A distressing accident is thus chronicled:
“A sad accident happened to the family of John Elderkin on Main street, yesterday. One of his children was run over by a market wagon three years old with sore eyes and pantalets on that never spoke afterwards.”
The next morning after lecturing at Jonesville, I saw this paragraph:
“George Peck, an intemperate editor from Milwaukee fell over the gallery last night while Eli Perkins was lecturing in a beastly state of intoxication.
“The coroner’s jury brought in a verdict that Mr. Peck came to his death by remaining too long in a cramped position while listening to Mr. Perkins’ lecture which produced apoplexy on the minds of the jury.”
CHARLES FOLLEN ADAMS.
Some years ago, a poem in broken German verse, overflowing with the richest of humor, appeared in a Boston paper. It was entitled Leedle Yawcob Strauss, and commanded general attention immediately upon its publication. It was copied widely and was sent on its way across the ocean, delighting hundreds on the other side of the Atlantic. The poem ran thus:
“I haf von funny leedle poy,
Vot gomes schust to my knee;