whole thing and the only important paragraph in the article, tranquilly turns up his nose at it and leaves it unread.  One can deliver a satire with telling force through the insidious medium of a travesty, if he is careful not to overwhelm the satire with the extraneous interest of the travesty, and so bury it from the reader’s sight and leave him a joked and defrauded victim, when the honest intent was to add to either his knowledge or his wisdom.  I have had a deal of experience in burlesques and their unfortunate aptness to deceive the public, and this is why I tried hard to make that agricultural one so broad and so perfectly palpable that even a one-eyed potato could see it; and yet, as I speak the solemn truth, it fooled one of the ablest agricultural editors in America!

DAN MURPHY

One of the saddest things that ever came under my notice (said the banker’s clerk) was there in Corning, during the war.  Dan Murphy enlisted as a private, and fought very bravely.  The boys all liked him, and when a wound by and by weakened him down till carrying a musket was too heavy work for him, they clubbed together and fixed him up as a sutler.  He made money then, and sent it always to his wife to bank for him.  She was a washer and ironer, and knew enough by hard experience to keep money when she got it.  She didn’t waste a penny.  On the contrary, she began to get miserly as her bank account grew.  She grieved to part with a cent, poor creature, for twice in her hard-working life she had known what it was to be hungry, cold, friendless, sick, and without a dollar in the world, and she had a haunting dread of suffering so again.  Well, at last Dan died; and the boys, in testimony of their esteem and respect for him, telegraphed to Mrs. Murphy to know if she would like to have him embalmed and sent home, when you know the usual custom was to dump a poor devil like him into a shallow hole, and then inform his friends what had become of him.  Mrs. Murphy jumped to the conclusion that it would only cost two or three dollars to embalm her dead husband, and so she telegraphed “Yes.”  It was at the “wake” that the bill for embalming arrived and was presented to the widow.  She uttered a wild, sad wail, that pierced every heart, and said:  “Sivinty-foive dollars for stoofhn’ Dan, blister their sowls!  Did thim divils suppose I was goin’ to stairt a Museim, that I’d be dalin’ in such expinsive curiassities!”

The banker’s clerk said there was not a dry eye in the house.

THE “TOURNAMENT” IN A. D. 1870

Lately there appeared an item to this effect, and the same went the customary universal round of the press: 

     A telegraph station has just been established upon the traditional
     site of the Garden of Eden.

As a companion to that, nothing fits so aptly and so perfectly as this: