The members of the Fat Men’s Club all went prepared for hot weather, dressed in a linnen soot and carryin’ palm leaf fans.

I also notised large fassits onto the toes of their butes, so as to let out the grease occasionly, and keep there butes from sloppin’ over.

President RANSOM told me, that a fat man’s wife invented the fassets, so as to save sope grease.

“One fat man in hot weather,” said Mister RANSOM, “will furnish grease enuff, in the summer time, to keep his family in soft sope the year around, besides supplyin’ two or three daily papers with a lot.”

Between you and me, Friend PUNCHINELLO, that greasy yarn seems rather too slipperry to swaller, but I guess it’ll wash after all.

PETER REED, of New York, and Docter WHITBECK, of West Troy, danced the hiland fling for the championship and a barrel of clams.

“While PETE was cuttin’ a pigin wing, and the Dr. was rakin’ down a dubble shuffle, they made things rattle, and naborin’ towns thought it was an airthquake, and began movin’ out their feather beds.

“Go it, my fat friends,” said I, to encourage ’em, “blood will tell, and exercise help to digest your clams.”

They shook their feet ontil exhausted natur, from necessity, ceased to be virtous, when suddenly they both tumbled over onto their backs, and blowed like porpoises.

The weather bein’ hot, a shovel full of cloride of lime was sprinkled onter them, to keep them from gettin’ fly blode.

I was introjuced to a North River steembote pilot, whose corporosity looked like the Commissary department of a Prushion Regiment.

“How are you, Paunchy Pilate,” said I, gettin’ off a joak at his expense.  “How many clams have you crucifide to-day?”

“Bully for you, ole man.  Haw! haw! he! he! ho! ho!” roared half a dozen fat men at my faceshusness, and they laffed and shook their sides, ontil I thought they’d colaps a floo and spatter me.

One of them fat men approched me, and invited me to have a game of leep frog.

“Excuse me, Captin,” said I, “when I get so I can sholder an elefant, I’le come around and accomodate you.”

Some was playin’ tag.  Some was playin’ blindman’s-buff, while all was amusin’ themselves, at some innocent pastime or other.

The day’s performance was closed by chasin’ a greased pig.

The hog was well greased and let loose, and the whole lot of fat men started pell-mell.

It was “Root hog, or die” with the odds in favor of the Hog.

All of a sudden, the hog turned back, and the fat men coulden’t stop, when down they all fell on top of poor piggy, smashin’ him flatter’n a pancake.

The bystanders were startin’ for derricks and jack-screws to raise the fat men off from each other.

“Hold on,” says I, “I know a trick worth 2 of that.”

I rusht into the house, and ceasin’ the dinner-bell, rung it as hard as I could.