I thought the audience would be mad and mob me, but it didn't. There seemed to be general good feeling and harmony all the way through. I told them that I could not call to mind the exact words of my part, but if those present would like to hear a little poem that had gone the rounds of the press a good deal and which I composed myself, entitled "The Burial of Sir John Moore," I would render it in my own choice and happy style. It is not a humorous poem, but the audience seemed to think it was, for all the way through from the time the procession started out with Sir John till he was planted, everybody was tickled nearly to death. Now I do not take the part of the leading lover any more. The awkward young man who carries dead bodies off the stage is good enough for me. A JOURNALISTIC CORRECTION. OFFICE OF THE MEEK-EYED TARANTULA. |We have, it appears, said something, casually, in our kind-hearted way, that the sensitive _Slimtown Harmonica_ has taken to heart, and feels badly over, so we will try, as far as possible, to place ourself in a correct position. We spoke of the _Harmonica_ in connection with another subject which we took the liberty to write upon, and did so simply with the idea of using the _Harmonica_ as a _simile_. We find, however, that we were wrong. The _Harmonica_ is not a _simile_. On the contrary, it is a parabola. It is a base, inferior isosceles, and its editor is nothing but a cosmopolitan hypothenuse; and if he wants to take it up, we may be found at our office at any time between the hours of A. m. and p. m. We were wrong in speaking of the Harmonica as a comparison or a _simile_ but we want it distinctly understood that we know what the _Harmonica_ and its editor are, and we are not afraid to say so, either. They are pre-Adamite, vicarious isotherms, and we think that it is time the people of the west were apprized of that fact too.. BANKRUPT SALE OF LITERARY GEMS. OFFICE OF THE MORMON BAZOO. Little boys who are required by their teacher to write compositions at school can save a great deal of unnecessary worry and anxiety by calling on the editor of this paper, and glancing over the holiday stock of second-hand poems and essays. Debating clubs and juvenile lyceums supplied at a large reduction. The following are a few selections, with price: "Old Age," a poem written in red ink, price ten cents. "The Dog," blank verse, written on foolscap with a hard pencil, five cents. "Who will love me all the while?" a tale, price three cents per pound. "Hold me in your clean white arms," song and dance, by the author of "Beautiful Snow," price very reasonable; it must be sold. "She ain't no longer mine, nor I ain't hern," or the sad story of two sundered hearts; spruce gum and licorice taken in exchange for this piece. "God: his attributes and peculiarities," will be sold at a cent and a half per pound, or traded for a tin dipper for the office. Give us a call before purchasing elsewhere.