave!
With a bath in the Styx, where the thick shadow lies on
And deepens the chill of its dark-running wave!

* * * * *

BOW-WOW!


One may discern a new argument for the removal of the National Capital
to St. Louis, in the Capital style of doing things in that accomplished
city. Supposing you have a business, we naturally admire you as a
business man, in proportion to your ingenuity in developing that
business, and your energy in prosecuting it. Now this genius for
business seems to characterize all grades of society in St. Louis,--even
so far down as to the "City Dog-Killer." This talented functionary so
developed his art, that he is able to kill the same dog a great many
times--at an average profit of twenty-five cents each execution. He has
a way of stunning the beast so that for all purposes of a canine nature
it is apparently quite dead. By the next day, however, the late defunct
has revived sufficiently to be susceptible of another killing, which is
accordingly administered, and so on, we suppose, all through the season.