th’ top iv th’ shot-tower.  I’ve been up tin thousand feet on a mountain, an’ they seemed so near that I kept whiskin’ thim off me nose as I lay there on me back, but they wasn’t anny larger thin they were on th’ sthreet-level.  I believe what I see an’ some iv th’ things I’m told, if they ’ve been told often, an’ thim facts iv science has not been hung long enough to be digistible.  “But, annyhow, they say that man first begun writin’ whin he had to hammer out his novels an’ pomes on a piece iv rock, an’ th’ hammer has been th’ imblim iv lithrachoor iver since.  Thin he painted it on skins, hince th’ publisher; thin he played it an’ danced it an’ croshayed it till ’t was discovered that ink an’ pa-aper wud projooce wurruds, an’ thin th’ printin’-press was invinted.  Gunpowdher was invinted th’ same time, an’ ’t is a question I’ve often heerd discussed which has done more to ilivate th’ human race.  A joke.

Th’ longer th’ wurruld lasts th’ more books does be comin’ out.  Day be day I r-read in th’ pa-apers announcemints iv new publications that look like th’ dilinquent tax-list.  They ’s a publisher in ivry block, an’ in thousan’s iv happy homes some wan is pluggin’ away at th’ romantic novel or whalin’ out a pome on th’ type-writer up-stairs.  A fam’ly without an author is as contimptible as wan without a priest.  Is Malachi near-sighted, peevish, averse to th’ suds, an’ can’t tell whether th’ three in th’ front yard is blue or green?  Make an author iv him!  Does Miranda prisint no atthractions to th’ young men iv th’ neighborhood, does her overskirt dhrag, an’ is she poor with th’ gas-range?  Make an authoreen iv her!  Forchunitly, th’ manly insthinct is often too sthrong f’r th’ designs iv th’ fam’ly, an’ manny a man that if his parents had had their way might have been at this moment makin’ artificial feet f’r a deformed pome is l’adin’ what me fri’nd Hogan calls a glad, free, an’ timperymintal life on th’ back iv a sthreet-car.

“But lithrachoor is th’ gr-reat life-wurruk iv th’ modhren woman.  Th’ conthrol is passin’ into th’ hands iv th’ fair sect, an’ th’ day will come whin th’ wurrud book will mane no more to an able-bodied man thin th’ wurrud gusset.  Women write all th’ romantic novels that ar-re anny good.  That’s because ivry man thinks th’ thrue hayroe is himsilf, an’ ivry woman thinks he’s James K. Hackett.  A woman is sure a good, sthrong man ought to be able to kill anny number iv bad, weak men, but a man is always wondherin’ what th’ other la-ad wud do.  He might have th’ punch left in him that wud get th’ money.  A woman niver cares how manny men are kilt, but a man believes in fair play, an’ he’d like to see th’ polis intherfere about Chapter Three.