“Phillip.”—If yu expekt to win, yu hav got to suffer,—the bible tells us that heaven must be taken with hard knocks.
“Pan.”—Fame iz very mutch like good health, them men who hunt for it the most find it the least.
“Powell.”—Luv at fust sight iz perhaps a leetle risky, but it iz the richest, and most lastingest luv the heart ever feels.
“Postboy.”—Marrying for munny, iz much like falling out ov a third story winder, if yu happen tew make a good strike, it iz a fust-rate excuse for never trying it again.
“Peacock.”—Yu will find in yure journey through this vale ov tears and valley ov dispair, mutch tew fill yure soul with anguish, and dissapointments bitter:—thare iz one thing partickularly apt tew go back ov a yung man, whoze buzzum iz trieing tew bust with hope, and that iz—hiz mustash.
“Pilot.”—A man may hav a grate deal ov edukashun, and not be verry wize, after awl; jist az he may hav a heap ov strength, and not know the best holts.
“Pilgarlick.”—Yu ask me the best way tew make berlony sarsage. Here iz the best, and only way:
Take an eel, about six feet in length, and about one feet in wideness, (git a lively eel if possibel); skin the eel lengthways from hed to foot, and stuff the skin with pulvarized gutty perchy, and equal parts ov merino wool; seazon with Scotch snuff and asserfedity, hang it up bi the tail in a Duch grosery for 4 months, for the flies tew giv it the trade marks; it iz then awl reddy for use, and kan be cut up into right lengths, and sold for police clubs.
This kind ov sarsidge iz the only one who took a gold medal at the Paris imposition.
“Pharaoh.”—It iz an actewal fackt that most ov us work harder, tew seem happy, than we should have to, to be happy.