Yours, with much feeling,

MEDORA EUPHEMIA SLAPSADDLE.

* * * * *

THE LAST MOTTO OF THE JOHN REAL DEMOCRACY.—­O’BRIEN,
LED—­WITH a hook.

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[Illustration:  THE POLITICAL CAT’S-PAW.  JOCKO WOODFORD MAKES TOMCAT LEDWITH USEFUL FOR PULLING THE ROASTED CHESTNUTS OFF THE FIRE.]

* * * * *

HIRAM GREEN INTERVIEWS HORACE GREELEY.

Some unpublished Facts—­H.G. of the Tribune reveals to H.G. of
Punchinello what he Knows of Farming.

“H.  G. OF THE Tribune, I believe,” said I, reaching out and taking his lilly-white hand, one Saturday mornin at Chattaqua.

“Jess so,” said he, politely, “and this is H.G. of PUNCHINELLO.  We’re a helthy team at writin’ comic essays—­eh!  Squire?” And the hills, dales, and barn-yards resounded with our innercent prattle.

“My bizziness, Mister GREELEY, is to see if you know as much about agricoltural economy as you do about politikle economy.  As I useter say to culprits, who was bein tried before me when I was Gustise of the Peece, you needent say nothin which will criminate yourself.”

“Well, my lerned friend,” said he, hily pleased at my happy way of puttin’ things, “foller me, and I’le show you what farmin on scientific prenciples can do for a man.”

Arm in arm we sailed forth, as gay and festiv as a pair of turkle doves—­HORRIS with his panterloons stuffed in his bute legs, and the undersined with his specturcals adjusted on his nose.

“Do you see that piece of land over yender?” said he, pintin to a strip of 10 akers.  “That was a worthless swamp two yeer ago.  For $15,000.00 I made it what it is, and to-day, I’me proud to say it, my farm is worth $1,750.00 more, with that 10 akers under cultivation, than it was before I drained it.”

“HORRIS,” said I, wishin to humor him, “as an economist, this shows your brains is in the rite spot.”

He then took me in his garden, and showed me what his success in the sass bizziness had been.  “Do you see that 10 aker bed?” said he.  “Well! last fall I saw a lot of pie plant growing in a wild state.  I said nothin to nobody, but when it got ripe I saved the seed.  This spring I planted that patch of ground with it, anticipatin the biggest crop of pie timber in the State.  And, sir, jest as sartin as this white hat was once new,” said he, pintin to his old plade out shappo, “when that stuff grode to maturity, I sent a cart lode down to the market, and it was all sent back with a note, statin that burdocks wasn’t worth a cuss for pies.  But,” said he, takin me by the button-hole, “no man can fool me agin on pie timber.”

“As a farmer, HORRIS,” said I, so as to keep the rite side of him, “your ekal hasent been hatched.”