Cornelius Cork, the President, they say has been a tryin to learn himself; has tried to take gestures and motions up in his own head; but bein’ a poor man and not bein’ able to hire a teacher, of course he don’t make much headway; don’t git along nigh so well. He haint got but one gesture broke in so he can handle it to any advantage, and that is: pointin’ his forefinger at the audience, with the rest of his hand shet up; dartin’ it out sometimes, as if it was a bayonet he was goin’ to run through their hearts; and sometimes holdin’ it back, and takin’ a more distant and deliberate aim with it, as if it was a popgun he kep’ by him to shoot down congregations with. That is all he has got at present; but truly, he does the best he can, with what he has to do with. It don’t scare the audience so much I s’pose as he thinks it ort to, and he probable gits discouraged; but he ort to consider that he can’t show off much in gestures, while Solomon Cypher is livin’. A kerosine lamp can’t show off to any advantage when the sun gits up. But the President done well as I said, with what he had to do with. He pinted that forefinger almost threatningly in every direction, from Zenith to Nathan, as he went on to say: he hadn’t no personal objections to Josiah Allen’s wife, “_fur frummit_.” [Illustration: THE ONE GESTURE.] Cornelius Cork bein’ a poor man, and shackled with the support of four maiden sisters of his own, and a mother-in-law and a grandmother-in-law of his wife’s, besides a large family of childern of their own, haint never felt able to own a dictionary, and so he pronounces by ear, and makes mistakes. But considerin’ his circumstances and shackles, I don’t think he ort to be run down for it. It makes it very bad, sometimes, for Solomon Cypher, for he bein’ so took up with gestures and motions, and bein’ one easy led astray by them that are in high office, he follers on blindly after the President and uses lots of words he wouldn’t dremp of usin’, if he hadn’t heerd the President use ’em. It makes it bad for Solomon, very. The President repeated the words again, with dignity and emphasis: “_fur frummit_.” He trusted he realized too well whose tower it was, that bein’ gone off on, had lifted Jonesville fur up above surroundin’ nations; had lifted it high up on fame’s towerin’ pillow, and shed a lurid light on the housen thereof. He trusted he was too familiar with that noble book of hern, of which he had read the biggest heft, and was calculatin’ to tackle the rest of it if he lived long enough. And he had said, and he said still, that such a book as that, was liable to live and go down to Posterity, if Posterity didn’t git shiftless and hang off too long. And if anybody said it wasn’t liable to, he called ’em “traitor, to the face; traitor to Jonesville; traitor to Josiah Allen’s wife; traitor to Josiah.”