I feel that I cannot do better than bring to a close with this story my desultory jottings, which may bear to be regarded as a far from complete collection of the flora and fauna of journalism. Perhaps my researches into these highways and byways may induce some more competent and widely experienced brother to publish his notes on men and matters.
“Not a jot, not a jot,” protested the Moor.
Am I setting the omen at defiance in publishing these Jottings? Perhaps I am; though I feel easier in my mind on this point when I recall how, on my quoting in an article the proverb, “Autres temps, mitres mours” a wag of a printer caused it to appear, “Autres temps, autres Moores!”