Fear iz the fust lesson larnt, and the laste one forgotten. Noboddy but a phool, gits bit twise bi the same dog. XXXIII. ANSWERS TO CONTRIBUTORS. Josh Billings wants it respekfully understood that, tho hiz duta az sensor ov a vartuous press ockasionally kauses him tew lite onto sum contributors at a high rate ov speed, he dus it, not out ov malis tu those who rite, but thru grate luv and tribulashun for thoze who read: TO CONTRIBUTORS. "_I Hear an Angell Whispre_," by _Clemantha_.--Theze lines contain more poeckry, and less truth. The fact is, Angells don't whispre, if tha hav got enny thing tew sa, tha sa it rite out loud. Tri agin, Clemantha; rite onto kontentment, or happiness, or sum sich subjec, that haint never bin rit onto. "_Slavery, ordained ov God_," _bi A. D. P._--This produckshion we cant accept. We are bound in our insuranse polisy not tew hav on hand "enny article extra hazardus on akount ov fire," and we don't want tu be struk bi litenin, nor sent tu purgatory, and looze our insurance besides. Furthermore, writers must giv us their names in full; A. D. P. mite stand for _A. D--m Phule_, and we aint a doing enny bizness with them kind not if we are credibly informed. "_On Pisgers nobil hites i stood, communin with our ansesters_," _bi Clarense_.--Blank varse, bi grashus! If my memry dont fule me, this iz the same spot whare Noer stood, with the Ark previously. We aint mutch on blank varse, but think we smel a rat. We hav sent the peace tew the "Kommitty on forrin relashuns," and if tha sa the peace iz on the square, it will be published, ackompanied with a full sized 3 dollar puff. "_Epitaff on a friend_," _bi Emeline Parsons_.--Epitaffs are played out with us. We continu tew publish them, at 25 cents ahed, az we du deth and weddings, and dont hold ourself resposible for truth or damage. We luv tu enkurage genius tho, and advise Emeline Parsons tu diet, and keep her hand in bi riteing for the Nu York Leger. "_Essa on Hurrykanes_," _bi Tempest Jun'_.--Wil appear jist az soon az the hurrykane softens down a little. This writer handles a hurrykane the best we ever see it did. Hiz deskripshun resembles chain litening quietly. He maiks the grate oaks tew wiggle lik mad sarpents, and the roks tew bile and bust open, and the hole arth tew rumbil az tho it had the kolick. This writer could git up a ghost that would be wurth having. Tempest Jun' will pleze send us his photergraff, we want a personal intervu. [Illustration: John Billings drives out to the Races.--_See page 100._] XXXIV. A SHORT AND VERY AFFEKTING ESSA ON MAN.