The Rev. “Golightly” Morrill is still tramping around the world seeking muck in which to wallow. After his experience in the West Indies and Central America it was not to be supposed that he would find anything very bad to write about, but it seems that he has discovered familiar iniquities on the beaches of California. * * * * * We chanced into a gringo barroom towards the close of one evening, lured by broken melodies of the brass rail gang. Through the bedlam we could catch swinging tunes of: _I’ll never get drunk any more, I’ll never get drunk any more,_ _I’ll never enter a barroom door, I’ll never get drunk any more._ _I wish I had taken my mother’s advice, and married a nice little wife,_ _And settled down in the old home town, to lead an honest life._ _My father gave me a fortune, I placed it all in my trunk,_ _But I lost it all a-gambling, one night while I was drunk._ _I’ll never get drunk any more._ And this one: _Wifie says you’re crazy, you’re drunk, you’re blind and can’t see,_ _That’s nothing but a cabbage head the grocer gave to me._ _Now ten thousand miles I’ve traveled, with ten thousand more to go,_ _But whiskers on a cabbage head I never saw before._ * * * * * Ever since the death of our good neighbor, Cyrus Hopkins, his lonely widow has made a conscientious study of spiritualism. The other morning Mrs. Hopkins visited a Minneapolis medium in the hopes she might communicate with her late husband. The connection soon was made and the following conversation took place: “Is this you, Cyrus?” “Yes, dear.” “Are you happy?” “Yes, dear.” “Happier than when you were with me?” “Yes, dear.” “Ain’t heaven just grand?” “I don’t know, dear. I’m in hell.” * * * * * How, Kind and Forbearing Readers of this great encyclopedia of Psychic Research, better known as The Whiz Bang, pause a moment while Ye Ed relates how Sir Harry Lauder indirectly caused me much embarrassment.