I have tried, but I try it vainly,
The one last word to divine
Which came from the keys of my typewriter
And so would pass as mine.
It may be some other typewriter
Will produce that word again,
It may be, but only for others—
I shall write henceforth with a pen.
THE DUTCHMAN WHO HAD THE "SMALL POX"
BY HENRY P. LELAND
Very dry, indeed, is the drive from Blackberry to Squash Point,—dry even for New Jersey; and when you remember that it's fifty miles between the two towns, its division into five drinks seems very natural. When you are packed, three on one narrow seat, in a Jersey stage, it is necessary.
A Jersey stage! It is not on record, but when Dante winds up his Tenth "Canter" into the Inferno with—
Each, as his back was laden, came indeed
Or more or less contracted; and it seemed
As he who showed most patience in his look,
Wailing, exclaimed, "I can endure no more!"
the conclusion that he alluded to a crowded Jersey stage-load is irresistible. A man with long legs, on a back seat, in one of these vehicles, suffers like a snipe shut up in a snuff-box. For this reason, the long-legged man should sit on the front seat with the driver; there, like the hen-turkey who tried to sit on a hundred eggs, he can "spread himself." The writer sat alongside the driver one morning, just at break of day, as the stage drove out of Blackberry: he was a through passenger to Squash Point. It was a very cold morning. In order to break the ice for a conversation, he praised the fine points of an off horse. The driver thawed:
"Ya-as; she's a goot hoss, und I knows how to trive him!" It was evidently a case of mixed breed.